{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41761/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41761","id":"gutenberg_41761","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41761","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Cornwall (England : County) -- Social life and customs","Legends -- England -- Cornwall (County)"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n file which includes the original illustrations.\n See 41761-h.htm or 41761-h.zip:\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/41761/pg41761-images.html)\n or\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/41761/41761-h.zip)\n\n\n Images of the original pages are available through\n Internet Archive. See\n http://archive.org/details/traditionshearth00bottiala\n\n\n\n\n\nTRADITIONS AND HEARTHSIDE STORIES OF WEST CORNWALL.\n\nby\n\nWILLIAM BOTTRELL.\n\n\n \"Legends that once were told or sung\n In many a smoky fireside nook.\"\n LONGFELLOW.\n\nWith Illustrations by Mr. Joseph Blight.\n\nSECOND SERIES.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPenzance:\nPrinted, for the Author, by Beare and Son.\n1873.\n(Right of Translation reserved.)\n\n\n\n\n \"Of strange tradition many a mystic trace,\n Legend and vision, prophecy and sign.\"\n SCOTT.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGE\n\n Duffy and the Devil (an old Christmas Play) 1\n\n Celtic Monuments of Boleigh and Rosemodrass 27\n\n The last Cardews of Boskenna and the story of Nelly Wearne 36\n\n The Witch of Buryan Church-town 59\n\n Madam Noy and the Witch 63\n\n A Queen's visit to Baranhuel 67\n\n The Small People's Cow (a fairy tale) 73\n\n Tom of Chyannor, the tin-streamer (a West Country droll) 77\n\n The Fairy Dwelling on Selena Moor 94\n\n The I'an's House of Treen 103\n\n Castle Treen and its Legends 130\n\n Traditions of Parcurnow 140\n\n Legends of St. Levan 145\n\n A Legend of Pargwarra 149\n\n An' Pee Tregeer's trip to market on Hallan Eve (a fairy tale) 154\n\n An Overseer and a Parish Clerk of St. Just, sixty years ago 169\n\n The Fairy Master, or Bob o' the Carn 173\n\n A Tinner's fireside stories.--\n\n The Knockers of Ballowal 185\n\n Old Songs and Nicknames 193\n\n The Changeling of Brea-Vean (fairy tale) 199\n\n Betty Stoggs's Baby (fairy tale) 205\n\n How a Morvah man bought clothes for his wife 207\n\n How a Zennor man choked himself, but had his will in his\n pocket 210\n\n The Smugglers of Penrose 212\n\n Tregagle at Gwenvor Cove 224\n\n West Country Superstitions.--\n\n Devil's Money 227\n\n The Slighted Damsel of Gwinear 229\n\n The Wreck of Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovel 231\n\n A Night's Ride to Scilly 233\n\n Ancient Bridal Customs 237\n\n Ancient Rites at Madron Well 239\n\n The Crick-stone, or Men-an-tol 242\n\n Charms 243\n\n The Fairy Tribes 245\n\n The Pirate Wrecker and the Death-Ship 247\n\n The sun never shines on those who have sworn away a life 249\n\n A Legend of Pengersec 251\n\n Notes, Illustrative Anecdotes, &c.--\n\n Miracle Plays 268\n\n The Levelis, or Lovells, of Trewoof 271\n\n Duffy and the Devil 273\n\n Pendrea and Baranhuel 274\n\n Danes Marauding on the Cornish Coast, and King Olaf's\n Conversion at Scilly 274\n\n St. Levan's Path 277\n\n A Ghostly Ship's-Bell 277\n\n Brea and Pendeen 278\n\n Vellan-Dreath 279\n\n The Men-an-Tol 280\n\n The Garrack-zans 283\n\n Divination by Rushes and Ivy-leaves 283\n\n Recent Ill-wishing 284\n\n Midsummer Bonfires 287\n\n The Mermaid of Zennor 288\n\n Glossary of Living Cornish Words and Local Terms 290\n\n Index 293\n\n Subscribers' Names 296\n\n [Illustration: _Page 144._]\n\n\n\n\n STORIES AND TRADITIONS OF PENWITH.\n\n\n\n\n DUFFY AND THE DEVIL.\n\n AN OLD CHRISTMAS PLAY.\n\n _Part First._\n\n Open your doors, and let me in,\n I hope your favours I shall win;\n Whether I rise, or whether I fall,\n I'll do my best to please you all.\n _Christmas Play of St. George and the Dragon._\n\n\nAssociated with Trove and the ancient family who lived, for many\ngenerations, in that pleasant place, there is a tradition that one old\nSquire Lovell wedded a poor girl solely because he believed her to be\nthe best spinster and knitster in Buryan; but that all the fine\nstockings and other knitted garments with which she provided her husband\nwere made by a devil. This droll formed the subject of an old\nGuise-dance (Christmas Play) which is all but forgotten: yet, in our\nyouth, we have heard a few scenes rehearsed, which may be interesting as\nan example of a primitive drama of West Penwith, that may have\nsucceeded, or been contemporary with, the miracle plays which, about\nthree centuries ago, were acted in the Plan-an-gwarre, St. Just, and at\nthe Church-town cross in most other western parishes. This uncouth piece\nshows something of the rude and simple humour of old times, when people\nwere quite as innocent, though less fastidious, than in our days.\n\nGreat part of the dialogue appears to have been improvised, as the\nactor's fancy dictated. Yet there were some portions in rude verse,\nwhich would seem to have been handed down with little variation. Mimical\ngesticulation expressed much of the story; and when there was unwonted\ndelay in change of scene, or any hitch in acting, in came the\nhobby-horse and its licenced rider, to keep the mirth from flagging.\nThis saucy jester being privileged to say whatever he pleased, kept the\naudience in good humour by filling up such intervals with burlesque\nspeeches on any matters which had taken place during the past year, that\nfurnished fit subjects for ridicule.\n\nA hall, farmhouse-kitchen, barn, or other out-house, served for a\ntheatre, and a winnowing-sheet, suspended from key-beams or rafters,\nmade a drop-curtain. Father Christmas, as chorus, described the scene,\nand told the company what characters the actors represented, unless they\nintroduced themselves, as was frequently the case, like St. George,\nsaying, \"Here comes I, a champion bold,\" &c. He also narrated such parts\nas could not be acted conveniently.\n\nOur simple actors got up their dresses in as old-fashioned and smart a\nstyle as they were able to contrive them, by begging or borrowing\ncast-off finery from the gentry round. Male players were often seen\nrigged in long-waisted, gay-coloured coats, having their skirts spread\nout with straw, instead of buckram or bombast, and resplendent with\nbrass or tin buttons, large as crown pieces, and long ruffles at their\nbreasts and wrists; their breeches were of blue, red, or buff, slashed,\npuffed, and tricked out with ribbons, tassels, and knee-buckles. Their\nhose was of any bright hue, to make a strong contrast to the small\nclothes. High-heeled shoes were adorned with shining buckles or bows of\nribbons. Yet their greatest pride was displayed in steeple-crowned or\ncocked hats, surmounted with plumes and decked with streamers of gay\nribbons.\n\nOur rural actresses also wore steeple-crowns fixed high above their\nheads on pads; stiffen-bodied, long-waisted gowns, with bag skirts or\nlong trains; ruffles hanging from their elbows, wide stiff ruffs round\ntheir necks; and any other remnants of old finery that they could\ncontrive to get.\n\nIt is somewhat curious that in this old guise-dance, or story about\nMadame Lovell and the devil, several ladies belonging to noted families\nwho lived in Buryan, two or three centuries ago, are represented as\nbringing their corn to Trove Mill to be ground and as serging (bolting)\ntheir flour themselves. The names of Mesdames Cardew, Pender, Noy,\nTrezilian, &c., are taken by these ladies, whose gossip forms a kind of\nby-play.\n\nWe now purpose to reproduce a few well-remembered scenes, as we have\nheard them related many years ago, by old folks of Buryan, and to simply\ntell the story as expressed by others. Yet, with a feeling somewhat akin\nto regret, we have curtailed some portions, in order to exclude whatever\nmight, now, be regarded as indelicate: there is sufficient, however,\npreserved to carry on the story as far as it is likely to interest or\namuse any but antiquarian students who might prefer, with all its\nblemishes, an unmutilated picture of such \"merrie disports\" as were\nusual at Christmas-tide with our simple-honest forefathers.\n\nCharacters:--\n\n SQUIRE LOVELL, _of Trove_.\n DUFFY, _a poor girl, who became Madame Lovell_.\n HUEY LENINE, _Duffy's lover_.\n JENNY CHYGWIN, _Duffy's stepmother_.\n A BUCKA-BOO, OR DEVIL.\n BETTY, _the witch of Trove Mill_.\n JONE, _Squire Lovell's housekeeper_.\n _Several ladies and gentlemen, and witches._\n\nSCENE I.--Father Christmas, with long hoary hair and beard enters before\nthe curtain, and says:--\"Ladies and gentlemen,--Please to take it that\nwe are in Buryan Church-town, in the cider-making time. Squire Lovell is\ncome up to get help to gather in his apples. When the curtain rises you\nwill see him at Jenny Chygwin's door.\"\n\nCurtain raised. Squire Lovell is seen on his horse (a hobby horse); an\nold woman and a young woman scolding within.\n\nSQUIRE:--\"Hullo! in there! Jenny, what's all the caperrouse with you and\nthe maid, I'd like to know?\"\n\nDUFFY rushes out, and round the stage, followed by old Jenny, her\nstepmother, who beats the girl with the skirt or kirtle of her gown,\nsaying, \"I will break every bone in her body; the lazy hussy is all the\ntime out courseying, and corantan, with the boys. She will neither boil\nthe porridge, knit nor spin.\"\n\nDUFFY runs to the Squire, saying \"Don't e believe her, your honour. I do\nall the work, whilst she is drunk from morning till night, and my\nspinning and knitting is the best in Church-town. Your stockings are\nnothing so fine as I can make.\"\n\nSQUIRE:--\"Stop beating the maid, Jenny, and choaking one with dust from\nthe skirt of thy old swing-tail gown. And, Duffy, as thou canst spin and\nknit so well, come down to Trove and help my old Jone, who is blind on\none eye and can't see much with the other, as any one may know by\nlooking at the bad darns in my stocking and patches on my breeches. Come\naway, on to the heaping-stock. Jump up: you can ride down behind me\nwithout pillion or pad.\"\n\nSquire rides off: Duffy follows.\n\nJENNY:--\"Aye, go thee ways with the old bucca, and good riddance of bad\nrummage.\"\n\n (_Curtain drops._)\n\nSCENE II. AT SQUIRE LOVELL'S DOOR.--SQUIRE ON HORSEBACK: DUFFY STANDING\nBESIDE HIM.\n\nSQUIRE calls:--\"Jone, come here and take in Duffy Chygwin, who is come\ndown to help thee knit and spin, give her some bread and cheese, and\nbeer: dost thou hear?\"\n\nSquire rides off.\n\nJONE comes out, and says:--\"Oh, Duffy, my dear, I am glad to see thee\nhere, for I want help sorely ever since that villain, Tom Chynance, put\nout the sight of my eye because I seed his thievish tricks in stealing\nfrom the standings one night in Penzance.\"\n\nJONE tells us a long story which we omit, as it can be found in the\nfirst series of _Traditions and Hearth-side Stories of West\nCornwall_.[1] She concludes by saying, \"Now you needn't eat any bread\nand cheese, as dinner will be ready soon. You can go up to the loft\nwhenever you please and card wool to spin in the afternoon.\"\n\nSCENE III.--A room in which are seen fleeces of wool, a turn\n(spinning-wheel) and other appliances for spinning. Duffy seated,\ncarding and making rolls of wool, which were placed in a cayer\n(winnowing sieve.) Over a while she rises and exclaims:--\n\n\"Cuss the carding and spinning! What the devil shall I do now the wool\nis carded, for I can neither spin nor knit, and the devil take such work\nfor me.\"\n\nFrom behind some wool comes a devil, in the shape of a black man, with\nhalf-cocked, squinting eyes, and the barbed or forked tip of his tail\njust seen below his coat skirts.\n\nDEVIL:--\"My dear, here I am, come at your call, ready to do all you wish\nfor very little pay. Only agree to go with me at the end of three long\nyears, and for all that time I'll do your spinning and knitting and\neverything else you wish for, and even then, if you can tell me my name\nat three times asking, you may go or stay, till another time.\"\n\nDUFFY:--\"Well, I don't mind much: anything for a change. What ded'e say\nyou were called?\"\n\nDEVIL, winking:--\"You have only to prick your arm and draw blood to sign\nour agreement you know.\"\n\nDUFFY:--\"My word is as good as my mark. Spin and knit for me if you\nwill; and I'll have, that while, a courant in the orchard and a dance at\nthe mill.\"\n\nIn leaving, DUFFY says:--\"Bolt the door, that no one may see who is\ndoing the work.\"\n\n\"Stop and let me take the measure of your foot,\" says the devil, in\nstringing the wheel as handy as if he had been used to spinning all his\nlife.\n\nFATHER CHRISTMAS comes before the curtain and says:--\"Good people, you\nsee that Duffy wans't at all scared at the Bucca-boo's appearance,\nbecause in old times people were so much used to dealings with the\ndevil--women especially--that they didn't mind him. Duffy is now gone\noff by the outer door and stair, to merrily pass the day; and old Jone,\nhearing a rumble all through the house, thinks her to be busy at work.\"\n\nDuffy passes a great part of her time at Trove Mill, near at hand; where\na crowd of women high and low, meet to take their turn at grinding,\nserging, &c. Whilst some work others tell stories, sing, or dance on the\ngreen, near which grew many old oaks, sycamores, and elms, in a place\nstill called the rookery, a little above.\n\nThere was a great friendship between Duffy and Old Betty, who worked the\nmill, because this old dame, having long had strange dealings, saw at\nonce, by a stocking Duffy pretended to be knitting, that a stitch was\nalways down and that the work was none of hers.\n\nIn the evening, Duffy hearing, when she came in, the devil still\nspinning, thought she would see him at work and try to learn something.\nLooking through the latch-hole she saw what she took to be a woman,\nseated, and spinning with a small treddle-turn such as is used for\nspinning thread, and the wool-turn (with a wheel as large as that of a\ncoach) put aside. When she looked around she knew that it was only the\ndevil dressed in clothes like what she wore. He had on a loose bed-gown,\npetticoat, and towser (large coarse apron or wrapper,) with a nackan\n(large 'kerchief) thrown loosely over his head and shoulders. As Duffy\nentered, he turned around and said, \"How are'e, my dear? Here I am, you\nsee, busy at work for'e. See what I've already spun,\" he continued,\npointing to a heap of balls in the corner, and skeins of yarn hanging on\nthe walls.\n\nShe stood wondering, with eyes and mouth wide open, to see how handy the\ndevil spun, and yet seemed to do nothing with his hands but pull off the\nyarn whilst his foot worked the treddle, and a ball dancing on the floor\nwound up itself!\n\n\"Arreah! faix,\" said Duffy, \"I should have taken 'e for a woman if I\nhadn't chanced to spy your cloven foot, and your tail hanging down, and\nI don't much admire 'e in petticoats.\"\n\n\"There's good reason for wearing them, however,\" replied he; \"besides,\nthey are handy for such work, and if you will come here on Saturday\nnight you will find, under that black fleece, ever so many pairs of\nstockings, both for you and the squire. I know his measure, and see if I\ndon't well fit both of ye. So now good night.\"\n\nBefore she could wish him the same he disappeared, and all the yarn of\nhis spinning along with him, leaving nothing to show that he had ever\nbeen there but a strong smell of brimstone.\n\nDuffy didn't wait till dark night on Saturday, but went up to the\nwool-chamber about sunset. The Bucca-boo had just left work, and, having\nthrown off his petticoats, stood before her dressed like a sporting\ngentleman. He bowed as she entered and, handing her half-a-dozen pairs\nof stockings, all as strong as broadcloth and as fine as silk, said,\n\"Excuse me, my dear, from staying a moment longer, as I must be away\nbefore Buryan bells are rung; else, some mishap may befall me.\"\n\n\"I wish 'e well till I see 'e again, and thank 'e, Mr.\nWhat-shall-I-call-'e,\" said Duffy, taking the stockings from his hand.\n\n\"You may call me captain,\" he replied, and vanished in a flash of\nlightning with a roar of thunder that shook the house.\n\nOn Sunday morning, when Squire Lovell was getting ready to don his\nvelvet suit, that he might ride to church in grand state, as was his\nwont, Duffy brought him a pair of stockings suitable for the occasion.\n\n\"You see, master,\" said she, \"that I havn't been idle, to spin and knit\nye a pair of such long stockings in three days and the work so fine\ntoo.\" He put on the stockings, admired the beautiful knitting and good\nfit; then to show his delight at having such nice hose, the like of\nwhich were never on his legs before, he kissed Duffy again and again.\n\nIt was late when he reached Church-town. After churching, he stopped, as\nusual, to exchange greetings with other gentry of Buryan. Everyone\nadmired his fine stockings. The ladies enquired how and where he\nprocured them, saying there was no one in the parish who could do such\ngood work; one and all declared they were fit for a king.\n\nThe fame of Squire Lovell's stockings drew crowds of people to Buryan\nchurch on the following Sunday. Old and young wanted to feel his legs.\nThey couldn't be satisfied with looking, and so they continued to come\nfrom farther and farther, Sunday after Sunday. Church-town, for some\nweeks, was full of people like on a fair or feasten tide.\n\n[It will be understood that great part of the foregoing, as well as the\nnarrative parts of what follows, is related by Father Christmas, in his\ncharacter of Chorus. He enters into details about the devil's wonderful\nspinning with a turn (spinning-wheel) of his own invention, that took\nwool from the fleece, without carding, and passed it into the spinster's\nhands all ready for knitting or weaving. He also related many other\nsurprising exploits of these sable gentry, such as their church-building\nin out-of-the-way places, like that of St. Levan, of their amiable\nintercourse with witches, &c. Thus, as fancy dictated, he entertained\nhis audience until the curtain rose.]\n\nWe next behold Squire Lovell's kitchen, with Jone, rather the worse for\nliquor, on a chimney-stool or bench in a broad and deep fire-place, such\nas used to be found in every West-country mansion, when wood and turf\nwere the only fuel. She makes awful groans and screeches, till Duffy\nenters. Then Jone says \"Oh Duffy, you can't think what cramps I have in\nmy stomach and wind in my head, that's making it quite light. Help me\nover stairs to bed, and you wait up to give master his supper.\"\n\nThe old housekeeper is led off by Duffy, who soon returns and seats\nherself on the chimney-stool.\n\nThen Huey Lenine enters and says:--\"What cheer, Duffy, my dear? Now thee\ncus'nt (can'st not) say that the lanes are longer than the love, when\nI'm come to see thee with this rainy weather.\"\n\n\"Joy of my heart,\" said she, \"come by the fire and dry thyself.\"\n\nHuey sits on the outer end of the chimney-stool. After a long silence,\nthe following dialogue takes place:--\n\nDUFFY:--\"Why dos'nt thee speak to me than, Huey?\"\n\nHUEY:--\"What shall I say than?\"\n\nDUFFY:--\"Say thee dos't love me, to be sure.\"\n\nHUEY:--\"So I do.\"\n\nDUFFY:--\"That's a dear.--Brave pretty waistcoat on to you, than, Huey.\"\n\nHUEY:--\"Cost pretty money too.\"\n\nDUFFY:--\"What ded a cost than?\"\n\nHUEY:--\"Two and twenty pence, buttons and all.\"\n\nDUFFY:--\"Take care of an than.\"\n\nHUEY:--\"So I will.\"\n\nDUFFY:--\"That's a dear.\"\n\nAnother prolonged silence.\n\nHUEY continues:--\"I'm thinkan we will get married next turfey season if\nthee west (thou wilt.\")\n\nDUFFY:--\"Why doesn't thee sit a little nearer than?\"\n\nHUEY:--\"Near enough I bla (believe.\")\n\nDUFFY:--\"Nearer the fire, I mean. Well, I'll be married to thee any day,\nthough thee art no beauty, to be sure.\"\n\nHuey gets a little nearer.\n\nDUFFY, putting her hand on his face, \"Thy face is as rough as Morvah\nDowns, that was ploughed and never harved (harrowed) they say; but I'll\nhave thee for all that and fill up with putty all the pock-mark pits and\nseams; then paint them over and make thee as pretty as a new\nwheelbarrow.\"\n\nThe squire is heard outside calling his dogs. Duffy starts up in a\nfright, seizes a furze-prong, and says, \"Master will be here in a\nminute, jump into the huccarner (wood-corner) and I'll cover thee up\nwith the furze.\"\n\nHuey hesitates.\n\nDUFFY:--\"Then crawl into the oven: a little more baking will make thee\nno worse.\"\n\nHuey gets into an oven, opening on to the fire-place and behind the\nchimney-stool, just as the Squire enters and calls out,\n\n\"Jone, take up the pie, if its ready or raw. I'm as hungry as a hound.\"\n\nDUFFY, rising to uncover a pie that was baking on the hearth, says,\n\"Master, I have staid up to give ye your supper, because An Jone es gone\nto bed very bad with a cramp in her stomach and wind in her head, so she\nsaid.\"\n\n\"Why I heard thee talking when I came to the door, who was here then?\"\ndemanded the Squire.\n\n\"Only a great owl, master dear,\" she replied, \"that fell down from the\nivy-bush growing over the chimney and perched hisself there on the\nstool, with his great goggle eyes, and stood staring at me and blinkan\nlike a fool. Then he cried Hoo! hoo! Tu-wit, tu-woo; and, when you\nopened the door, he flew up the chimney the same way he came down.\"\n\nThe Squire, satisfied with Duffy's explanation, advances, and puts his\nfoot on the hearth-stone, looks at his legs, saying, \"Duffy, my dear,\nthese are the very best stockings I ever had in my life. I've been\nhunting all day, over moors and downs, through furze and thorns, among\nbrambles and bogs, in the worst of weather, yet there isn't a scratch on\nmy legs and they are as dry as if bound up in leather.\"\n\nThe Devil (supposed to be invisible) rises behind Duffy and grimaces at\nthe Squire.\n\nDUFFY:--\"I may as well tell 'e master that I shan't knit much more for\n'e, because Huey Lenine and I have been courtan for a long time. We are\nthinkan to get married before winter, and then I shall have a man of my\nown to work for.\"\n\nSQUIRE:--\"What! Huey Lenine! I'll break every bone in his carcase if he\nshows his face near the place. Why the devil is in it that a young skit\nlike thee should have it in thy head to get married! Now I'll sit down a\nminute and talk reason with thee.\"\n\n[The Squire sits close beside Duffy. The Devil tickles them with his\ntail. Huey is seen peeping from the oven.]\n\n SQUIRE:--\"Give up thy courting with Huey Lenine,\n And I'll dress thee in silks and satins fine.\"\n\n DUFFY:--\"No I'll never have an old man, an old man like you,\n Though you are Squire Lovell:\n To my sweetheart I'll be constant and true,\n Though he work all day with threshal and shovel.\"\n\nThe Devil tickles the Squire behind the ears. He sits nearer and places\nhis arm round her waist.\n\n SQUIRE:--\"Thou shalt have a silk gown all broider'd in gold,\n Jewels and rings, with such other fine things\n In the old oak chest, as thee did'st never behold.\"\n\n DUFFY:--\"My sweetheart is young, lively, and strong,\n With cheeks like a red rose;\n But your time will not be long:--\n You have very few teeth, and a blue-topped nose.\n So keep your silks and keep your gold,\n I'll never have a man so feeble and old.\"\n\nHere the Devil tickles them both. The Squire hugs and kisses Duffy, who\nmakes less and less resistance.\n\n SQUIRE:--\"You shan't find me feeble, though I'm near sixty;\n I'm stronger still than many a man of twenty.\"\n\n DUFFY:--\"Your only son is now far away.\n If he came home and found ye wed,\n What think ye he would say?\"\n\n SQUIRE:--\"I hope he is already dead,\n Or'll be kill'd in the wars some day,\n If alive he shan't enter my door,\n I'll give thee my land, with all my store,\n Thou shalt ride to church behind me upon a new pavillion,\n Smarter than Dame Pendar or Madam Trezillian.\"\n\n DUFFY:--\"Dear master, hold your flattering tongue,\n Nor think to deceive one so simple and young;\n For I'm a poor maid, lowly born and bred;\n With one so humble you could never wed.\n Keep your distance, and none of your hugging;\n You shall kiss me no more till you take me to church.\n I'll never cry at Christmas for April fooling\n Like a poor maid left in the lurch.\n Look! the sand is all down and the pie burned black,\n With the crust too hard for your colt's-teeth to crack:\n So off to the hall and take your supper.\"\n\nDuffy rises, takes up from the hearth a pie, which had been baking\nthere, goes out with it, followed by the Squire and Devil dancing. Huey\ncrawls from the oven, saying \"Lack a day who can tell, now, what to make\nof a she-thing?\" By the time he gets on his legs Duffy returns, and,\nassisted by the devil pushes him to doors, saying,\n\n \"Now betake thyself outside the door,\n Nor show thy black face here any more;\n Don't think I would wed a poor piljack like thee,\n When I may have a Squire of high degree.\"\n\nDuffy and the Devil dance till the Squire returns and joins in a\nthree-handed reel, without seeing the Old One, who capers back into a\ndark corner at the pass of the dance, and comes close behind him at the\npitch. _Curtain drops.--Thunder and lightning._\n\nThe scene changes to Trove Mill, where a long gossip takes place over\nthe new \"nine days' wonder\" of Squire Lovell having wedded Duffy for the\nsake of her knitting. Some say she will behave like most beggars put on\nhorseback, and all the women agreed that they would rather be a young\nman's slave, and work their fingers to stumps, than be doomed to pass a\nweary time beside such an old withered stock; they should wish him dead\nand no help for it.\n\nIn the next, Duffy (now Madame Lovell) is beheld walking up and down her\ngarden, or hall, decked out in a gown with a long train, hanging ruffles\nat her elbows, ruff of monstrous size round her neck, towering\nhead-dress, high-heeled shoes, with bright buckles, earrings, necklace,\nfan, and all other accessories of old-fashioned finery. The bucca-boo is\nseen grinning, half-hidden, in the corner; whilst Madam walks she\nsings:--\n\n \"Now I have servants to come at my call,\n As I walk in grand state through my hall,\n Decked in silks and satins so fine:\n But I grieve through the day,\n And fret the long night away,\n Thinking of my true-love, young Huey Lenine.\n\n I weep through many a weary long hour,\n As I sit all alone in my bower,\n Where I do nothing but pine;\n Whilst I grieve all the day,\n And fret the long nights away,\n In dreaming of my true-love, young Huey Lenine.\n\n Would the devil but come at my call,\n And take the old Squire--silks, satins, and all,\n With jewels and rings so fine;\n Then, merry and gay, I'd work through the day,\n And cheerily pass the nights away,\n Kissing my true-love, young Huey Lenine.\"\n\n [Illustration]\n\n [1] One-eyed Joan's Tale, _p._ 213.\n\n\n\n\n DUFFY AND THE DEVIL.\n\n _Part Second._\n\n \"Refinement, too, that smoothens all\n O'er which it in the world hath pass'd,\n Has been extended in its call,\n And reach'd the devil, too, at last.\n That Northern Phantom found no more can be,\n Horns, tail, and claws, we now no longer see.\n * * * * *\n But with your like, when we the name can learn,\n Your nature too we commonly discern.\"\n GOETHE'S _Faust_.\n _Filimore's Translation._\n\n\nIn a mill scene, after the Squire's marriage, there is a long dialogue,\nin rhyme, on \"the cruel miseries to be endured\" by both husband and\nwife, \"when a young maid is wedded to an old man.\" This can not be given\nbecause much of it would now be regarded as indelicate.\n\nIn another scene, the Squire's man Jack, and Huey Lenine, discuss the\nsame subject. This is also inadmissible for the same reason. We are\nreluctant to dismember this old piece, even by so much as may be deemed\nnecessary by persons of fastidious taste, because students of ancient\nmanners would doubtless prefer an unpruned version.\n\nWe shall give the remainder of the story as it may be gathered from the\nplay, without dividing it into scenes. And indeed great part of it, for\nwant of convenience in acting, was often recited by Father Christmas, in\nhis character of Chorus. We also omit the mill scenes, as they afforded\na kind of by-play, that had little or nothing to do with the main story.\nWhenever time was required for the principle personages to get ready, a\nbevy of women were brought on to gossip about old times and the past\nyear's events, or they told stories, danced, or sung until their turn\ncame to \"serge their flour,\" (bolt their meal.)\n\nDuffy complaind to the kind old witch that she was very dissatisfied\nwith her aged spouse. The old crone advised her to have patience and\nwell feather her nest, that she might secure a youthful successor to\nSquire Lovell, who was'nt likely to trouble her long. Notwithstanding\nMadam's griefs, she kept the Bucca-boo to his work, so that all her\nchests and presses were filled with stockings, blankets, yarn and\nhome-spun cloth; and her husband was clad, from top to toe, in\ndevil-made garments. Squire Lovell, as was his wont, being away hunting\nevery week-day, from dawn till dark, and the housekeeper and other\nservants hearing a constant rumbling throughout the house like the noise\nof a spinning-wheel, only varied by the clicking of cards, thought their\nmistress busy at work, when she spent great part of her time at the\nmill.\n\nThe stocking that Duffy made out to be knitting, but never finished, had\nalways a stitch down. By that old Betty suspected her of having strange\ndealings as well as herself.\n\nThough the time seemed long and wearisome to Madam, the term for which\nthe devil engaged to serve her drew near its end: yet she was ignorant\nas ever of his true name, and gave herself but little concern on that\naccount, thinking it might be just as well to go with a devil, who was\nso very obliging, as to remain with old Squire Lovell; for all the time\nthis Bucca-boo became, as it were, her slave, he was well-behaved and\nnever gave her the least reason to complain of his conduct.\n\nYet when she walked through Trove orchards, and saw the apple-trees\nweighed down with ripe fruit, she had some misgivings, lest her next\nabode might be less pleasant than Trove, besides, she thought that the\ndevil, like most men, might be very civil in courtship but behave\nhimself quite otherwise when he had her in his power.\n\nMadam being much perplexed made her troubles known to Betty, the witch,\nwho, cunning woman as she was, had'nt found out the particulars of the\nbargain. She was'nt much surprised, however, when Duffy told her,\nbecause she knew that women and devils were capable of doing\nextraordinary things. Betty was somewhat troubled, but not much; for in\nold times, white-witches could perform almost incredible feats, by\nhaving devils and other spirits under their command. So, after twirling\nher thumbs a minute, and thinking what to do, she said, \"Duffy, my dear,\ncheer up! I would'nt like for 'e to be taken away before me. Now do what\nI advise 'e, and it is much to me if we don't find 'e a way to fool this\nyoung devil yet, he is but a green one. So, to-morrow evening, soon\nafter sunset, bring me down a black jack of your oldest and strongest\nbeer. But before that, be sure you get the Squire to go hare-hunting.\nFool him with the old story, or any thing else to make him go. Wait up\ntill he comes back, and note well what he may say. Go 'e home now: ask\nme no questions; but mind and do what I have told 'e!\"\n\nNext morning, the Squire noticed that his wife ate no breakfast, and, at\ndinner, observing that she seemed very sour and sad, and appeared to\nloath everything on the board, he said,\n\n\"My dear wife, how is it that you have been so melancholy of late? What\nis the matter with 'e? Don't I do as much to comfort 'e as any man can?\nIf there's anything to be had, for love or money, you shall have it. You\ndon't appear to have much appetite, honey; what would 'e like to eat?\"\n\n\"I could just pick the head of a hare, if I had it,\" she replied; \"I am\nlonging for hare-pie; but you have been so busy about the harvest that\nwe havn't had one for weeks, and I'm feeling so queer that have one I\nmust or the consequences will be awful to the babe unborn, and to you as\nwell.\"\n\n\"You know dear,\" said the Squire, \"that harvest is late. We have still\nmuch corn to get into the mowhay. Besides, it's full time that all\nshould be ready for cider-making. I would do my best to catch a hare if\nthat would please ye,\" he continued, over a bit; \"but dont 'e think that\nthe old story about the child, that according to your fancy has been\ncoming to and again for the last three years, is ever going to fool me\nto the neglect of corn and apples.\"\n\n\"Hard-hearted, unbelieving wretch,\" replied she, \"you don't deserve to\nbe the father of my child. Know, to your shame, that innocent virgins,\nwhen first wedded are often deceived with false hopes. Now would 'e have\nour cheeld disfigured for the sake of such little good as you are among\nthe harvest people? An old man's bantling,\" she continued, \"is mostly a\nwisht and wizened-looking object! Would 'e like to see ours with a face\nlike a hare besides an ugly nose, and a mouth from ear to ear? Go, do,\nlike a dear, and stay my longing; but in the evening, after croust\n(afternoon refreshment), will be time enow for 'e to start, that we may\nhave one for dinner to-morrow.\"\n\nWith coaxing, scolding, and hopes of paternal joys, she, at length\nprevailed.\n\nSoon after the Squire and his dogs were out of sight, Duffy drew about\na gallon of beer, that was many years old, into a strong leather jack,\nmade small at the mouth like a jar, for convenience in carrying, and\ntook it down to the mill. Betty, after trying the liquor, said it would\ndo, and told Duffy to go home, make the devil work till dark, wait up\nfor her husband, and keep her ears open to all he might say. When nearly\ndark and a few stars glimmered, Betty turned the water from the\nmill-wheel and closed the flushet. Then, having donned her\nsteeple-crowned hat and red cloak, she fastened the jack of beer to one\nend of a \"giss\" (hempen girth), and her \"crowd\" to the other, slung them\nacross her shoulder, under her cloak, took a black-thorn stick, closed\nher door, and away she went over the hill. She went up the \"Bottom\"\n(glen) between Trove and Boleigh, till she passed the Fuggo Hole, and\nthere, amongst the thickets, she disappeared! All this Bottom was\nwell-wooded, and the upper part thickly covered with hazel, thorn, and\nelder; and a tangled undergrowth of briars, brambles, and furze,\nsurrounded a wood called the Grambler Grove. Few persons liked to pass\nnear this place, because strange noises were heard, and fires often seen\nwithin it by night, when no one would venture near the place.\n\nDuffy waited up many hours after the servants had gone to bed, in great\nimpatience for her husband's return. Her fears and doubts increasing,\nshe remained seated in the kitchen chimney-corner, attending to a pie on\nthe hearth; that it might be kept hot for the Squire's supper. It came\ninto her head at times, as a kind of forlorn hope, that the crafty old\nwitch might somehow get the Devil to take her husband instead of\nherself. About midnight, however, her uneasy musings were interrupted by\nthe dogs rushing in, followed by Squire Lovell, who seemed like one\ndistracted, by the way he capered about and talked in broken sentences,\nof which his wife could make neither head nor tail. Sometimes he would\ncaper round the kitchen, singing snatches of a strange dancing-tune;\nthen stop, try to recollect the rest, and dance till tired out. At last\nthe Squire sat down and told his wife to bring him a flagon of cider.\nAfter draining it, he became more tranquil, and, when Duffy asked if he\nhad caught a hare, he answered,\n\n\"I've seen queer sights to-night, and the damn'd hare--as fine a one as\never was chased--most in the dogs' mouths all the while. We coursed her\nfor miles, yet they couldn't catch her at all.\" Then he burst out\nsinging,\n\n \"To-morrow, my fair lady,\n You shall ride along with me,\n Over land and over sea,\n Through the air and far away!\"\n\nO! the funny devil! How he tossed up his heels and tail when he danced\nand sang,\n\n \"'To strange countries you shall go,\n For never here can you know.'\n\n\"I've forgotten the rest,\" said he, after a pause; \"but give me supper,\nand fill the tankard again. Then I will begin at the beginning, and tell\n'e all about the strange things I've seen to-night. I wish you had been\nthere; it would have made ye laugh, though I havn't seen 'e so much as\nsmile for a long time. But give me supper, I tell thee again, and don't\nstay gaping at me like a fool frightened! Then, and not before, I'll\ntell thee all about our uncommon chase, and we will ride 'Over land, and\nover sea, with the jolly devil, far away, far away!'\"\n\nDuffy placed a pie on the board and helped the Squire.\n\nAfter supper he came more to himself, and said,\n\n\"We hunted all the way down, both sides of the Bottom, from Trove to\nLamorna without seeing a hare. It was then dark, but for the starlight:\nwe turned to come home, and, up by Bosava, out popped a hare, from a\nbrake of ferns close beside the water. She (the hare) took up the moors;\nwe followed close after, through bogs, furze, and brambles,\nhelter-skelter, amongst mire and water. For miles we chased her--the\nfinest hare that ever was seen, most in the dogs' mouths all the way,\nyet they couldn't catch her at all. By the starlight we had her in sight\nall the way till far up the Bottom, between Trove and Boleigh; there we\nlost all sight and scent of her at last, but not till, tearing through\nbrakes of brambles and thorns, we found ourselves in the Grambler Grove.\nAnd now,\" continued he, after a pull from the flagon, \"I know for\ncertain that what old folks say is true--how witches meet the Devil\nthere of summer's nights. In winter they assemble in the Fuggo Hole, we\nall know; because one may then often hear the devil piping for their\ndance under our parlour floor--that's right over the inner end of the\nFuggo. And now I believe what we took for a hare was a witch that we\nchased into this haunted wood. Looking through the thickets I spied, on\na bare spot, surrounded by old withered oaks, a glimmering flame rising\nthrough clouds of smoke. The dogs skulked back and stood around me like\nthings scared. Getting nearer, and looking through an opening, I saw\nscores of women--some old and ugly, others young and passable enow as\nfar as looks go. Most of them were busy gathering withered ferns or dry\nsticks, to the fire. I noted, too, that other witches, if one might\njudge by their dress, were constantly arriving--flying in over the\ntrees, some mounted on ragworts, brooms, ladles, furze-pikes, or\nanything they could get astride of. Others came on through the smoke as\ncomfortable as you please, sitting on three-legged stools; and alighted\nby the fire, with their black cats on their laps. Many came in through\nthe thickets like hares, made a spring through the flame, and came out\nof it as decent lasses as one might see in Buryan Church of a holiday. A\ngood large bonfire soon blazed up; then, by its light, I saw, a little\nway back sitting under a tree, who should 'e think? Why no less than old\nwitch Bet, of the Mill. And by her side a strapping dark-faced fellow,\nthat wasn't bad looking and that one wouldn't take to be a devil at all\nbut for the company he was with, and the sight of his forked tail that\njust peeped out from under his coat-skirts. Every now and then Old Bet\nheld to his mouth a black leather jack, much like ours, and the Devil\nseemed to like the liquor by the way he smacked his lips. Now said I to\nmyself I don't much dislike nor fear thee, devil or no, as thee art so\nhonest as to drink hearty. So here's to thee, wife!\"\n\nDuffy was very impatient, but took care not to interrupt the Squire.\nAfter draining the flagon, he continued to say,\n\n\"Faix, I should think the Devil got drunk at last by the way he capered\nwhen the witches, locked hand-in-hand, danced round the fire with him in\ntheir midst. They went round and round so fast one couldn't follow their\nmovements as Betty beat up on her crowd the old tune of\n\n 'Here's to the Devil, with his wooden spade and shovel,\n Digging tin by the bushel, with his tail cocked up.'\"\n\n\"Over a while Old Bet stopped playing; the Devil went up to her, drained\nthe jack, took from her the crowd, and sang a dancing-tune I never heard\nbefore. The words, if I remember right were,\n\n 'I have knit and spun for her\n Three years to the day,\n To-morrow she shall ride with me,\n Over land and over sea,\n Far away! Far away!\n For she can never know\n That my name is Tarraway!'\"\n\n\"The witches then sung as a chorus,\n\n 'By night and by day\n We will dance and play,\n With our noble captain--\n Tarraway! Tarraway!'\"\n\n\"I thought the words odd for a dancing-tune, but devils and witches do\nqueer things.\"\n\n\"The witches, locked hand-in-hand, danced madder and faster, pulled\neach other right through the fire, and they wern't so much as singed,\nthe bitches. They spun round and round so fast that at last, especially\nwhen the Devil joined in, my head got light. I wanted to dance with them\nand called out as I advanced, 'Hurra! my merry Devil, and witches all!'\nIn an instant, quick as lightning, the music stopped, out went the fire,\na blast of wind swept away umers (embers) and ashes, a cloud of dust and\nfire came in my eyes and nearly blinded me. When I again looked up they\nhad all vanished. By good luck I found my way out of the wood and home.\nI'll have another hunt to-morrow and hope for better luck.\"\n\nThe Squire drank another flagon of ale; then, weighed down with fatigue\nand drink, he rolled from his seat on to the floor. Duffy covered him\nup. He often passed his nights thus, when too drunk to go over stairs.\nAs she threw over him a rug, and kicked a pile of rushes from the floor,\nin under his head, he murmured, \"To-morrow, we will ride over land and\nover sea, through the air and faraway!\"\n\nIt was hours after sunrise when Squire Lovell awoke and found his wife\nsitting near him; but she didn't say a word about his going a-hunting;\nin fact she would rather not be left in the house alone, or with\nservants only. Late in the afternoon, however, he whistled to his dogs\nand away he went a hunting again. As he had a mind to see, by daylight,\nthe ground he coursed over, and where the witches danced, he took his\nway towards the Grambler Wood. Now Duffy hadn't been upstairs for all\nthat day, but, a little after sunset, she went up to the guest-chamber,\nas a large spare bed-room was called, to fetch something she much\nwanted. She took the garment from a hanging-press, and hastened to leave\nthe chamber, but, when she passed round the bed she beheld the\nbucca-boo, standing before her, in the doorway. She never saw him\nlooking so well, nor so sprucely dressed, before. From beneath a\nbroad-brimmed hat and plume his coal-black hair fell in glossy curls on\nhis shoulders. He wore a buff coat of fine leather, with skirts so long\nand full that they quite concealed his forked tail, or he might have\ncoiled it round his waist for what we know, any how there wasn't so much\nas the tip of it to be seen.\n\nMadam surveyed him, over and over again, from the golden spurs on his\nbright black riding-boots to the nodding plume on his high pointed hat,\nand thought she had never seen a more likely-looking fellow. Yet she was\nspeechless from fear or surprise. The devil, advancing with stately\nstep, doffed his hat, and bowing, said in courteous tones,\n\n\"Know, fair lady, the time is passed and some hours over that I engaged\nmyself to work for ye, and I hope that you have no reluctance to fulfil\nyour part of our agreement.\"\n\n\"Indeed no,\" said she, \"I can't say I have much objection as you are a\nvery well-behaved obliging devil, and, during the three years that I\nhave had the pleasure of your acquaintance, you have given me no reason\nto complain of your conduct. Yet,\" continued she, after a moment's\npause, \"I'd like to know where you live when at home, and what sort of a\ncountry it is? I fear it may be rather hot, as you seem to be burnt very\ndark!\"\n\n\"As to where my country is,\" replied he, \"You wouldn't be much the\nwiser if I told 'e all about it, because you have hitherto seen so\nlittle of the world, and there would be great difficulty in making 'e\nunderstand. As a proof, however, that my country's climate isn't much to\nbe complained of, you see me strong and healthy enow; besides, I'm not\nso dark-skinned under my clothes; and, if you were burned as black as\nmyself, I would love ye all the same.\"\n\n\"I can't quite make up my mind,\" said she, \"though no doubt you would\nplease me as well, and make a better husband than Squire Lovell, who, if\nhe isn't drunk, snores all night with his face to the wall. If I went\nhow would 'e convey me to your far country?\"\n\n\"I have brought to the Grambler Grove a noble steed,\" he replied, \"that\nwill go over land and sea, or fly through the air with lightning speed.\nNow do make haste, dear, and get ye ready for my horse is very impatient\nto be left alone; he may whistle for me and shake down the chimney-tops,\nor paw the ground and make all the country tremble; yet he is as gentle\nas a lamb when mounted. So come along as you are; there's no time for\ndelay,\" said he, offering his hand.\n\n\"If you please,\" said madam, shrinking back, \"I would like to stay in\nTrove a little longer.\"\n\n\"Now, no nonsense,\" said the devil, in an angry tone; \"You know that I\nhave been true to my word, as every gentleman ought, and trust you will\nabide by our bargain: and as for your knowing my name,\" added he, with a\nhaughty air, \"that's impossible, because it is long since that I, like\nother persons of quality, have only been known by my title, and even\nthat is not familiar to vulgar ears.\" Assuming his ordinary courteous\nmanner, he said, \"Yet, my love, for mere form's sake I'll ask 'e three\ntimes if ye like! Besides, I'm curious to know what sort of a guess you\nwill make at it. So now, for the first time asking, tell me if you can,\nwhat is my name?\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Devil,\" said she, \"don't 'e take offence if I happen to\nmisname ye in my ignorance. Now arn't 'e my lord Beelzebub!\"\n\n\"No! be d----,\" replied he, choaking with anger, \"how could ye even\nthink me such a mean, upstart devil as Beelzebub, whose name isn't known\nin the place where I belong; and, even here, among those best acquainted\nwith him, nobody ever heard of his grandfather! Now I hear my horse\nshaking his bridle and, for the second time, I ask ye my name?\"\n\n\"Pray excuse my ignorance and don't 'e be vexed,\" said she, \"for I don't\ndoubt but you are a grand gentleman when at home and no other, I think,\nthan Prince Lucifer!\"\n\n\"What? Lucifer!\" he exclaimed, more than ever enraged; \"you make me mad\nbut to think that I should ever be taken for one of such a mean tribe as\nLucifer, who is no better than the other. As for me, I wouldn't be seen\nin their company. None of their family were ever known or heard of in\nthis country till lately. Great indeed is your want of sense,\" continued\nhe, with a scornful air, \"to take me for one of these upstarts. Yet,\nforsooth, many fools--if one may judge by their fears--seem to reverence\nthem; nay almost to worship them. But crafty folks, who profit by fools'\nfears, havn't a good word to say of these new buccas behind their backs,\nnor yet of their country; for that, they say, is full of burning\nbrimstone, and one may well believe it, for when any of the tribe come\nhere they stink of sulphur. But one like you--born and bred in Buryan\nChurch-town--can't have any notion of the antiquity and dignity of my\nfamily! If you hadn't been the loveliest of Buryan ladies I would never\nhave condescended to spin for 'e. And now, for the third and last time,\nI ask what is my name?\" On the same breath he added, \"come! Give me your\nhand love, and let's away, for you can never guess it.\"\n\nDuffy didn't feel much reluctance to go with him, yet was proud to\noutwit the devil and answered,\n\n\"Don't 'e be in such a hurry, old gentleman, Buryan people mayn't be so\nignorant as you think them; they live near enow to St. Levan witches to\nknow something of devils and their dealings. YOU ARE TARRAWAY--you won't\ndeny it!\"\n\n\"No, by my tail,\" said he, almost speechless with surprise; \"I am too\nproud of my ancient name to disown it. I'm fairly beaten; it's provoking\nthough to be outwitted by a young thing like you, and I can't think\nhowever you found it out. But true as I'm a gentleman, if you don't go\nwith me now, the time will come when you'll wish you had, and one day\nyou shall spin for me yet.\"\n\nDuffy shrunk back, and, in a moment, thick smoke gathered around\nTarraway; the room became dark; and he disappeared amidst a blaze of\nlightning and a rattling peal of thunder, that shook the house from end\nto end.\n\nDuffy, much frightened, ran down stairs, and, as she entered the hall,\nin tore old Jone, terrified out of her wits by the kitchen chimney-top\nrattling down on the hearth where pots, kettles, and pans were all\nsmashed. Their dread was much increased by finding throughout the house\na smother of burning wool. Other women servants ran shrieking into the\nhall. Old Jone said she felt a fit coming on; whilst she looked about\nfor a place to fall down and have her fit comfortable; into their midst\nrushed the Squire, with nothing on but his hat, shirt, and shoes. At\nthis sight all the women have fits; the Squire stands for some time,\nlooking on, like one distraught, till the women come to; all rise and\nrun out except his wife; she asked him how he came home in such a\nplight, and where he had left his clothes. The Squire told her that when\nhe came to the Grambler he had a fancy to see by daylight the place\nwhere Old Nick and his witches had their dance the preceding night. He\nentered and searched all round--over bare places, between the trees, and\nelsewhere, but saw no signs of any fire having been made in the wood;\nthere wasn't even a handful of ashes, or the grass so much as burnt on\nthe spot where he was sure he saw a bonfire blazing the night before.\n\nHe turned to leave this haunted place, by taking his course down the\nBottom, but, when he was just out of the wood, a blinding flash of\nlightning surrounded him like a sheet of flame, whilst he was stunned by\nlouder thunder than he ever heard before. When he recovered his senses\nand opened his eyes he found that all his home-spun woollen garments\nwere burned from his breech and his back, leaving him as he then stood.\nHe believed it was all done by witchcraft, because he saw their devilish\ndoings. He told his wife to fetch him a coat, stockings, and breeches.\n\nDuffy, disliking to go upstairs alone, called Jone to accompany her, and\ngreat was her terror to find that every article of Tarraway's work had\ndisappeared from chests and presses--nothing was left in them but Squire\nLovell's old moth-eaten garments covered with dust and ashes. He was\nvery dissatisfied with his old clothes, but there was no help for it.\n\nAs clever a conjuror, or pellar, as any in the west country was fetched.\nHe declared that it was all exactly as Squire Lovell thought--the devil\nand witches had served him out because he wanted to pry into their\ndoings, and had chased one of them in the form of a hare. The wise man\nnailed old horse-shoes over the doors, and promised, for little pay in\nproportion to his services, that he would take Trove and the Squire's\nhousehold under his protection, so that they need fear no more mischief\nfrom witchcraft, nor bad luck.\n\nMadam, by the witch's aid, had a happy riddance of Tarraway, yet greater\ntroubles were in store for her. Squire Lovell, disliking to be seen\nagain wearing his old stockings, would neither go to church nor to\nmarket, and instead of hunting, as was his wont, from dawn till dark, he\nstayed indoors all day, in a very surly mood, to keep his wife at her\nspinning; and she knew no more how to spin than when she summoned the\nbucca-boo to work for her.\n\nThe Squire having forbade Betty the witch to come near his house, Duffy\nhad little chance to see her; but one Thursday evening when he was off\nguard--up to the blacksmith's shop in Boleigh, to hear the news from\nreturning market-people, as was his custom--Duffy hastened off to Mill\nand made known her troubles, and the next market-day Betty went to\nPenzance and bought the best stockings she could get. On Sunday morning\nDuffy brought them to her husband and passed them off as her own work;\nbut he wasn't at all satisfied, because they wern't so fine and soft as\nwhat he had been accustomed to for three years. He wouldn't go to church\nin them; he went a-hunting, however, and returned very cross, for his\nnew stockings didn't protect his legs from brambles, furze and wet, like\nTarraway's. He again staid indoors to keep his wife to spin, and Madam\nwas obliged to twirl her wheel all day though she only spoiled the wool,\nfor unless he heard the sound of turn or cards, he would be up to the\nwool-chamber door calling out, \"art thee asleep Duffy, lazy slut that\nthee art, I havn't heard cards nor turn for an hour or more, and unless\nthou very soon makest me better stockings than the rags on my legs, and\na good breeches too, I'll know the reason why, that I will, you lazy\nfaggot you, what the devil else did I marry thee for I'd like to know.\"\nShe would threaten to card his face if he entered, so they led a cat and\ndog life for months, that seemed years to Duffy, shut up as she was in a\ndusty wool-loft and not a soul to comfort her or to share her griefs.\nHer spirits sunk and her beauty faded fast, she thought it had been\nbetter by far to have gone with the devil, than lead such an irksome\nlife with old Squire Lovell. Often she prayed Tarraway to come for her,\nbut he turned a deaf ear to her cry, and was never more seen in Trove.\n\nBy good luck, when winter and muddy roads came, the Squire took it into\nhis head one Sunday morning to don his jack-boots and jog off to church,\nthat he might learn what was going on in the rest of the world.\n\nIt was the Sunday before Christmas. He wished his wife to mount behind\nhim, but she, pretending illness, begged to be excused and said she\nwould be glad to accompany him next time.\n\nMadam watched her good man spurring his Dobbin till he was clear of\nTrove town-place, then down she ran to Mill and told old Betty that\nunless she got a speedy release from her irksome task she would drown\nherself in the mill-pool.\n\nBet sat a moment on the mill-bed, twirling her thumbs so quick that one\ncould hardly see them spinning round each other, and said, \"No, my dear\ncheeld, dont 'e think of such a thing yet, young and handsome as you are\nit would be a pity, let's try a scheme that I've thought of, a woman\nnever should despair of finding a trick to fool an old man, and if need\nbe the old witch will stir her stumps and trot again to help 'e, if one\nplan don't serve we'll try another, for as the old saying is 'nobody\never got out of a ditch by grunting,' what's just popped into my head\nmay answer!\" \"Do tell me what it is,\" said Madam. \"No, there's no time\nnow,\" Betty replied. \"You have wasted so much already in bemoaning your\ngriefs instead of thinking how to get rid of them, like a sensible body\nought, that old master will soon be back from church, and he musn't know\nthat you have been here, so only mind now what I am going to tell 'e.\"\n\n\"Next Saturday, being Christmas-Day, the Squire will no doubt go to\nchurch and desire you to go with him; by all means go, and when, as\nusual after churching, you stop at the cross to exchange greetings with\nother gentry, I'll come near enow for 'e to hail me with 'A Merry\nChristmas to 'e An Betty, and a Happy New Year when a do come.' I shall\nwish 'e the same, and you invite me, before the Squire, to come up in\nthe evening to taste your Christmas beer. And in the afternoon when,\naccording to custom, there will be a hurling match from Church-town to\nBoleigh, the Squire and you, with scores of gentlefolks, on horseback\nand afoot, will be near the goal to see the ball brought fairly in, and\nto hinder fighting; then look 'e out for me, give your kindest greetings\nagain, and don't 'e be surprised at anything you may hear and see, or if\nyou be don't 'e show it, and invite me again to partake of your\nChristmas cheer. That's all I have to tell 'e now,\" said she, opening\nher door for Duffy to depart, but going a few steps on the Green she\ncontinued, \"It don't cost 'e any pain, no not a bit, to speak kindly to\na poor body now any more than before you became Madam Lovell, and as\ngood a lady as the best in Buryan, for you are no ways vain; but if you\nhad ever shown any scornful pride be assured I would never have gone a\ntrotting for 'e, nor do what I intend, to get 'e relieved of your\ntroubles: besides it isn't your fault that you can neither knit nor\nspin, you never had a kind mammy to teach 'e. And no one can blame ye\nfor deceiving old Squire Lovell--lying and deceit come to us poor women\nby nature--so hasten home, leave the rest to me, and hope for better\ntimes.\"\n\nMadam got home just in time to see that dinner was ready, when her\nhusband returned in a good temper after his morning's ride.\n\n\"Duffy, my dear,\" said he, as she assisted him to pull off his boots,\n\"I wish you had gone to church, everybody was enquiring for 'e, and\nasking what was become of us this long time that they hadn't seen sight\nnor sign of us. And some of the women--cuss their itching curiosity they\ncan never be satisfied--wanted to roll down my boot-tops and undo my\nknee-buckles that they might have a peep at my stockings. But on\nChristmas-Day come ye along with me, they won't be so foarthing if you\nbe there.\"\n\nDuffy replied, \"my darling man, I'll go with all my heart and see if\nthey carry their impudence so far again, and now dear, make a hearty\ndinner, and tell me all the news you have heard.\"\n\nChristmas-Day in the morning, Duffy, as richly attired as any lady in\nBuryan, mounted on a pillion behind her husband, and away they went to\nchurch. After service, a great number assembled at the Cross and sung\nold charols. Squire and Madam Lovell exchanged many kindly compliments\nwith the Cardews, Harveys, Noys, Penders, Vivians, Gwennaps, and other\nancient gentry of Buryan, who were waiting for their steeds.\n\nWhilst wishing her neighbours a Merry Christmas Madam Lovell had kept a\nsharp look out for old Betty; but had nearly given up all hopes of\nseeing her, and was about to mount behind the Squire, when glancing\naround for the last time she spied her steeple-crown and red mantle\namong the crowd of singers, through whom she had great trouble to lead\nher fat and lazy Dobbin to the heaving-stock. Madam went to meet her,\nshook hands heartily and said, \"good morrow to 'e Dame Chymellan, how\nare 'e an; I am glad to see ye looking so well and wish 'e a Merry\nChristmas and a Happy New Year, and many of them. I hope you liked the\nsermon and the singing, and so on;\"--we can't tell all the fine\ncompliments that passed so long ago.\n\n\"Thank your honour, and I wish 'e the same,\" the old dame replied,\nmaking a low curtsey to Duffy. Then turning round to other gentlefolks,\nshe continued to wish all their honours--as she styled them--the\ncompliments of the tide, calling each by name as she curtsied to every\none.\n\nNow there was nothing remarkable in An Betty's civil words; but as she\nstood close beside the Squire, who was on horseback, and bestowed her\nold-fashioned greetings at every curtsey, an unseemly noise was heard.\nSquire Lovell got vex't, the ladies looked confused, glanced at him and\nrode off.\n\nBetty, however, without appearing to hear or to heed anything, mounted\nthe heaving-stock, settled herself comfortably on her high-peaked\nbow-pad, and jogged away with Dame Pendar; Squire Lovell and others\ngoing the same road. At parting Duffy said to her, \"now be sure An Betty\nyou come up early to try our Christmas-cake and ale.\" \"Thank your\nhonours I will,\" replied she, in turning off to the Mill.\n\nIt was customary for the Squire's tenants, and all who choose, to\nassemble at his house every night from Christmas-Eve till twelfth-night,\nto freely partake of his abundant cheer and help in the merry disports\nof the tide; yet he wasn't at all pleased because his wife invited the\nold dame. \"I should'nt have minded her coming at any other time,\" said\nhe, \"but to-day a good many from the hurling will come home with us and\npass the evening; I hope however, she will be on her best behaviour\nbefore the quality: to be sure one don't like to offend the spiteful old\nwitch for fear of her tricks.\"\n\nIn the afternoon Squire Lovell and his wife, with many others--mostly on\nhorseback--were got together near Daunce-Mayn when old Betty stalked in\nto their midst, and just such another scene was acted there as took\nplace in Church-town.\n\nMany who came from a distance went down to Trove to pass a merry\nChristmas night.\n\nA score or more of ladies and gentlemen, seated in the hall, pledged\neach other in hot-spiced-ale, brandy, punch, and wine, when Betty, Jone\nand others entered, holding aloft their horns of foaming liquor. The\nSquire fearing another display of Betty's unbecoming behaviour, rose in\nhaste to prevent her drinking their healths with all the honours. \"Stay\na moment An Betty,\" said he, \"come into the kitchen, I must tell 'e that\ntwice already to-day you have made me ashamed of 'e, how could 'e do so\nand show so little respect for the company both in Church-town and\nBoleigh?\"\n\n\"O dear master, you musn't mind such a trifle as that,\" replied she,\nwithout budging an inch, \"for it will soon be all the same with madam\nthere, your honour's wife, if you keep her to spin so much, she won't be\nable to help it for her life. You may look scared and misbelieving, but\nindeed she won't; no! no more than I can whenever I move quick, or\ncurtsey to your honours as I am, in duty, bound to do; and if your\nhonours would like to hear how it happened to me I'll tell 'e.\"\n\nMany of the company having intimated that they would like to hear how\nshe became in such a condition, Squire Lovell placed her in a settle\nnear the hearth, she emptied her horn and gave the following relation:--\n\n\"Know then, your honours, that in my first husband's time,--more than\nthirty years ago,--we lived at Trevider. I did out-door work and helped\nold mistress besides, when there was extra house work, such as great\nbrewings, cheese-making, the baking and roasting at feasten-tides,\nspinning for the weavers, besides the regular spinning of winter's\nnights, and such like. Though I say it, there wasn't a brisker lass in\nBuryan than I was then; just like mistress there, your honour's wife.\nThere was no woman and but few men that could beat me in shaking liners\n(threshed wheaten sheaves), leading trusses, branding turves, raking\ntabs (roots, grass, &c.), reaping, rulling, aye, or binding either on a\npush; and I could make an arish mow as well as any man. Old master used\nto say that at the windan-sheet (winnowing-sheet), there wasn't my equal\nin the parish for handling the sieve and kayer (coarse sieve), and that\nI made a better sample of corn, and not half so much after-winding and\nwaste, as any other windster he ever met with; but I needn't blow my\ntrumpet any more on that score. My old mistress, Madam Pendar, was a\nnoted spinster, as you may have heard, and of winter's-nights she, with\nher servant maidens and I, took our places at the turns (spinning\nwheels); master and the servant men carded and sung three-men's songs or\ntold old drolls the while. My spinning-work was soon equal to Madam\nPendar's though she would never allow it; but my yarn was strong, even,\nand fine, just like your honour's wife's,\" said Bet, addressing Squire\nLovell to fasten his attention. \"And often I was kept spinning all day\nfor days running, just like mistress there. But one Christmas night\nevery body belonging to Trevider, young and old, went off in a\nGuise-dance, except old mistress and I. 'Now they are all gone, Betty,'\nsaid she, 'and left us all alone, see if we don't enjoy ourselves.'\nMistress drew a good joram (jug) of strong old ale, boiled, sweetened,\nand spiced it whilst I roasted the apples; we brewed a drink fit for a\nking; for hours we pledged each other's good health and drank to our\nheart's content. Over a while mistress began to brag of her spinning,\nshe was proud of her work and so was I of mine, just like your honour's\nwife. I shall ever remember that Christmas-night and how cherry the old\nhall looked with the Christmas-log burning bright, and faggots of oak\nand ash blazing up the chimney, showed every window, dresser and wall\ndecked in holly, box, and ivey; with branches of bays and rosemary\naround the pewter flaggons, plates, and platters, that shone like silver\namong the Christmas greenery.\n\nOld mistress boasted much of her spinning, and wager'd a bottle of\nbrandy--which she placed on the board--that she would spin a pound of\nwool in a shorter time, and make a finer yarn than I could. I took her\nto her word, rolled up the rushes from the floor, to make a clear run\nall the length of the hall, and placed our turns, while mistress weighed\nand carded the wool, divided the rulls, and gave me my choice of them.\nWhen all was ready, to cheer our hearts and put life in our heels, we\neach drank a noggin of brandy. Then I tripped backward and forward as\nlight as a feather, and for more than three hours we twirled our wheels\nby the bright fire-light, keeping good time together. My yarn was suant\n(even) and fine as a flaxen thread; just like that spun by my lady\nthere, your honour's wife, and I was then about her age. I had nearly\nspun my pound of wool, and never felt in better heart for dancing to the\nturn, when, as bad luck would have it, my twadling-string--weakened with\nso much stepping backwards--burst. I fell to the ground, and ever since\nI've been in the sad predicament that so surprised your honours. Though\nit's comforting to have companions in affliction,\" said she, after a\npull at the flaggon, \"yet from the regard I have for your honour and\nmistress there, I have spoke of my ailment to warn 'e that as sure as I\nsit here with a broken twadling-string it will soon be the same with my\nlady there, if it's true, what I do hear, that you keep her to spin from\nmorn till night most every day of the year. When that do happen you will\nbe frighten'd into fits; old mistress was so scared that she nearly lost\nher senses, she thought the house falling about her ears, to save\nherself she snatched the bottle and tore up stairs; next day she was\nfound asleep under a bed with the empty bottle close by her head.\"\n\nOld Betty's story rather surprised the company, and Squire Lovell, much\nconcerned, said \"I'm glad you told me An Betty, now drink another horn\nfull like a dear; I wouldn't for the world that my darling Duffy should\nbe in such a plight, nevermore shall she spin from this very night. I\nwould go bare leg'd all my life, rather than such a mishap should befall\nmy wife.\"\n\nThe entertainment concludes with a dance, to music made by Father\nChristmas on a crowd.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n CELTIC MONUMENTS OF BOLEIGH AND ROSEMODRASS.\n\n Dear land of old romance,\n Legend and mystic dance;\n Lost towns and temples, and that buried shore\n Where thy great hero fought his last sad fight,\n Cromlechs and quoits and cairns and hills of war,\n Circles of mystery and mounds of might.\n W. K. D.\n\n\nAbout a furlong south-west of Trove, but on a tenement of Boleigh, is\nthe Fuggo. It consists of a cave about six feet high, five feet wide,\nand near forty long, faced on each side with rough stones, across which\nlong stone posts are laid. On its north-west side a narrow passage leads\ninto another cave of similar construction and unknown extent; as it has\nlong been blocked up by a portion of the roof having fallen in. One may\nbe pretty sure, however, that much of the stories about its great length\nare fabulous. They say that it extends from its entrance, at the foot of\nBoleigh hill, to the old mansion at Trove; in proof of this the old one\nhas often been heard piping under a parlour of the house. It is supposed\nhe meets the witches down there, who have entered by the Fuggo to dance\nto his music. Hares are often seen to enter the Fuggo which are never\nknown to come out the same way; they are said to be witches going to\nmeet their master, who provides them with some other shape to return in.\n\nThere are also traditions of this cavern having served as a place of\nrefuge to some of the Levelis in troublesome times; and of its having\nfrequently been used by our fair-traders, as it afforded them a secure\nhold for storing their goods, and to have a carouse therein.\n\nOld traditions about the far-reaching and unknown extent of the Fuggo,\nmay not, however, be altogether void of foundation. At the annual\nexcursion of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, in 1871, Mr. H. M.\nWhitley, of Truro, remarked that the bank, just opposite the branch\ncavern, sounded hollow, from which he is persuaded that there is a\nchamber underneath to be yet explored.\n\nThere are the remains of a triple entrenchment near, and this\nsubterranean passage might have been connected with it.\n\nOld folks of the neighbourhood say that there was another Fuggo in Trove\nHill, on the opposite side of the Glen, but the entrance has long since\nbeen closed, and no one knows exactly where it opened.\n\nThe track of moor and croft between Trove and Boleigh has indeed never\nbeen thoroughly examined by our antiquaries; yet as the vestiges of\nancient British habitations are generally found in the vicinity of\nprehistoric monuments, the Daunce-mayn, Menheres, and holed-stones on\nthe hill, would seem to indicate that this sheltered glen might be a\nlikely place in which to find the remains of old crellas or circular\nhuts, similar to those of Bodennar, Busullow, and Chysauster. And\nfarther up, near the brook, amidst brambles and furze may yet be\ndiscovered traces of ancient Celtic dwellings, with ashes still on the\nhearth and quern and muller beside it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA short time ago an old inhabitant of Boleigh informed us that many\npersons in that neighbourhood are afraid to enter the Fuggo, even by\nday, as they believe that bad spirits still frequent this place. Women\nof villages near often threaten their crying babies that they will carry\nthem down to the Fuggo, and leave them there for the Bucca-boo if they\ndon't stop their squalling. There are traditions that almost all these\ncaves were haunted by beings of a fearful nature, whose path it was\ndangerous to cross.\n\nThe fuggo at Bodinnar, called the Giant's Holt, was a few years ago much\ndreaded, as it was thought to be the abode of ugly spriggans that kept\nwatch and guard over treasures which still remain buried in that ancient\nhiding-place.\n\nThere is a somewhat graceful creation of fancy associated with the Vow,\nor fuggo, at Pendeen, which is said to extend from the mansion to\nPendeen Cove, and some say it has branches in other directions, which\nspread far away from the principal cavern.\n\nAt dawn on Christmas Day the \"Spirit of the Vow\" has frequently been\nseen just within the entrance, near the Cove, in the form of a beautiful\nlady, dressed in white, with a red rose in her mouth. There were persons\nliving, a few years since, who had seen this fair but not the less\nfearful vision; for disaster was sure to visit those who intruded on the\nspirit's morning airings.\n\nMany of the \"sawns\" in the western cleaves have also similar legends\nconnected with them, only the dwellers in sea-side caverns, are either\nof the mermaid race, or what we call Hoopers. The latter are beneficent\nspirits who warn fishermen from going to sea when there is an\napproaching tempest.\n\nThe Hoopers shroud themselves in a thick fog which stretches across\ncoves frequented by them. There are well remembered stories of Sennen\nCove Hooper that used to rest in a cloud of mist, on Cowloe, and thence\nemit its doleful notes as a danger signal.\n\n\n BOLEIGH OR BOLEIT.\n\nAlthough we never heard of any Household Stories connected with this\ninteresting spot, yet we cannot pass it without some notice of its\nprehistoric remains.\n\nOur antiquaries follow the fashion of spelling the name of the hamlet on\nthe hill as above, yet everyone here who ought best to know the name of\nthe place in which they live, call it Bol\u00e9. Most likely it has been thus\npronounced from long before it was ever written. All sorts of\ncontradictory meanings have been given for the name of this noted place;\nas the dairy-house, place of slaughter, &c. It was once the residence of\nan old Norman family, whose name, spelt Bolleit, may be seen on a long\ncoffin-shaped slab, which lay on the floor within the tower of Buryan\nChurch a short time ago. The inscription in old Norman-French which\nborders the edge of this curious tomb says that\n\n[+] CLARICE: LA: FEMME: CHEFFRIE: DE: BOLLEIT: GIT: ICI: DEV: DE: LALME:\nEIT: MERCE: KE: PVR: LEALME: PVNT (PRIUNT:) DI: IOR: DE: PARDVN:\nAVERVND.\n\nThis means, in plain English, to say [+] \"Clarice, the wife of Geoffry\nde Bolleit, lies here: God on her soul have mercy: Who prays for her\nsoul shall have ten days' pardon.\"[2] Now the \"Bo\" we know to be another\nform of Beau, in ancient French names. Leit may be a variation of lieu.\nThe provincial pronunciation of Beaulieu is, in many parts of Northern\nFrance, simply Bol\u00e8. And this is the nearest approach to the proper\nsound of the name that a Cornish man would be likely to turn his tongue\nto form. This old Norman family, as in many other instances, might have\ndone their best to give to their new inheritance a name which was a\ncommon one in their former home. This conjecture respecting the\nderivation is at least as probable as the others. We know of no Cornish\nname which terminated in leit, yet, if the name be Cornish, it is safer\nto take the traditional pronunciation of those who live in Buryan than\nto go by any mode of spelling.\n\n\n MENHERES.\n\nThe most striking objects seen after passing through the hamlet are two\nlarge long stones or pillars of granite, sometimes called the pipers,\nbut formerly known as the hurlers, which stand in the fields on the\nnorth side of the road. Antiquaries are far from being unanimous in\ntheir conjectures as to the purpose intended to be served in the\nerection of these remarkable stones. Whether they were astronomical,\nsacerdotal, or sepulchral monuments--whether erected for all or neither\nof these objects--the learned think it premature to decide. There is no\nmark on these mysterious stones to throw any light on the subject. Yet\nit is pretty certain that all the large menhere stood in pairs; that\ntheir bearing is generally east and west; that they are mostly found on\nan open plain near other Celtic monuments, and the vestiges of ancient\nBritish habitations; and we may be sure they were formerly more numerous\nand regarded as objects of great importance, from the number of\ndwelling-places, enclosures, and names of old Cornish families\nterminating in Menhere, as Tremenhere, or Tremener, (Longstone place)\nPolmener, (Longstone pool) Goonmenhere, (Longstone downs) and many\nothers. Probably many of the companion stones of the erect single\npillars may be still found lying along in some hedge, at no great\ndistance, (about the twelfth of the circle north of east or south of\nwest), from those which remain where placed thousands of years ago.\n\nIf the menhere (as has been conjectured from being found in pairs,\nbearing nearly east and west) were intended to mark the times of the\nequinox or solstice, these seasons being sacred festivals of Baal or the\nSun, the desire of the early Christians to obliterate all remembrances\nof Pagan rites may account for the prostration or destruction of such\nobjects as must have been regarded with religious veneration, from their\nimportance to show the times to sow the grain, and do various kinds of\nwork pertaining to pastoral life; and, above all, to denote the sacred\nfestivals of our forefathers, which we still commemorate in our\nMidsummer bonfires. These long stones at Boleigh are the more\ninteresting because there are not many of the original pairs to be found\nstanding in the west. There is another pair near Newbridge, and one may\nbe seen lying prostrate in Escols lane, Sennen, at a short distance from\nthe stile on the pathway to Escols village.\n\nThere is a tradition that this menhere was taken down from where it\nstood, in the middle of the field, by a giant, who lived in Escols, by\nhim rolled into the hedge, and his son, ten years of age, placed the\ntrigg (propping stone) as we may still see it. An old lady of Escols\ninformed me that the other stone of the pair was in a hedge at no great\ndistance, prostrate also. The erection of these huge monoliths proves\nthat the animal powers and mechanical skill of our ancestors were of no\nmean order.\n\n\n HOLED STONES, &c.\n\nContinuing on the road towards Boskenna, a minute's walk from the\nMenheres brings us to a holed stone standing in the hedge on the right\nhand side. This stone has been removed a considerable distance from its\noriginal site to form the side of a gateway. The upper portion of the\nstone is very much broken, and is irregular in shape, yet its head\nappears to have been triangular and worked to an angle similar to the\nMen-an-tol at Lanyon.\n\nIn the lane near the holed stone is an ancient cross, seemingly placed\nin the midst of the Druidic monuments to sanctify what the old Celts\nwould not permit the Christian teachers to remove.\n\nThere is another holed stone near by, in Rosemodrass lane, placed head\ndownwards, and it serves for the hanging-post of a gate. The form of the\nhead of this stone cannot be easily ascertained, as it is buried so\ndeeply in the ground that only a small portion of the hole is to be\nseen.\n\nThe aperture in both these stones (about six inches in diameter) is too\nsmall to pop the smallest, or all but the smallest, baby through; yet\nthe people call them crick stones, and maintain that they were so-called\nbefore they were born. Crick stones were used for dragging people\nthrough, to cure them of various diseases. As these holed stones at\nBoleigh have been removed from their original site no satisfactory\nconclusion can be arrived at as to their primitive use. Some have\nthought that these stones, in common with the men-an-tol at Lanyon, the\ntolmen in Constantine, and many others, might have served the same\nimportant purpose as the menheres--to fix the proper time for the\ncelebration of the autumnal equinox, by the stones being so placed that\nthe sacred index of the seasons on rising above the horizon would be\nseen through the perforation, at a right angle to the face of the stone,\nand that the triangular head of the stone formed such an angle that when\nthe sun was on the meridian, (at certain periods of the year, which were\nrequired to be known,) its altitude would denote the time, by its place\nin the heavens being in a line with the slope of the primitive\ntime-piece, which would then cast no shadow on the ground at mid-day. If\nthese monuments were intended for stone calendars, and any can be found\nin their original position, it might be possible, at least\napproximately, to fix the time of their erection, by their present\nvariation from true east and west. If the deviation is in the direction\ndemanded by the precession of the equinoxial points, the difference\nmight be calculated at the allowed rate of fifty seconds a year. There\nis but little doubt but the men-an-tol still remains where it was first\nerected.\n\nAs urns, or crocks of ashes and charred bones, have frequently been\nfound near these, and other mystic stones, which were generally regarded\nas Celtic relics, it has been conjectured that long stones,\nholed-stones, and quoits (cromlechs) were all raised to mark the last\nresting-places of some noted personages. Is it not as probable that they\nwere erected for the use of the living, and, by being associated with\nthe religious observances of the time and people, came to be regarded as\ngarrac-zans or holy stones; and that the priest, or chief, would desire\nto be buried near them, prompted by a feeling identical with that of the\npresent time and common to all ages, which makes many desire that their\npoor dust and ashes may rest near the shrine at which they worshipped,\nwithin the bounds of what they regard as holy ground? Sacerdotal\ncommunities have always been ready to grant this distinction to the\nrich, and encouraged this enshrining of the relics of mortality, because\nthe presence of the King of Terrors in the temple augments that\nmysterious awe with which all ancient theocratical hierarches\nendeavoured to invest themselves, and all their ghostly appurtenances;\nas by this means they acquire more power over those who live in dread of\nthe spirit world, easily conjured up by morbid fancies, when surrounded\nby whatever engenders melancholy.\n\nBesides the tolmen noticed above there are several others in the\nwestern part of Cornwall. Some thirty years ago, two holed stones, about\nthe size of those at Boleigh, might be seen in Treen Cliff, at no great\ndistance from the end of Pedny vounder lane, on the sea side of the\nwheel-road to Castle Treen and the Logan Rock. These stones were amidst\nother rocks. One was standing upright and the other lying flat on the\nground a few feet from it. The old people of Treen did not know what\nthese stones were placed there for.\n\nIn a field on the southern side of the lane is the circle of upright\nstones called by the people of Buryan, Daunce-Mayn. The name is most\nprobably a corruption of Zans M\u00ebyn (sacred stones,) and has nothing\nwhatever to do with dancing maids. The legend that the (originally)\nnineteen posts were damsels, thus fixed for dancing on Sunday, was\nevidently suggested by the name to some manufacturer of such wares, who\nas readily converted the two long stones, in the field across the road,\nwhich we have already noticed, into the Pipers, who took to their heels\nand left the damsels to their fate as soon as their metamorphosis began;\nbut their ungallant action did not avail, as the petrifying power of the\ncursing saint, who stopped their sweet pipings, overtook them when they\nran thus far, and laid them up in stone as we now see them.\n\nNo such legend, however, is native to the place, as the old folk only\nknow it from having it repeated to them by visitors, who have seen it in\nbooks. They never regard the name as having any connection with dancing\nmaids any more than dairy maids, and the Menhere, changed into Pipers,\nwere known to them by the name of the Hurlers, from their having been a\ngoal for the hurling-run, when the starting-post (where the ball was\nthrown up) was the cross in the Church-town.\n\nThis story affords another example of the way in which the meaning is\nlost of many an ancient Cornish name, (which tells a history,) from the\nfoolish desire to assimilate the expressive old Cornish name to some\nunmeaning English nickname. Thus, goon-here-an (the long downs) near\nTregonebras, is become goldherring. And the town-arms of Penzance is\njust as bad a punning kind of Blazon. It is easy to understand how\nZans-M\u00ebyn became Daunce-Meyn. A common form of m\u00ebn is m\u00eadn, as pen\nchanges into pedn, in Tol-Pedn-Penwith. And this is near enough to\nmaiden, for the legend to spring up to account for the name.\n\nAnother common name for the Celtic circles is the Nine Maidens. Now, as\nthe usual number of stones in the circle is nineteen, that number may\nhave something to do with the first part of this name, and the latter\nwould come from the Cornish, as before, m\u00eadn.\n\nThe Daunce-M\u00eayn is the best known of all the Druidic circles in the\nwest, as it is within sight from the road frequently taken by those\nvisitors to the Logan Rock who care for seeing the many interesting\nobjects, and fine sea views, visible from the lower road, as we call\nthis route near the sea shore. Yet the circle at Boscawen-un, in the\nhigher side of the parish, is invested with a peculiar interest, from\nthe fact of the opinion held by Dr. Borlase that these circles were\nplaces of council of judgment, has been confirmed by an old Welsh triad,\nwhich makes this place still more remarkable by naming it as one of the\nthree Gorsedds, or places of judgment for poetry and bardic minstrelsy.\nThis valuable relict of Welsh poetry, as translated by the eminent Welsh\nscholar, the late Rev. Thomas Price, is in English:--\"The three Gorsedds\nof Peetry of the Island of Britain; the Gorsedd of Boscawen Damnonium;\n(Damnonium included Cornwall and great part of Devon;) the Gorsedd of\nSalisbury, in England; and the Gorsedd of Bryn Gwyddon in Wales.\"\n\nWe hope that when the laureate revisits Cornwall he may be induced to go\nthere, and, sitting on a granite throne, by the side of the tall central\nstone, sing the \"Idyls of the King,\" if only in honour of the Welsh bard\nwho has preserved the remembrance of this remarkable temple where\nancient minstrels sung of how Merlin, the enchanter, deceived the\nbeautiful Igerna, so that she received King Uter Pendragon as her\nhusband--how King Uter died, and Arthur, his son, by Igerna, kept his\ncourt at \"Wild Dundagel, by the Cornish sea\"--and how our own Prince\nArthur, and his knights of the table rounde, slew all the enemies of\nBritain. Here they sang of the beauty and guile of the fair and frail\nGuenever--of the honour and truth of Arthur's knights, and the treachery\nof Mordred. Here the Bard sounded a lament for the lost lands of\nLethowsow, and the submerged City of Langona:--\n\n \"Between Land's End and Scilly rocks\n Sunk lies a town that ocean mocks.\n * * * * *\n Where breathes the man that would not weep\n O'er such fine climes beneath the deep?\"\n\nWe owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Borlase for preserving to us a graphic\ndescription of these, and many other, Druidic circles which have\ndisappeared since his time.\n\nFortunately, the work of destruction has been arrested at Boscawen-un\ncircle, as the lady to whom the property belongs has caused it to be\nsurrounded with a good hedge to prevent further spoilation. Some years\nago a wholesome fear prevailed of bad luck following anyone who removed\nthese landmarks of a long past age, but now our country folk think\nthemselves more enlightened, and, unless those who have some respect for\nthe monuments of ancient times, take measures to prevent the recipients\nof this questionable sort of enlightenment from exercising their\nvandalism, our Celtic remains will soon disappear. Pages might be filled\nwith an account of the destruction which has taken place within the past\nhalf century.\n\nThat these circles were used for religious, judicical, or political\npurposes, (and in ancient times all three were combined), there can be\nno doubt, from the veneration with which they were formerly regarded.\nThis solemn respect was expressed in the belief that the avenging deity,\nin the shape of Bad Luck (which was felt to be as real a personage as\nany other undefined invisible demon) would sooner or later overtake the\nsacrilegious destroyer of the ancient holy stones. In many of the oldest\nvillages there were formerly altar-like stones, known by the name of\ngarrac zans, (the holy stones) which were protected by the fear of the\ngoddess of Bad Luck; and until within these last few years, no rude hand\nwould dare to remove or spoil them. We remember one of these venerated\nrocks in the village of Rosekestal and another in Sowah town-place. The\nnoted stone in Mayon was also called indifferently the garrac zans or\ntable men. We have heard of many others which were formerly to be seen\nin the town-places of ancient hamlets, but their places know them no\nmore.\n\nDr. Borlase describes many circles and other Celtic remains as being in\nhis time almost as perfect as when left by our forefathers thousands of\nyears ago. Of these public monuments, there is now scarcely a trace to\nbe found. Recent investigation proves the trustworthiness of the\ninformation preserved by the antiquary, born and bred in Pendeen, in the\nvery heart of a district which contains, even now, more Celtic remains\nof all kinds than any other portion, of equal space, in the British\nIsles.\n\nBy similar monuments to those we have noticed at Boleigh, the migrations\nof the ancient Celtic race may be traced from farthest Ind to the Scilly\nIsles.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n [2] It is somewhat curious to notice that no one who has written on\n the parish of Buryan, in speaking of the Boleit tombstone in the\n church, has pointed out that the inscription is, in accordance\n with a very common custom, in verse, namely in a triplet followed\n by a distich. It reads thus:--\n\n Clarice, la femme Cheffrei\n de Bolleit, git ici,\n Dieu de lalme eit mercie.\n Ke pur lalme punt\n Di ior de pardun aveunt.\n\n The word punt in the fourth line is short for prierunt. Probably\n there is now, or at all events, has been at some time, in the\n original, a small letter r above the word between the p and the u.\n An r has been similarly omitted in aveunt. This somewhat primitive\n epitaph may be thus literally translated into equally primitive\n English:--\n\n Clarice, the wife of Jefferei\n Of Bolleit, here doth lie.\n God of her soul have mercie.\n For her soul whoever prays\n Shall have pardon for ten days.\n _From_ ONE AND ALL.\n\n\n\n\n THE LAST CARDEW, OF BOSKENNA, AND THE\n STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.\n\n No ditch is so deep, no wall is so high,\n If two love each other, they'll meet by and bye;\n No storm is so wild, and no night is so black,\n If two wish to meet they will soon find a track.\n _From_ KLAUS GROTH'S _Song_ \"_Keen Graff is so brut_.\"\n _Max M\u00fcller's Translation._\n\n\nThere are few places which afford such a variety of picturesque\nviews as may be seen in and from the grounds of Boskenna\n(\"dwelling-on-the-ridge.\") The sylvan and rural are beheld, forming\nendless combinations with the grand, the wild, and the romantic.\nGlimpses of the boundless ocean are caught through overarching boughs in\ndeep winding glens, where the brilliant plants of semi-tropical climes\nare seen growing in loving companionship with our more modest and sweet\nnative shrubs, ferns, and flowers.\n\nFrom the height called the Rockery, (surely there must be an old Cornish\nname,) the view embraces towering carns, distant hills, and headlands,\nincluding Castle Teryn and the Lizard Point; scenes of many wild legends\nand poetic traditions, of Danish invaders, of witches, saints and\nhermits.\n\n \"Far as the eye can peer,\n The waters roll, divinely blue and clear;\n With white sails flashing in the sunlight's ray,\n Of countless vessels, near and far away;\n\n Here the wild sea-gull plumes her snowy breast,\n Then skims the wave or perches on the crest\n Of some majestic cairn, or cromlech where\n Long ages past the Druids knelt in prayer,\n Till, with stretched wing, she cleaves the fields of blue,\n Dips 'neath th' Atlantic, and is lost to view.\"\n\nOne of the most delightful spots on the grounds of Boskenna is a little\nwooded glen, through which flows a clear stream, embowered by luxuriant\nfoliage and fringed with ferns, flags, and sedges, amongst which many\nrare wild flowers show their elegant bells of pale blue, and star-like\nblossoms of every tint. The brooklet and shady walk wind down this\nlittle vale to St. Loy Cove, where, within a few years, there stood on\nthe verge of the cliff, the walls and altar of a chapel dedicated to St.\nEloi; but, a few years ago, this interesting relict of the piety of ages\npast, with its wrought-stone altar, was thrown over cliff by the, then,\noccupier of an adjacent cottage, without the knowledge or permission of\nthe owner of the property. The vestiges of this sacred building were\nthus toppled into the sea, merely that a few feet of land might be\ngained for growing early potatoes; and now nothing remains but the name\nof St. Loy to connect this romantic spot with the saint by whom\nChaucer's \"Wife of Bath\" was accustomed to swear. We fear that the\nmention of this realistic, marriage-loving dame may put to flight all\npoetic notions; yet hear what our Cornish poetess, Mrs. S. E. Tonkin,\n(from whom we have quoted above) says of this hallowed shrine.\n\n \"A pleasant ramble through a bosky vale;\n A pause to hear a babbling brooklet's tale;\n A moment's lingering by its mossy well,\n And I, once more, am in St. Loy's green dell.\n\n Ages ago, as old traditions say,\n The monks devout stole here to fast and pray;\n Within these wilds they communed by the sea,\n And reared for worship a fair chapelry,\n Where pious souls, and needy, found them rest,\n And by their prayers and sanctity were blest.\n\n Naught now remains to whisper of the past;\n Still, o'er the spot a holy light is cast,\n In gothic arches yon fair trees entwine,\n Low-drooping o'er the consecrated shrine,\n And waves come singing, as they inland flow,\n Thrilling the heart with strains of long ago.\"\n\nThe place thus favoured by nature and Mrs. Tonkin's verse, was an\nancient seat of the Cardew family, who, between two and three centuries\nago, also owned Boskenhal and several other farms in the neighbourhood.\nThe last of this decayed family, who lived in the old home of his\nancestors, mortgaged this place, and other lands, to the predecessors of\nthe present possessor. The Paynters resided here for some generations,\nand the late Mr. John Paynter will long be remembered in the West\nCountry as a liberal landlord and kind neighbour; and for being more\nlearned in the law than country justices usually are. It was a common\nsaying in the West, that \"the Squire of Boskenna knew more law than all\nthe lawyers of Penzance put together!\" This place is now the residence\nof Charles Dacres Bevan, Esq., Judge of the district County Court. Mr.\nBevan has much improved and beautified both the mansion and grounds.\nMany years ago, the late Mr. Cardew, of St. Ives, (who was descended\nfrom a collaterial branch of the Boskenna family) informed us that there\nwere several old family portraits of the Cardews in the mansion of\nBoskenna during his remembrance. He also related the following\ntraditional\n\n\n STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.\n\nThis damsel was an illegitimate daughter of the last Cardew of Boskenna,\nand, (according to a very general custom which prevailed in the West)\nthis love-child was bound a parish 'prentice to her father that he might\nbe legally entitled to some degree of guardianship over his\nirregularly-begotten offspring. Children thus bound to their fathers\nwere mostly regarded as a sort of poor cousins to the legitimate members\nof the family, and they were often taught a trade or handicraft, or\nportioned off with some small tenement. Nelly's spendthrift father,\nhowever, was a most unsuitable guardian for a young girl. He paid much\nmore regard to his dogs and hunters than to his daughter, who, by all\naccounts, was very remarkable for her good looks and devil-may-care\ndisposition. The Squire's mother did all an old dame could do to\nrestrain her wild tendencies, and give her a little more gentle breeding\nthan was thought requisite for an ordinary servant. Dancing was one of\nthe accomplishments in which Nelly took most delight, and Madam was\nrejoiced to find that her damsel was soon the best dancer in Burian.\nHowever hard Nell might have worked during the day, she thought nothing\nof going three or four miles of an evening, in any kind of weather, to\nenjoy her favourite diversion at some village merry-making. She never\nmissed Burian Fair, which was then regarded by our western lads and\nmaidens as the most joyful holiday of the spring.\n\nWhen Nelly had become a young woman it happened that one Burian\nFair-day the weather was even more tempestuous than usual, though the\nstorms of Burian Fair are proverbial. Madam Cardew had made up her mind\nthat Nelly should remain at home that stormy night, but she protested\nthat neither rain nor wind, thunder nor lightning, nor all the old women\nin Burian, should hinder her going to Church-town and dancing at the\nFair, which only came once a year; and she swore that a reel she would\nhave, before that night was passed, even if she danced with Old Nick.\n\"She would never be married,\" she often said, \"unless she could meet\nwith a man who was able to dance her down; and she would find one that\nnight or the Devil might take her.\" Off she went in a storm of wind,\nrain, and thunder, blaspheming and reviling the old lady, who tried to\nkeep her home. Arrived in Church-town, Nelly found dancing going on in\nevery room of the public-house; and violin, fife, or tambourine making\nmusic for the revellers in many other dwellings. Nell entered the\nprincipal room of the inn; and before she cast off her cloak and wrung\nthe rain from her long black hair, many youngsters asked her to drink\nand dance with them, but she refused them all, saying they couldn't keep\nthe floor half so long as herself--she would either get some better\npartner or not have a jig for that night.\n\nWhilst she was declining the offers of her rustic suitors, two\ndark-complexioned, strapping sailors entered, and one of them, dressed\nin dashing style, with gold lace on his coat, broad leather belt round\nhis waist, cutlass by his side, and glossy boots reaching to his knees,\nadvanced to Nelly, doffed his hat, bowed, and said, \"Pray dance with me,\nmy fair pretty maid?\" \"With all my heart, sir,\" she replied, rising and\ngiving him her hand. Nelly's partner called to his comrade, \"Now pipe\naway, Bosun, and give us the good old tune.\" The seaman addressed as\nBosun took a pipe from his pocket, marched round the couple prepared to\ndance, saying \"A floor, a floor, for the lovely Nell and our gallant\nCapt. Black.\" The piper blew at first a rather slow measure, to which\nthe captain's heel and toe, true as an echo, showed a new step at every\nchange of pass and pitch. By slow degrees the tune became quicker till\nit was such as Nelly never moved her feet to before. The lively music\nsoon drew such a crowd into the room to see the dancers, that the floor\nbeams warped and showed signs of breaking. Then, as the storm lulled and\na full moon shone bright, the dancers, followed by all the rest, left\nthe house for an open space below the cross. Now every one wanted to\ntreat the seamen, and they drank as much as they could, to show their\ngood fellowship with every one, and Captain Black, giving a purse of\ngold to the landlady, desired her to send out her best cordials for the\nwomen kind, and to keep her beer-cocks running, that all might drink\nhealth to him and the lovely Nell.\n\nWhen one and all had drunk as much as they liked, the Bosun's pipe\nagain rung out so loud and clear that his music was heard for miles\naway. The Captain, Nelly, and scores of others again danced in joyous\nstyle. People from all parts flocked round them; every house in\nChurch-town was soon empty. Old men and women hobbled and danced on\ntheir crutches; the piper's lively strains set every one in motion, till\nthe road was covered with dancers, capering like mad folks, all the way\nfrom Park-an-cady to the cross and around the churchyard. Soon after\nmidnight, however, whilst their mirth was at its height, there suddenly\ncame on a more violent storm than ever of wind, hail, and thunder. The\nsky, black as pitch one moment, was all ablaze the next. Streams of\nlightning fell and ran hissing along the ground. All were terror-struck\nwith the sudden rise of this awful weather. Yet, in the general\nconsternation, some one had the happy thought to ring the bells, that\ntheir sound might allay the weather, and drive away the evil spirits who\nrode on the tempest. With the first stroke of the big bell the\nthunder-clouds rolled away to the eastward, and at the same instant\nCaptain Black vanished with Nelly and the piper.\n\nThis terrific storm, joined with the sudden disappearance of Nelly and\nthe dark looking strangers, so frightened many that they fell down in\nfits, and others, from the same cause, were never right in their heads\nagain.\n\nOn a tract of uncultivated land north of Boskenna lane, there was then a\nbarn, which usually contained a quantity of dry food for the cattle\nwintered on the downs. This barn, then full of straw and hay, was burned\nto the ground that Fair-night, and near its ruins were found a\nhandkerchief, full of fairings, with some other things which belonged to\nNell, but all search for the wilful damsel was in vain. Most people\nbelieved that Captain Black was the Old One, disguised as a seaman, and\nthe Bosun some inferior devil in attendance--that Nell, by her\nblasphemous language, had brought them from below, whither they had now\ntaken her to dance as best she might. Squire Cardew, being less\nsuperstitious than many of his neighbours, conjectured that the strange\ndancer and piper were nothing worse than two jovial sailors, who had\ncarried her off to their ship--an occurrence far from unusual in these\ntimes; and in hopes of gaining some tidings of his stolen or strayed\ndaughter, he rode into Penzance and over to Market-jew, to make\nenquiries; but he could learn nothing of her. Some said, however, that a\nstrange craft had anchored in Guavas Lake, the Fair-day, and that part\nof her crew had landed in Newlyn, but nothing farther was known of them,\nas the ship made sail the next morning.\n\nNelly's gay songs were missed in Boskenna hall, where she often sung for\nhours, to cheer the old lady when they were together plying their\nspinning-wheels, or seated in the window, lighted with the evening sun,\nat their embroidery. Then, at night, she used to be foremost in the\ndance with her father and his roystering companions of the chase.\n\nGrief for the strange fate of Nelly shortened the days of old Madam\nCardew, who was soon at rest in Burian churchyard, and the Squire took\nto hunting, drinking, and rioting worse than ever.\n\nTwenty years and more passed; Nelly and the Cardews were all but\nforgotten; new people possessed their ancient domain; none of their kin\nremained in the West, but an old well-to-do yeoman and his family, who\nresided at Sennen.\n\nOne dreary afternoon there was a very humble funeral at Burian Church,\nand the last Cardew of Boskenna was laid beside the dust of his\nforefathers. Soon after candlelighting on that day, whilst some few who\ncame to see the last of the spendthrift, who had lavished his property\nupon them, were still drinking in the public house, there entered,\ndripping wet, and weary, an elderly foreign-looking woman, whose dress\nof rich stuff and of outlandish make, was travel-stained and much the\nworse for wear. The large hooped-shaped rings in her ears, joined with\nher dark complexion and long braids of black hair wound around her head,\nonly covered with the hood of her scarlet mantle, made her appearance\nstill more remarkable.\n\nThe stranger enquired if Betty Trenoweth, who many years ago lived in\nBoskenna, was still alive. She was answered that Betty was alive and\nwell, and lived no farther off than a minute's walk would take her, in a\ncomfortable dwelling of her own, over Trevorgans side of Church-town.\nWithout giving any one the chance to question her as to who she was, or\nwhence she came, the outlandish-looking dame proceeded to Betty\nTrenoweth's cottage. The elderly woman, who opened her door, asked the\nstranger in and placed her to sit by her fireside, wondering who she\ncould be and what she could want of her, at that time of night. The\nstranger in a broken voice and speaking in an unfamiliar tongue, made\nmany enquiries about the Cardews, and appeared to think they were all\nstill living in Boskenna.\n\nBetty informed her that none of the name were then in the place--that\nher old mistress had long been dead, and the young master was that day\nburied, having lost all his lands, she couldn't tell how, and the new\npeople had, for years, only kept him there in a condition little better\nthan that of a servant to hunt the same dogs which were his own a short\ntime ago. \"But who can you be,\" she continued, \"not to know anything\nabout them now; yet, from what you say, you must have known them all\nlong ago? Oh! if I could but believe that dear Nelly were still alive,\nfrom the sound of your voice, so like the tones of the one laid in his\ngrave to-day, I would say that you were she; and if you are, I have kept\neverything that belonged to ye, and what was found on the morning after\nthe Downs barn was burnt is now in my chest.\"\n\n\"My dear old friend,\" the stranger replied, \"I'm your Nelly. The night I\nlost that handkerchief I found my husband, but we must have some rest\nbefore I can tell ye our history.\"\n\nDame Trenoweth showed her delight at again beholding Nelly, by\npreparing her a good supper and a comfortable bed. In the morning Nelly\nrose refreshed, and knowing the old woman wished to hear how she had\nfared since they danced together at Burian Fair, commenced by asking,\n\"Did it never come into your head to think who the dark seaman could be?\nYou had often seen the one, whom many took for Old Nick, dance with me\nin Boskenna hall, when he, and scores of others, came to Feast. He had\nto leave the country, because a person he beat in fair fight died from\nthe effects of his lusty blows, three years, or so, before that Burian\nFair; and the Bosun, too, was a lad you very well knew.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" exclaimed Betty, \"now I see it all: the one that took you off was\nyoung Billy Brea, and his comrade was his cousin Bosvargus, of\nKelynack.\"\n\n\"You have rightly guessed,\" Nelly replied.\n\n\"Hundreds of times,\" Betty continued to say, \"old mistress and I have\nwondered what was become of the wild youngster who was so fond of you,\neven when a young girl working your sampler; and he, foremost in the\nhunt or fight, always said he'd have no other wife than the lovely\nlittle Nell. And old Madam would often say that, though he might be as\npoor as poor might be, yet was he come of the gentle blood of the Breas\nof Brea, who at one time were as rich and high as any in the West\nCountry; and their old mansion, with the chapel turned into a barn by\nthose who now occupy their estate, and their chapel on the hill of Brea,\nstill show how grand they once were! I remember, too, the many good\noffers you had from rich farmers' sons around, and wondered how you\nrefused them all.\"\n\nWhen the old dame had somewhat recovered from her surprise, Nelly told\nher, that, young and thoughtless as she was, until Brea, to avoid\ntrouble to his family, escaped with great haste and secrecy, she had no\nnotion how deep was her love for the unfortunate youngster, and that he,\nunknown to every one but herself, had been for many days and nights in\nBoskenna or Treviddern cliff, before Bosvargus found a merchant-ship, in\nwhich they both left on a long voyage. Nelly knew if all went right,\nwhen they might be expected to return; and Brea promised her that,\nwhenever he came on shore, he'd take no rest till he met her again in\nthe old chapel of St. Loy, where many a long and dreary night she had\nwatched and prayed for his safe return, and often of an evening, or a\nwinter's night, when the inmates of Boskenna thought her in bed, or\nmiles away at some merry-making, she was wandering the cliffs, or\nwaiting in the cairns near by, in hope of meeting with her absent lover.\nYet she had only the chance to see him at long intervals, and then only\nfor a short time.\n\nFour or five years after Brea went to sea, he became captain of a ship.\nThen he proposed to take Nelly with him as his bride, and she, being\nnothing loath, they met at St. Loy, one night, a little before the Fair,\nand agreed that, at the Fair, a dance together they would have, and that\nshould be their bridal night. He was so altered, as well as his comrade,\nthe Bosun, that no person but Nelly knew them, and, if they did, no one\nwould betray him, or turn informer.\n\nWhen Nelly had come thus far in the history of her courtship, Betty\nsaid, \"Now, my darling, one can understand how, in spite of wind and\nrain, you were so eager to go to Fair that night; and, faith, I'd go\nthrough fire and water for the man I loved when at the mad age you were\nthen. One can see how drink, given without stint, by the open-hearted\nsailor, together with the music of the Bosun's pipe, set every one\ndancing in spite of themselves. Then, when the storm so suddenly came,\nand as suddenly broke, and you vanished in the midst of thunder and\nlightning, with Brea and his Bosun, everyone believed you were carried\noff by the Devil, and it's thought so still. But tell me what next\nbecame of ye?\"\n\nNelly then related, how when the storm was at its height, Brea took her\non towards Boskenna. They intended to see old Madam, say farewell, and\ntake a horse from the stable to help them on their road; but, long\nbefore they came to Boskenna gate, with hard weather, drinking, and\ndancing, Nelly was unable to stand. Then Billy Brea took her up in his\narms, and bore her along till they came to the Downs barn, where she\nfell on the straw half dead. Brea remembered every hole and corner about\nthe place, and knew that a tinder-box, with candle and lanthorn, used to\nbe kept in the barn that one might have light in winters' mornings to\nbundle up straw or hay for the cattle, and, being anxious to reach his\nship early in the morning, wanting to know the time, and not being over\nsteady in the head, when he struck a light and saw by his watch that\nthere was still some hours to daybreak, he, neglecting to put out the\ncandle, fell asleep and only woke to find the place on fire. He drew\nNelly from the burning barn, and they hurried on to Mousehole, where\nthey found the Bosun and boat's crew waiting for them.\n\n\"And have ye been lawfully married, my darling?\" asked the old dame.\n\"Indeed we have,\" answered Nelly, \"not that I cared much about the\nceremony; for to me his love was all in all, and from that moment I felt\nsure of his truth and affection I regarded him as my husband and freely\ngave him all that love requires. Yet as we were near a port when I was\nabout to become a mother, my husband proposed we should go through the\nlegal form which would entitle our children to bear their father's\nfamily name, if they chose; so one may say they are, at least, all truly\nborn. But that was of little consequence, because he was no more known\nby the name of Brea.\"\n\nCaptain Black, as we shall henceforth call Nelly's husband, offered her\na home either on land or on board. She decided to make her abode in his\ngallant ship; the Captain was pleased with her choice, and she not to be\nencumbered with an inconvenient dress for such a life, rigged herself in\nman's attire, and soon learned to do the duty of an able seaman. To act\nas cook and steward on board ship soon became as natural to her as the\ncare of Boskenna mansion. Besides this, Nelly learned to keep the ship's\nreckoning and navigation so well, that often, when the Captain was laid\nlow with wounds or fever, she took his place, and by that means saved\nthe ship and ship's company.\n\nDuring many years they traded from London to distant ports in various\nparts of the globe, without any serious mishap; but, on a return voyage\nfrom the Levant, a Barbary corsair gave chase and overtook them. At that\ntime these sea-robbers seldom levied what they were pleased to call dues\nfor coming into, or crossing, their waters, from any English ships, but\noften from a motive of revenge as much as for gain, confined their\nattention to Spanish and French vessels. This Levantine gang, however,\nattempted to board and take the _Buck_, and many of them were cut down\nby her crew, as they came up the side, before they gave over and made\noff. In this encounter Captain Black, Nelly, and several of the crew\nwere badly wounded. This maddened the Captain, and he swore to serve out\nthese cursed pirates if his crew would join him. Nell and all the ship's\ncompany, being as eager for revenge as their Captain, and hoping by this\nneck-or-nothing game to acquire riches quickly, as soon as their cargo\nwas disposed of, the Captain having saved a large sum, procured a\nsuitable craft for privateering which he called the _Lovely Nell_, and\nwhen she was well armed and victualled, they made sail for the Levantine\nseas, where, in a short time, they captured several rich prizes, and,\namong others, the galleon which was the cause of their becoming\nprivateers. On this crew they took ample revenge.\n\nNelly, and all the ship's company, liking the excitement of this wild\nlife, and not being over-scrupulous as to the means of getting rich, no\nsooner neared the Cornish coast that the Captain, Nelly, Bosvargus, and\nsome few others, put ashore, in a boat, at Goonwalla Cove, and buried a\nquantity of gold in some secret nooks of the cliff. The _Lovely Nell_\nthen took her course for the sea-rovers' rendezvous in the West Indies.\n\nThere, many years were passed in buccaneering expeditions to plunder\nthe French and Spanish Settlements, until they had amassed a great\nquantity of treasure in money and jewels, taken in pillage and for the\nransom of prisoners. Nelly said that, for many years, she much enjoyed\nthis roving life. During that time several children were born. And all\nwho lived were boys, who soon became expert sailors, and, after serving\ntheir apprenticeship with their dad, all but the oldest and youngest had\nthen left for other vessels.\n\nAbout a year before the time Nelly returned to Burian, she, with her\nhusband and most of the crew, thinking they were rich enough, wished to\ngive up this roving life, and decided to settle down in their native\nland. They disintered the riches they had buried in various uninhabited\nislands and keys, which were only frequented by such as themselves. The\nchests of dollars, bars of silver, ingots of gold, ornaments, jewels,\nand rare gems, which belonged to the Captain's share alone, were worth\nmore than would purchase half-a-dozen such estates as Boskenna, and the\ndearest wish of her heart was that they might return in time to free\nthat place for her father.\n\nThey were many months collecting all their riches. They then set sail\nfrom the western main, and arrived with fair weather in sight of the\nCornish coast. The wind being light and sea smooth they kept close in\nshore for the pleasure of gazing on the well-remembered carns and coves.\n\nMore than a week before they sighted land, Nelly was seized with a most\nintense desire to be put ashore at some cove near the Land's End, and,\nwhen they beheld the well-known landmark of Burian Tower, saw Castle\nTrereen, passed Penberth, St. Loy, and Lamorna Coves, her longing to\nland and see her father was such that she could neither eat nor sleep;\nand this was about the time he breathed his last.\n\nShe begged to be landed in Mount's Bay, but her husband, wishing her to\nremain on board till their vessel should be disposed of and their riches\nturned into English money, they passed the Lizard, when, to save her\nfrom going mad, she was put ashore at Falmouth. Thence she was brought\non horseback to Market-jew, and walked from that place to Burian. Her\nhusband agreed, should the weather permit, to return to Mount's Bay, and\nthere cruise about until she might be ready to proceed along with him,\nwhen, as was arranged, she would be taken on board from Mousehole or the\nMount. This is the substance of what Nelly related to her old friend, of\nher adventures up to that night; and when Dame Trenoweth told her how\nall the Cardews were dead and gone from Boskenna, she no longer desired\nto see the old mansion, but heartily wished herself again on the ocean\nwith the one for whom she had left her native land and weathered the\nstorms of more than twenty years; she endeavoured to cheer herself with\nthe hope that, ere many days, she would again behold the _Lovely Nell_,\nsailing, in all her pride of flowing sails, and, walking the\nquarter-deck, her husband, near enough to be hailed from Reginnis Cliff.\n\nThe second day after Nelly's return to Burian, she became anxious to\nrejoin her husband, as she knew the wind had been favourable for him to\nbeat back to Mount's Bay. It had been arranged that he should cruise\nabout near the coast for a day or two, or until she might give him a\nsignal, from Paul Cliff, to send a boat ashore for her at Mousehole. The\nfollowing morning Nelly rose by break of day, dressed herself in a suit\nof seaman's clothes which she had brought with her, left her discarded\nwoman's dress, and a good sum of money, with Dame Trenoweth, and wished\nher good-bye, saying that she hoped to see her again ere long, when she\nand her husband would settle down in the West, to end their days in\npeace.\n\nBefore sunrise, Nelly stood on the high headland west of Mousehole,\nstraining her vision in a vain endeavour to pierce the clouds of mist\nwhich rolled over the water and hid both sea and shore. She could hear\nthe fishermen's voices and the sound of oars rattling in the row-locks;\nbut, only at the distance of a stone's cast, land, sea, and sky, were\nall shrouded in fog. A few hours later the mist cleared away. She saw\nboats returning from the fishing-ground, and a good many vessels passing\nacross the Bay, but no craft that could be taken for her husband's ship.\n\nTired with watching, from the cliff, the ships as they sailed past, she\ndescended to Mousehole to make enquiries there, if any vessel like the\n_Lovely Nell_ had been seen on the coast. She met with no person until\nnear Squire Keigwin's mansion, and there, near the balcony, were\ncollected a number of people around a pile of such things as are usually\nfound loose on a ship's deck. Nelly joined the crowd, who told her that\nthe water-casks, hatches, buckets, spars, and other articles she saw\nbefore her had, that morning, been found floating near Lamorna Cove; and\neverybody thought that a ship, which was seen cruising near the shore,\nthe night before, must have struck on some dangerous rocks west of\nLamorna, sprung a leak, and foundered in deep water, with all hands on\nboard. Nelly, hearing this, rushed through the crowd, examined the\nwreck, and there saw many well-remembered articles belonging to her\nhusband's ship. Whether Nelly cried, fainted, or gave any other natural\nexpression to her grief, we don't know. Without discovering herself,\nhowever, to the people of Mousehole, she remained there all day, hoping\nto hear something farther from others who had gone out in search of\nanything which might be floating near the place where it was supposed\nthe vessel must have sunk; but nothing more was learnt of the disaster.\nSome fishermen, however, said that when the mist cleared away they saw a\nboat far out to sea, but that they concluded it to be a smuggling craft\nbound for France.\n\nLate at night Nelly returned crushed with grief, to her old friend who\ndid all she could to console her, and time, which alleviates all\nsorrows, at last brought relief to the bereaved woman. Then she assisted\nthe old dame in her household work and in carding and spinning--more\nbecause constant exercise made her think less of her loss than from any\nnecessity for exertion to gain a livelihood. She had brought with her a\ngood sum of money, intended to pay off the incumbrances of her father's\nestate (in these times a small amount of gold would buy a large extent\nof land). She had many valuable jewels besides. An Betty was also well\noff. Having seen the last of Madam Cardew, the old servant had from her\nson many valuable dresses and old heirlooms of the family, saved,\nbetween them, from the clutches of those who got the besotted Squire\ninto their power, and, long before he died, this old servant of the\nfamily was the only one in the wide world to care for him, or who showed\nhim any kindness. Nelly, on her mother's side, being a near relation to\nDame Trenoweth, she regarded the poor wanderer as her own daughter. When\nseveral months had passed a circumstance occurred which gave Nelly just\nthat uncertain glimmer of Hope against Reason, which is more grievous to\nbear than the certainty of evil.\n\nA sealed bottle was found in Mount's Bay, containing a paper on which\nCaptain Black's name, and those of several others, were written. It was\ndirected to \"Nelly Wearne, Boskenna;\" and the news came to her through\nthe gossip of the village. The paper was lost or destroyed without\nreaching her, because everyone thought that she was an inhabitant of a\nwarmer region.\n\nAn Betty one day said to Nelly, \"'Tis as good as a play, my dear, to see\nhow all the old women of Church-town try to discover who and what you\nare, and they can't find out, because, for the fun of the thing, I take\ngood care to fool them.\" Seeing that Nelly roused herself and took some\ninterest in her talk, she continued,\n\n\"They are mad to know how you are never to be seen anywhere\nout-of-doors, except down in the cliffs, early in a morning or late of\nmoonlight nights.\"\n\n\"Well, and what did you answer to that?\" Nelly asked.\n\n\"To puzzle them the more,\" said Betty, \"I told the curious, prying\nfools, that you were a Wise Woman come from the East--that you ramble\nover cliffs and moors to gather herbs, whilst the morning dew is on\nthem, or when the moon is near the full--that no one can beat you in\nmaking from them, ointments, salves, and still-waters--that you\nunderstand all sorts of complaints and can cure anything, from the\ngripes to the palsy. And now all the young wenches in the parish want to\nknow if you can read fortunes; they think you can because you look like\na gipsey, so they say. 'Why yes to be sure; nobody better,' I told them.\nNow listen to me,\" Betty went on to say, when she had recovered her\nbreath, \"I've made them believe that you can read the stars--that you\nknow all that will happen to any body by the lines of their palms--that\nyou can tell, by means of rushes, spring water, and ivy leaves, and\nscores of ways besides, who are to be married, as well as who are to die\nunblessed with a husband. And to everything they asked about your\nknowledge of white witchcraft, I assured them that you knew more about\nmagic, conjuration, and so forth, than the Witch of Endor that we have\nall heard of.\"\n\n\"My dear old friend,\" says Nelly, \"how could 'e go on so. I know no more\nabout fortune-telling than you do--perhaps not so much, as you're a\nnoted hand for charming.\"\n\n\"No matter for that,\" answered An Betty, \"You know everything remarkable\nthat ever happened in the families round up to the last twenty years or\nso, and what you don't know I can tell 'e. When they find that you're\nacquainted with what's past they are sure to believe that you can read\nthem the future. Besides, this game will serve to divert your thoughts\nfrom ever dwelling on Billy Brea, or Captain Black, if you have a mind\nto call him so.\"\n\n\"I don't much mind trying, but how shall I manage to know who they are?\"\n\n\"You keep in the hale,\" (best room) Betty replied, \"and, before they see\nyou, I'll come in and tell 'e who they are; then, when they enter to\nconsult 'e, be sure, first of all, to give a hint at some scandal that\nmade a noise about their families, no matter how long ago; everything\nbad is remembered for ages after the good is forgotten. Then promise the\nyoung lasses any number of sweethearts and a speedy marriage. You know\nwhat you used to wish for in your teens.\"\n\nIn spite of her grief, Nelly, to please the old dame, soon became\nwidely known as the wise woman, or white witch, of Burian Church-town.\nShe read the fortunes of young and old, much to their satisfaction and\nher own gain. Those who could'nt pay in cash paid in kind. The greatest\ntrouble she had was with the sedate, plain, and sour elderly females,\nwho were all but past hope. They would come, and come again, mad to know\nif they were ever to be blessed with a husband. By the old woman's\nadvice, Nelly gave them dubious answers and advice for wheedling old\nhoary-heads and hobble-de-hoys, as they were easiest snared. 'Tis said\nsome were supplied with love-powders, made from the bulbs of plants\ncommonly called Adam and Eve, and that others were furnished with\ncompounds for more questionable purposes. In a little while Nelly became\nfamous for match-making. Her outlandish dress and the strange speech\nwhich she affected, made the simple folks, who had never been out of the\nsmoke of their chimnies, think she must have been born and bred in\nEgypt, or in some other foreign land of which they had heard.\n\nSometimes, when at a loss to find a suitable response to the wishes or\nfears of her visitors, she would burst out with long, unintelligible\nwords, as if forgetting herself, and end by saying, \"Oh! my dears, know\nthat, far away as I am from my native land, I often think that I am\nspeaking to my cousins, the maidens of Jericho; all the tongues of\neastern countries are easier for me than your Cornish speech.\" At other\ntimes she would entertain them with stories of what she had learned from\nan uncle in Babylon. Besides carrying on these profitable trades of\nsoothsaying, charming, and deviltry, Nelly and Dame Trenoweth made and\nsold ointments that were in great demand for the cure of various skin\ndiseases, which were more common in those times (when much salt meat was\nused all the year round) than the same class of distempers are at the\npresent day. The way in which these ointments, salves, or unguents were\nprepared, was by seething in lard elder-flowers, betony, and other\nhealing or drying herbs, cut fine, until their medical virtues were\nextracted; then the ointment was carefully strained from the herbs and\nready for use. As a remedy for a troublesome distemper, now seldom heard\nof, they made an ointment from Skaw-dower, the English of the name is\nwater-elder, (the _Scrophularia_:) sulphur was mixed with this unguent\nfor the disease alluded to. Another noted preparation of this time was a\ngolden-coloured salve, made from purified lard and celandine juice; this\nwas much esteemed as a remedy for obscured sight. Our wise-women also\ndistilled elder-flowers, eye-bright, and other cooling herbs for\neye-waters.\n\nNelly and her aged friend had acquired much useful knowledge about the\nvirtues of plants from Madam Cardew, who, like many other ladies of the\nWest Country, at that time, prepared from simples, many useful medicines\nwith which they supplied their poorer neighbours, and such was Nelly's\nfame as a skilful doctoress, that, before a year was gone, gentle and\nsimple came from a great distance to consult her for her medicines. Her\npreparations might have possessed medical virtues which need not be\ndespised even in these enlightened times. Though the faculty make a jest\nof old women's nostrums, yet in our great-grandmother's time, the uses\nand natures of various plants were much better understood by country\nladies than they are at the present day; because those who are esteemed\naccomplished botanists pay more attention to the classification and\nnomenclature of plants than to their usefulness. In this kind of life,\nNelly passed her time--seemingly tranquil. Knowing that any expression\nof gloomy feeling only makes it take the deeper root, she showed no\noutward signs of sorrow. Yet she was for ever grieving over the untimely\nfate of the lost ones; and, when alone with her old friend, she would\noften say that, in spite of all she could do to forget, her heart was\never with her husband and children at the bottom of the deep. However\nskilful the poor woman might have been in reading others' fortunes, she\nlittle knew what fate had in store for her.\n\nOne Autumn evening, about three years after Nelly returned, she was\nalone with her old friend relating some adventures of her seafaring\nlife. As usual, her husband's reckless courage and bravery was the theme\nof her discourse. A knock was heard at the open door. Dame Trenoweth\nrose and saw, standing on the door-sill, a stout, dark man, who asked if\nany one lived there who could read his fortune? Nelly knew the voice,\nsprung to the door, and was clasped in her husband's arms.\n\n\"Whatever has happened,\" said Nelly, \"thank the Powers, you are safe.\nBut tell me where are my sons?\" \"Here's one of them,\" said a lusty young\nfellow, stepping into the doorway, from having stood on one side fearing\nthe fortune-teller wouldn't turn out to be his mother, \"and my eldest\nbrother is on board our good ship anchored in Guavas Lake, which we left\na few hours since.\"\n\nThe Captain then related how he had come to Boskenna, expecting still to\nfind some of the Cardews there, and Nelly with them. He found none but\nstrangers, who told him that the Cardews were all dead and their clothes\nwashed--that Nelly Wearne had never been heard of since she was carried\naway by the Old One, as every body believed.\n\nThey came on to Church-town and enquired at the inn if a strange woman\nhad come to the parish about three years since, and were told that a\ngipsey fortune-teller, who lived with Betty Trenoweth, came there about\nthat time.\n\nBefore going to rest Captain Black related how, on the foggy morning,\nwhen he hoped to take Nelly on board, by a mistake in reckoning, he kept\ntoo near the shore, and their ship struck on a rock west of Lamorna. As\nthe ship leaked but little at first, they hoped she had only sustained\nslight damage. They tacked off the coast, still shrouded in dense fog,\nand intended to bring her into Mousehole or Penzance; but, in an hour or\nso, the water poured in so fast that they had barely time to launch a\nboat and place in it a small part of their riches, when the _Lovely\nNell_ went to the bottom, with several of the crew in her hold. The\nCaptain told all hands to let the jewels, gold, and silver go to Davy\nJones's locker, but some of them, disregarding his orders, went below\nand were endeavouring to save a part of their riches when the ship sunk,\nand he being the only one then on deck swam off and reached the boat.\nThey remained an hour or more, beating about where the ship went down,\nin hopes that some of the submerged crew might escape from the hold and\nrise to the surface. The fog still hid the shore, so that they knew not\non which side of the coast they lay, and, before they had time to think\nmuch of their loss, or to form any plans for the future, a ship, with\nsails and rigging all out of order, loomed in the mist, within speaking\ndistance.\n\nThere was not a soul to be seen on the dirty-looking craft. Black hailed\nher with the usual questions. No response. They were about to board her\nand hailed again, when a man rambled to the gangway and, in a drunken\nvoice, answered \"Here I am: this ship is the _Red Rover_.\" To the\nquestions where bound, &c., he replied \"We are from the Seas; we want to\nget to Madagascar; can't 'e tell us the way, mate, and where we are now?\nwe ought to be near there by this time I should think, and seeming to me\nI have heard your voice before now, but can't call 'e by name, who are\n'e an? and where do 'e hail from when you are home?\"\n\nOn getting nearer, Captain Black perceived that the one who spoke to him\nwas a St. Just man, who had sailed with him many years--a good fellow,\nand a first-rate seaman when sober, but he was so seldom capable of\nperforming his duty, that the Captain, to be rid of him, and others of\nthe crew equally fond of rum, had, a year or so ago, left them the good\nship in which they sailed; but now from neglect, those who built the\nstrong and swift-sailing craft wouldn't know her.\n\n\"Oh; I know 'e now,\" said the St. Just man, after he had stared at\nCaptain Black awhile. \"You are our old commander, and I am brave (very)\nand glad to find 'e; and where have 'e left your ship, the _Lovely\nNell_?\"\n\nBlack inquired for their captain and quarter-master.\n\n\"I'm cappen to-day,\" he of the _Red Rover_ replied, \"we are all\ncommanders in turn when we arn't too drunk, like all the rest of us are\nnow. As for quarter-master, we haven't wanted any yet to share the\nprizes; but we want a captain who can keep the reckoning, and you shall\ntake charge of the ship with all my heart, if you will.\"\n\nWith the St. Just man's full consent, Black and the remnant of his\nship's company, among whom were his two sons, took possession of the\n_Red Rover_ which, for strength and swiftness, was almost equal to his\nformer craft. Before the drunken crew came to their senses all the arms\nand ammunition were secured in the cabin. Then, over a bowl of punch,\nBlack was elected Captain; a quarter-master was chosen, as was usual\nwith these hardy seamen; and they had a carpenter among them who always\nperformed the surgical operation: in case of need he would take the\nwounded limb under his arm, and, with his big saw, separate it from the\nbody of his patient, with as much ease and as quickly as he could have\ncut a spar in two, and with his red-hot axe cauterize the wound.\n\nRules were drawn up, agreeably to the sea-rover's code, and sworn to on\nan axe--the _Rover's_ old crew consenting to all Captain Black required\non the condition that there should be no stint of rum.\n\nNow a few days after this, whilst the old and new hands were working in\ncompany, clearing the deck of all lumber, that they might have a fair\nstage for fighting and otherwise getting things into ship-shape, it\nleaked out and was known to the Captain that, only a few months since,\nthe _Rover's_ former crew had chosen a commander and officers who knew\nsomething of navigation, but when the crew was augmented by half a score\ndesperadoes from the lawless multitude swarming about the islands, these\nofficers, for trying to check the riotous proceedings of their ship's\ncompany, got themselves marooned; that is, they were put ashore on an\nuninhabited island, that they might take their chance to die or live. As\nthese deserted men were the only ones on board who had any notion of\nkeeping a ship's reckoning, the drunken crew, who took possession, when\nfound in Mount's Bay, had a very vague idea as to what part of the world\nthey were sailing in, and they had, by fits and starts, a week or so\npast, given chase to the _Lovely Nell_, thinking her to be some richly\nladen merchant-man. She and her crew had been altered in her rig, and\notherwise, so as to pass for a ship pursuing an honest vocation. Some of\nthe marooned men were well known to Captain Black and esteemed by him to\nbe worthy fellows, as pirates go, and as brave men and true--for\ngentlemen of their profession. Without enlightening his crew as to their\ndestination, he made sail for the desolate island, and by the time they\nhad their guns, pistols, and cutlasses clean and fit for service they\narrived at the place of exile only just in time to save the deserted men\nfrom starving in the midst of plenty; all for want of a tinder-box, or\nany other means of kindling a fire. The rescued men told Captain Black\nand the sober portion of his ship's company, that they would repay them\nfor their deliverance with something more substantial than words. The\nfact was that in wandering over and round the island in search of water,\nyams, roots and fruits, or whatever would contribute to sustain life,\nthey had discovered an immense quantity of buried treasures, probably\nthe concealed spoil of former pirates, which were taken on board to be\nshared among all but those who marooned them. The drunken mutineers,\nwhen their former officers were brought on board, were sent on shore\nwith a tipsey fiddler to take their places.\n\nAmong the rescued Captain Black found one of his own sons. This did not\nsurprise him, as he had left his father's ship many years ago, that he\nmight enjoy more liberty elsewhere; but it accounted for the silence of\nthe crew. It was only in their drunken bouts that an intimation of the\noccurrence escaped, on which the Captain acted.\n\nSome provisions, a tinder-box, and materials for striking fire, were\nleft with the sailors on the island. The rescued officers soon recovered\ntheir strength, and, falling in with a strong and swift-sailing Spanish\nship, the _Rover_ gave chase, and captured the prize, which, as one\ncaptain was enough in a ship, was handed over to those delivered from\nthe island, who retained part of the crew and made the rest walk the\nplank.\n\nCaptain Black, with his share of the treasures found on the island, was\nas well off as ever he was for returning; but, as the greatest part of\nhis ship's company preferred to enjoy their free-and-easy life a few\nyears longer, they bore away to the Spanish Main, where they sometimes\nacted in concert with other buccaneers.\n\nNothing worthy of note is related of their adventures. One of their\npractical jokes was whenever the buccaneers took a priest in any of the\nSpanish settlements, they conveyed the sable gentleman on board, placed\nhim on all-fours, and rode him round the deck, or made him dance by\nsweating him with pricks of knives or forks, &c., as long as the fiddler\nor piper could play.\n\nIn about three years they had treasures to their hearts' content, and\nthose who chose to give up their adventurous career returned with\nCaptain Black. Best part of the night was passed by the returned Captain\nin relating his adventures to his wife and the old dame.\n\nEarly next morning three horses were procured, and Nelly, with her\nhusband and son, were on Newlyn beach by break of day.\n\nCaptain Black hailed the _Red Rover_. A boat, well manned, left the\nship and soon grounded on Newlyn beach. Then such a man as the Captain\nwas when he danced at Burian Fair, on his stormy bridal night, sprang\nfrom the boat and beat through the sea to meet his mother. With little\ndelay great store of money, jewels, rich stuffs, and other valuables\nwere landed and conveyed to Betty Trenoweth's dwelling. The _Red Rover_\nwith Nelly's eldest son appointed commander, proceeded on her voyage to\nLondon, that her valuable merchandise might there be disposed of. Now\nthe Captain and younger Black, by Nelly's earnest desire, consented at\nleast to try the landsman's peaceful life. They had more riches than\nwould suffice to purchase a good farm and enable them to live at their\nease. The son, too, seems to have had no great love for a sea-rover's\nprofession. Black leased, or purchased, a large old house at Trevorgans,\nwith about thirty acres of tillable land, and a great run of downs and\nmoors which, though they could not boast of much in the shape of game,\nwere well stocked with rabbits, and the moors, in winter, were resorted\nto by wild-fowl--a substitute for beasts of chase not to be despised\nwhen but little fresh meat could be had. Then hunting was pursued as\nmuch for necessity as for pastime. The younger Black took to farming\nkindly, for one who had only been used to plough the deep, and soon\nacquired a sufficient knowledge of the simple husbandry practised at\nthat time.\n\nWhen the only crops grown in fields were corn and pulse, green crops\nfor winter's consumption were unknown, and potatoes, just introduced,\nwere regarded as something more curious than useful, and to be\ncultivated in the gardens of rich folks only; just as Jerusalem\nartichokes, asparagus, sea-kale, salsify, beans, and many other useful\nplants, which ought to be grown in every farmer's field or garden, are\nstill neglected here. The bold Buccaneer, Black, was well received and\nmade much of by the neighbouring gentry, who, for the most part, were\nvery poor; yet they contrived to keep up a show of gentility on very\ninadequate means. Then in Burian parish alone, one might count seven or\neight gentlemen's seats, or, more correctly, what by courtesy were\ncalled such, which were inhabited by different branches of the Pendars,\nTresillians, Davieses, Jenkins, Harveys, Hutchenses, and others. The\nLevealises had become extinct, and the Noys, Boscawens, Vivians, &c.,\nhad shortly before then removed from their ancient homes to other parts\nof the country. Portions of their old mansions still remain in the\ncondition of dilapidated farm-houses in Trove, Trevider, Treveddern,\nPendrea, Baranhuel, Alsia, Tresidder, Rissic, &c. A country church was\nthen, (perhaps even more than it is now,) the principle stage on which\nthe rural gentry displayed their state and grandeur to admiring rustics.\nCaptain Black, not to be eclipsed, would appear in Burian Church on\nSundays and holidays dressed in crimson damask waistcoat and breeches,\nsilk hose, diamond knee and shoe-buckles, a red feather in his cocked\nhat, a gold chain round his neck with a diamond cross hung to it,\njewel-hilted sword, hanging by a silk sash at his side; his naval-blue\ncoat resplendent with gold buttons, lace, and other trappings proper to\nthe Buccaneer's costume. Nelly, decked out in rich velvets, lace, silks,\nsatins, and jewels which once belonged to dark-eyed senoras of Mexico or\nPeru, eclipsed all the ladies of the West Country.\n\nSuch a man as Captain Black, notwithstanding his former profession was\nnot a person to be treated with contempt at any time, and much less \"In\nthe days when we went a pirating, a long time ago.\" These gentlemen were\nlooked upon as heroic adventurers, who served the dons, by way of\nreprisal, no worse than they deserved. Because then, if an English,\nFrench, or Dutch ship put into a Spanish-American port she was likely to\nbe confiscated, and her crew kept prisoners, or treated no better than\nslaves, if they escaped with their lives, till dearly ransomed. We have\nlittle to do, however, with the morality of sea-highwaymen. Yet, if old\nstories may be credited, our brave Buccaneer Black soon became a greater\nfavourite with certain ladies of the parish than he was with their\nlovers and husbands.\n\nOne tale is often told of his adventures with a gay lady of the\nTresillian family, who then lived at Tresidder, and how a noted smuggler\ncalled Ackey Carn, one both landless and lawless, who cared for no man,\nbeing a rival for the gay dame's favour, by way of a jest spoke of\ncertain amatory passages which he had witnessed between the Captain and\nlady, whose powerful and proud relatives constrained Carn, under pain of\ntheir displeasure, to do penance in Burian Church for thus thoughtlessly\nexposing the scandal. But the culprit, who, according to custom, came\ninto church barefooted and clad in a sheet, instead of kneeling before\nthe priest or parson, to beg pardon, and otherwise express contrition,\nand receive the priestly reprimand with becoming humility, stood up in\nfront of the rud-locks (rood-loft,) turned his back to the priest and,\nfacing the congregation (crowded to behold the show) made the\nwell-remembered speech which begins:--\n\n \"Here am I, compelled by the law\n For to deny what my own eyes saw, &c.\"\n\nHere follows a minute relation, told in language more quaint than\nchoice, which was calculated to spread the scandal far and near. Then,\nthrowing off his sheet, he showed himself well armed and bade defiance\nto all priests, pirates, and Tresillians, this side of a disagreeably\nwarm place, as he would have said, if paraphrases of gentle words and\nequivocations had been the fashion then; however, he said he didn't care\na rap for any one before him, and he would fight them all one after the\nother.\n\nBlack took up the challenge as soon as given, and offered to fight him\nthere and then, any way he chose, either with arms or naked fists. Their\npartisans decided that they should fight unarmed. Black threw down his\nsword and would have fought in the church had there been a clear field\nfor their encounter. They passed through the hundreds who were assembled\nat a clear space or bowling-alley, below the cross. Ackey Carn, finding\nthat Black was too dexterious for him in the use of his fists, and that\nhe was getting the worst of it in boxing, turned the Captain over his\nhip and brought him down a fair back fall; and, as often as Black rose,\nthe smuggler laid him down at full length, yet always with the greatest\ncare not to harm the man who had often treated him like a prince. Carn\nonly wanted to convince the Captain that he was his match one way or\nanother in the art of self-defence. The two men having fought and\nwrestled till they were bruised black and blue, acquired the greatest\nrespect and admiration for each other's courage, fair play, and prowess;\nand they were taken at last into the public-house and, over a bowl of\npunch, the Buccaneer and smuggler Carn became sworn friends, which they\never remained until their day of doom, when they left this world\ntogether.\n\nNotwithstanding the favours of country ladies and gentlemen, Black soon\nbecame tired of what he was pleased to call a landlubber's lazy life.\nCaring little for hunting, and less for farming and other sports or\noccupations which make rural life glide pleasantly away, he passed much\nof his time in the public-house, surrounded by a gang of loafers who\ndrank at his expense and applauded his stories of savage warfare, told\nin such infernal language as is seldom heard except from the lips of\nsea-robbers. His greatest delight was to beat everyone in hard\ndrinking--no easy matter in those times. An old song of that jovial age\nthus describes what was deemed fair enebriation:--\n\n \"Not drunk is he who from the floor,\n Can rise alone, and still drink more!\n But drunk is he who prostrate lies,\n Without the power to drink or rise!\"\n\nAfter days and nights of drunken revelry, Black, in gloomy fits, would\noften wander down to the cleves and pass many days alone, in the carns\nand sawns of the sea-shore, or was only seen in company with the\nsmuggler Carn, who, from the Sunday when they fought for the honour, or\ndisgrace, of the fair lady, became the Captain's favourite companion.\nYet time hung heavy on the Captain's hands, and by way of a change, he\nhad built from his own designs, a strong, swift-sailing, half-decked\ncraft, which might serve for fishing and fetching liquors and other\ngoods from France. There was a high duty on salt then.\n\nWhen she was all rigged and ready for sea Captain Black took Carn for\nhis mate, and they, with a crew of such dare-devils as suited them, set\nsail one Friday morn in the Fall and shaped their course for Gunwallo,\nwhere they landed, dug up and shipped the treasures taken from the\nMoorish galley some five-and-twenty years before. Thence our\nfree-traders bore away for their usual trading port in Brittany. They\nsoon procured the goods they required, then passed several days drunk\nand rioting, and often fighting, with anyone they encountered, for mere\npastime. As smugglers spent abundance of money in the place, they were\nallowed to do much as they pleased. At last they made sail for home with\na fair breeze, which, however, soon died away; and, for several days,\nthere was scarcely a breath of wind. The sky continued overcast and the\nair sultry. During this heavy weather Black lay among the goods like one\nworn out, and scarcely spoke or moved. After a tiresome spell of beating\nabout and making but little progress, the wind freshened, and one\nevening, about night-fall, they sighted the Lizard. Then, suddenly,\nblack clouds gathered over-head, and a thunder-storm came on. With the\nfirst flash of lightning Black sprung up and said, \"Hoist all sail,\nboys, for by all the devils we'll get home this night.\" The crew wished\nto shorten sail or lay to till day-dawn, but the Captain's spirits rose\nwith the storm. He took the helm, and shaped his course in almost total\ndarkness, for Penberth Cove. The boat going before the wind, bounded\nover the waves like a thing of life; the crew expected every moment to\nbecome a wreck; they could only see the cliffs by the flashing\nlightning; when Black, as if sporting with their fears, cried out,\n\"Bravo, devils of the whirlwind, fire away, we will give ye a salute\nwith our thunder;\" then, giving the helm to Carn, he loaded and fired\ntheir swivel-gun, in answer to a cannonade from the clouds. The crew\nwere confounded by the blasphemous talk of their commander, who, amidst\nthe crash and roar of wind, waves, and thunder, seemed rejoicing in his\nnative element. Their terror was at the utmost when, amidst the awful\ntumult, he stood up and, tearing out a handful of hair, threw it away in\nthe blast, bellowing out, \"There, fellow devils, take that; stand by me\nnow, and I'll be with ye soon.\"\n\nThat instant the lightning burst out in such bright flashes over the\ncliffs, that rocks and carns were seen as plainly as at noon-day, and a\nsheet of flame hung over across the cove, from Pednsawnack to Cribba\nHead, till they ran safely in and the storm died away.\n\nWith the help of farmers' men and others, who had been several days and\nnights watching for the smugglers' return, the goods were soon landed,\ntaken up to a level spot above the capstan, and covered with a\ntarpauling. Then two or three kegs were broached, a fire made, and the\nsmugglers, with those who assisted them, sat round to enjoy the good\nliquor and other things.\n\nAt the height of their carousal the Captain drew the keg he sat on close\nbeside the pile of blazing wood. He had not long settled himself there\nto drink and smoke, when his breath appeared to be all ablaze and his\nbody in flames. His mate, Carn, threw himself on him, and swore he would\nsave his Captain or perish with him. And perish with him he did; for,\nbefore the rest of the company had power to hinder him, both the\ncommander and his mate were blazing like a bonfire. They neither spoke\nnor struggled. The others, in great terror at beholding their fearful\nend, went off, in all haste, to Treen, there remained till morning; then\nthey and many others went down to the Cove, and on the spot where the\ntwo men were burned, not a sign of them was to be seen: all their ashes,\neven, were blown away.\n\nNow, when folks came to think of Captain Black's strange career and\nstranger departure, many believed that he was either an evil spirit in\nhuman form or else a man possessed with a devil, and it remained\nundecided by the people of the West, whether he was man or demon, or a\ncompound of both. Yet, in all probability, this strange being was only\nmad at times, and his sudden exit, might have been a case of spontaneous\ncombustion, (if indeed, there be such a thing.) Many of those who in\nformer times were believed to be demoniacs, witches, or wizards, would,\nif they lived and played their pranks at the present day, be simply\nregarded as lunatics and most interesting cases for the medical student\nrather than for the rude treatment of inquisitor, exorcist, or other\npriestly operator. We hear but little more of Nelly. Her son purchased a\nfarm in St. Just, she removed thither with him, and ended her days in\npeace. Some descendants of the rover, (whose name we have abridged) were\nliving in the western parishes a few years since.\n\nAbout a century ago an aged dame of the family kept school in Burian\nChurch-town and used frequently to relate strange traditions of her\nbuccaneering ancestor.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n THE WITCH OF BURIAN CHURCH-TOWN.\n\n These midnight hags,\n By force of potent spells, of bloody characters,\n And conjurations, horrible to hear,\n Call fiends and spectres from the yawning deep,\n And set the ministers of hell at work.\n ROWE.--\"_Jane Shore._\"\n\n Who rides my horse a' nights,\n Who lamed the miller's boy,\n Who raised the wind that blew my old barn roof down;\n But I've a silver bullet ready for her that will lame her,\n Hobble how she will.--_Old Song._\n\n\nAbout the time of Captain Black's exit old Betty Trenoweth from her\nsuperstitious usages and pretensions to mysterious science, became\nnotorious as a witch, and her practice of the black art was discovered\nand put past doubt by some one in Church-town, against whom she had a\ngrudge. A man, finding when all attempts to please old Betty failed,\nthat his cattle still pined off their legs, and everything went wrong,\nand that there was nothing but bad luck about house and land. Then he or\nhis wife determined to punish the witch and bring her to reason. He made\nher image in clay or dough, we have forgotten which, and, when the\nfigure was fashioned to their mind, ran up a good long skewer through\nthe lower part of its body. Now, that they might know the effect of\ntheir counter-spell, some persons in the plot, entered the witch's\ndwelling, at the moment the skewer pierced her effigy, and saw her fall\nsuddenly on the ground, where she continued rolling, kicking, and\ngroaning in great agony for some minutes, when she exclaimed, \"Good\nLord, what's in my body? I can hold out no longer; do run over to Dick\nAngwin's and tell am I'll make et up weth am ef he will!\" Fearing the\nwitch might die in her agony and leave her curse on them or the spell\nunbroken, they hastened to make friends with Betty and destroyed the\nimage.\n\nYet this punishment didn't make the old dame desist from carrying on her\nnaughty tricks; for, one Thursday about the end of harvest, Betty jogged\naway to Penzance, intending to buy a pig that she might fatten it for\nwinter's use. She was in price, and had nearly come to terms for one\nwhich suited her fancy. There were only a few pence between her and the\nseller; yet, pretending she didn't care about it, and saying she\nwouldn't give a farthing more, she turned her back and went to look at\nsome others. That while, one Tom Trenoweth, a cousin of hers, offered a\ntrifle more and purchased the sow.\n\nTom had paid the \"earnest money,\" when the old dame came back and said\nshe would have the sow. \"You're too late, cousin,\" said Tom, \"I've\nbought her.\" \"And what made thee interfeer, I'd like to know, when I was\nin price for the sow?\" said Betty; \"ef I don't have her thee shust wish\nthy cake dough, and find the sow the dearest bargain thee hast ever\nhad.\" Tom refused to give up his purchase. Betty went off mumbling\nthreats and curses, and shaking her bony finger at Tom.\n\nWith much ado, the man got home the sow, put her in a crow (sty), filled\nthe pig's-trough with wash, and firmly fastened the door. Tom rose early\nnext morning, and found the crow-door open, the pig's-trough full of\nwash and his sow rooting in a neighbour's garden; and it took all the\nmen and boys in Church-town many hours to get the troublesome beast of a\nsow back into her crow again; and in spite of all he could do, scarce a\nnight passed but she would get out, be off to lanes miles away, and do\nsome mischief that Tom would have to pay for.\n\nMonths passed, during which the sow had given to her corn, meal, milk,\nand everything else that could be thought of to satisfy her, but all\nwithout avail--the more she ate the leaner and more lanky she became.\nOne day Old Betty met the owner of the pig and said, quite\nfriendly-like, \"well, cousin Tom, how es thy sow getting on? Will she be\nfat against Christmas? I hear she is very troublesome; perhaps you had\nbetter sell her to me. What do 'e look for her now?\"\n\n\"No,\" Tom replied, \"ef she esn't fat for seven years, in Sundays, you\nshall never be the better off for begrudging her to me; old black-witch\nthat you are; I'll drive her to Penzance and sell her for less than I\ngave, rather than you shall have her.\"\n\nMore months passed, during which the old woman, in spite of Tom's\nrebuffs, made him various offers for the sow, but every time less than\nthe preceeding, as she said the pig was getting poorer and would soon be\nreduced to skin and bone. Tom, finding that his sow had eaten and\ndestroyed more than she was worth, and all the time getting leaner,\nfastened a rope to her leg and started early one Thursday morning for\nPenzance, determined to sell her for anything he might be offered rather\nthan bring her back again. The sow went on, quiet as a lamb, till she\ncame to a stream running across the road in Bojew-bottom; there was no\nbridge over Bojew water in Tom's time. The sow wouldn't take to the\nwater, nor could the man make her; he tried to put her across,\nwheelbarrow fashion, holding her up by the hind legs; then he\nendeavoured to drag her through the water, but she turned right around,\nbolted in between his legs, upset him in the muddy stream, and the rope\nslipping from his hand, she took her way up the moors, over hedges and\nditches. Tom followed her, through bogs, brambles, and furze for many\nmiles, till they came out in Leah lanes on the Land's End road to\nPenzance and Sancreed; the sow seemingly never the worse. But Tom felt\nvery tired, and his clothes were torn to rags with the thickets.\n\nThe sow, now on the road to Penzance, and near Tregonebris Downs, went\nalong so quietly that Tom caught hold of the rope again, made a running\nnoose in the end of it, and (that she mightn't jerk it away again,)\npassed it over his hand and reeved it round his wrist. That being done\nto his mind, \"Now, ah es much to me,\" says Tom to himself, or to the\nsow, \"late as et es, ef I don't get 'e to market yet.\" He hadn't spoken\nthe words a minute when a hare leaped out of a bush beside the road,\nmade a squeak that sounded like \"chee-ah!\" ran down over the moor, the\nsow followed after, dragging Tom along, and never stopped, going almost\nas fast as the hare, till she came to Tregonebris bridge, when in under\nthe road she bolted, so far as the rope would let her. The opening under\nthe road being little other than a drain, or \"bolt,\" as we say, Tom\ncouldn't even crawl in on all-fours, his arm was almost dragged out of\njoint, and the loop, reeved on his wrist, cutting through the skin; Tom\nby good luck having his knife in his pocket, managed to get at it, cut\nthe rope, and let the sow go; but she only went as far as the middle of\nthe bridge, where it was narrowest, and fell to lie in the water.\n\nTom could neither drive nor coax his pig from under the road. He threw\nall the stones he could find at her till he had nearly closed up the\nbridge on one side, but she hardly noticed him with a grunt.\n\nAbout noon Tom got very hungry; yet he was afraid to leave his sow and\ngo to the nearest house, that he might have something to eat, because\nwhilst he was out of sight the devil-directed pig might bolt away, no\none could tell whither. Tom sat down beside the bridge, wishing some one\nmight go by or heave in sight within call. He had to wait there till\nnear sunset, when who should come by, from Tregonebris way, but Old\nBetty, with her basket on her arm and knitting-stocking in her hand. She\ncame on clicking her needles, knitting all the way, and looking as\ndemure as if \"butter wouldn't melt in her mouth and cheese choke her.\"\nWhen she saw Tom sitting beside the road she seemed all surprised like,\nand said \"Arrea! cousin, es that you? Have 'e sold the sow and got drunk\non the profit, that you have missed your way back, an soas?\"\n\n\"Well, Old Betty, es that thee? I must say that thee hast beaten me\nhollow,\" Tom replied. \"The sow is under the 'brudge,' and thee dust know\nit well enow; for who but thee crossed the road and went over the moor\nin the shape of a hare? Thy friend, the devil, lent thee his hounds, I\nsuppose, to drive her in where she can neither turn, go forth, nor come\nback, et seems to me.\"\n\n\"Well, thank the powers,\" said she, according to her custom, when anyone\ncame to grief, \"I am'at the only one in trouble this day; but as you are\na cousin of my own, I'll give 'e the value of the sow still, and that es\nabout half of what she cost 'e, because she's now gone to skin and bone,\net will take months to get her up again.\"\n\n\"If you will give me something from your basket to eat, and what you\nlast offered, you may take her, get her out ef you can, and be d----d to\n'e.\"\n\nBut no, the old witch stood out, and wouldn't give a farthing more than\nhalf of what Tom paid for the sow; and he was glad at last, to get that\nand a two-penny loaf which she took from her basket. Then the dame went\ndown to the mouth of the bridge, or bolt, only just said \"Chee-ah!\nChee-ah!\" and the sow came out and followed her home like a dog.\n\nTom took the road to Sancras Church-town, and stayed at \"The Bird in\nhand\" as long as his money lasted. \"It was no good to lay by; he might\nas well spend it first as last,\" he said, \"because every shilling of the\ndevil's coin will go and take nine more with it.\" All who heard Tom's\nstory agreed that what seemed a hare, to cross his path, was no other\nthan Old Betty in that shape, and wished they could send a silver bullet\nthrough her. It is said here as elsewhere that lead has no effect on a\nwitch-hare. The old woman kept her pig many years for a store-sow and\nshe became the parent of a numerous progeny.\n\n\n\n\n THE STORY OF MADAM NOY.\n\n\nAfter Betty had gained her ends with Tom Trenoweth, nobody ventured to\ndeny her anything she coveted except Madam Noy, of Pendre. From the\nlittle known of this lady, she seems to have been a strong-minded\nclose-fisted termagant. She was fond of going to law, and had always\nsuits on hand concerning the bounds and common rights of her lands. She\nis said also to have kept the best hunter and hounds in the West\nCountry, and that she coursed with them daily as she rode over her\nfarms, across hedges and ditches, to inspect her work-people and stock.\nWe suppose she was a widow then, or if she had a husband he made too\nlittle noise in his time to be remembered. She took great pride in her\npoultry; above all, in her rare breed of hens with large tufts or cops\non their heads. Now Betty knew that Madam had often refused to give or\nsell any eggs from her coppies to her best friends, yet one morning\nearly she put on her steeple-crown hat and mantle, took her basket and\nstick, hobbled down to Pendre, and seated herself on a style entering\nthe town-place. In a few minutes she saw Madam Noy come from the barn\nwith a bowl of corn in her hands to feed her poultry of all sorts and\nsizes. \"Good morrow to your honour,\" said Betty, as she went up\ncurtseying and nodding to Madam, \"Dear me, how well you are lookan,\nyou're gettan to look younger and younger I do declare, and what\nbeautiful hens, ducks, and geese, you've got! The finest in the parish I\ndo believe. Do 'e know, Madam dear, that I've got an old cluckan hen\nthat I should like to put to set, ef you would spare me a dozen eggs,\nthe sort of your coppies I'd like best.\" \"Arrea! Betty, I suppose you\nwould,\" said Madam, \"but I've no eggs to spare from my hens with cops\nnor the ones without, while I've so many of my own clucking hens about.\nAnd dust thee think, than, that when I've refused to sell any of my new\nsort to my own sister Dame Pendar, or to my cousin Madam Trezillian,\nthat I would spare them to the likes of you?\" \"I don't care a cuss\nwhether you do or no,\" Betty replied, \"but if you won't sell me some\neggs you shall wish your cake dough.\" \"Now go thee way'st home thou\ndeceitful old bitch,\" said the lady in a rage, \"and what business hast\nthee here pryan about the place and covetan all thee cust spy with thy\nevil eye, I'd like to know. Begone, or I'll set the dogs at thee, and\nthrow fire over thee, dosn't think that I'm afraid of thy witchcraft.\"\n\n\"I am on the church-road through the town-place,\" said Betty, \"and here\nI will stop as long as I like in spite of you and your lawyers too.\"\nMadam Noy and Betty continued their threats and abuse until the lady\nbecame so enraged, at the old woman's persistence to stay in her\ntown-place, that she snatched up a stone, threw it at Betty, and hit her\nright on her noddle, with a blow that made her jaws rattle. Betty limped\nto the stile mumbling to herself, \"now may the devil help me and by all\nthat's evil here I will rest till I've curst thee to my heart's\ncontent.\" Standing on the stile she pointed her finger at Madam Noy and\nmade the lady 'shake in her shoes;' whilst she nodded her head, waved\nher out-stretched hand, and ill-wished her by saying,--\n\n \"Mary Noy, thou ugly, old, and spiteful plague,\n I give thee the collick, the palsy, and ague.\n All the eggs thy fowls lay, from this shall be addle,\n All thy hens have the pip and die with the straddle.\n And before nine moons have come and gone,\n Of all thy coppies there shan't live one:\n Thy arm and thy hand, that cast the stone,\n Shall wither and waste to skin and bone.\"\n\nMadam Noy was never well from that day, her fowls' eggs were always bad,\nand all Betty's spells took effect. Before six months were past she lost\nher coppies every one; for, in place of gay tufts of feathers, the\nchickens' brains came out on all those hatched from her coppies' eggs.\n\nA noted old droll-teller and clock-cleaner of Sancreed, called Billy\nFoss, used to recite this, and many other stories, in a sort of doggrel,\nin which he mostly half said and half sung his drolls. We remember but\nlittle more of Billy's verse, in this story, than the few lines given\nabove; these are enough, however, for a sample of the kind of\ncomposition that was much in vogue with our old droll-tellers.\n\n'Tis said that Betty owed her proficiency in the black art to her\nfrequent conferences with Old Nick, (or her familiar, whatever his name\nmight have been,) who almost nightly took the form of An' Mally Perase's\nblack bull, and, under that shape, met the witch on the northern side of\nBurian churchyard. Much more is related of Betty's transactions, but\nnothing new in the annals of witchcraft; and enough has been stated to\nserve as an example of the faith and practices in such matters long ago;\nindeed, we may say that such beliefs and doings are anything but\nextinct; something turns up, every now and then, to show that,\nnotwithstanding all the teaching and preaching, faith in witchcraft, and\nother dreary superstitions, are nearly as rife as ever.\n\nWe give the following instance as just related.\n\n\n A MODERN SANCREED WITCH.\n\nOnly t'other day a farmer of Sancreed had three or four dairy-cows to\nlet, and a woman who lived near by offered to take them, but as he\ndidn't altogether like this woman he wouldn't close the bargain with\nher, and another neighbour soon agreed for the dairy. When the woman\nheard who had been preferred, she told everybody she met with that\nJemmy--the man who took the cows--should rue the day that he ventured to\ncross her path. \"For if I didn't know the right hour and minute,\" said\nshe, \"I would ill wish him every minute of the day till the spell was\ncast.\" A week or so after the first cow was in milking, Jemmy and his\nwife came to the farmer's house one night and said, \"we believe that our\ncow must be ill-wished, for her milk is all bucked and gone to cruds\n(curds), with only a mere skin of cream on the pans; if you don't\nbelieve it come and see for yourself.\" The farmer and some of his family\nwent home with the dairy-man, and found the milk like it often is in\nsummer when the buck (spittle-fly) is on the grass, that, so it is\nbelieved, makes milk curdle then without becoming sour. The farmer and\nhis wife couldn't tell what to think of milk being in that state early\nin spring; he took home the cow, however, and let the dairy-man have\nanother, and when she was milked by Jemmy her milk 'runned' too, like\nthat of the former one, which was then all right in the master's dairy.\nAnd so it continued with all the other cows Jemmy had; it was only for a\nday now and then, that any cream rose; other things went wrong with him\nand his family, and the farmer was at last obliged to take back his cows\nbecause there was no chance of his dairy-man making the rent. Meanwhile\nthe woman who coveted them bragged how she had served Jemmy out for\ninterfering.\n\n\"The very night I heard that he had took the cows,\" said she, \"I went\non my knees under a white-thorn tree by the crossroads, and there, for\nbest part of that night, I called on the powers till they helped me to\ncast the spells that gave old Jemmy and his family plenty of junket and\nsour milk for a time.\" In fact she was proud to make her neighbours\nbelieve her to be a witch.\n\nWe suppose the reason why this would-be witch chose the cross-road thorn\nas a suitable place for her hellish work, was because many such trees\nare said to have sprung from stakes driven into suicides' graves; also\non account of those sites being often visited by Old Nick and his\nheadless dogs when they take their nightly rounds to see if any spirits\nhave wandered from their assigned resting-places.\n\nWe may remark that, although the Black-huntsman's hounds are said to\nhave neither heads nor tails, yet according to our popular mythology,\nthey are believed to have the former appendages, with the same\nlineaments they bore when they dwelt on earth in human forms, but they\nmake their heads invisible, to ordinary mortals, that they may not be\nknown.\n\nThe same applies to apparently headless coach-drivers, horses, &c., that\nwere frequently seen in old times.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n A QUEEN'S VISIT TO BARANHUAL.\n\n At all feasts where ale was strongest,\n Sat this gracious Queen the longest,\n First to come and last to go.\n LONGFELLOW, _slightly altered_.\n\n\nThere is a tradition,--that has taken the form of a droll, as it is\nrelated by old people of Buryan,--which sayeth that when the Pendars\nlived in grand style, in Baranhual, a Queen and her retinue landed from\na Man-of-war, at Moushal, for the sake of seeing the Logan Rock and\nLand's End. News of the intended trip soon spread, and reached Buryan\nere sufficient horses could be procured to furnish out the cavalcade. On\nthe morning of the royal progress, work was at a stand still, and nearly\nall who could \"lift a leg\" started off from house and field towards\nBurian Church-town, as it was rumoured that Her Majesty intended to\ninspect Buryan Church on her way. So, in the morning early, Buryan bells\nwere set a ringing; and Church-town folks arrayed themselves in their\nbest to receive the Queen with due honours.\n\nEvery soul left Baranhual except old Dame Pendar, who was rather\ninfirm. \"My lady, the Queen,\" said she, \"is but a woman, and make the\nmost of her, even if she do wear a crown on her head every day of her\nlife, with velvet robes all broider'd in gold, silk stockings, and\ndiamond-buckles on her satin shoes, with rings on her fingers and bells\non her toes, yet she's much like myself under all her fine clothes; and\nit esn't worth while to leave the house alone, and all that's in it, and\ngo so far to see her at my time of life; besides there's the milk to\nscald and many jobs to be done at all hours. No, verily,\" said she to\nher son and his wife, \"you may be off to Church-town with the\nscabble-angow (rag, tag, and bob-tail), but, indeed, I'll stay home and\nguard the house, and all that's in it. That shall never be left alone\nwhilst I draw breath.\"\n\nAt that time the Pendars kept a capstan in repair, and gave other aids\nto the fishery at Penberth,--which is partly in Baranhual ground,--and\nreceived for it a certain portion of fish from the owners of each boat\nkept in the cove.\n\nAn hour or so after all the household, but old mistress, had started off\nto behold a queen, An' Joan Taskes came up from Penberth with a cowal\nfull of fish, as the Squire's dues from all the boats which landed that\nmorning. Madam told An' Joan to take the fish to the river, and that she\nwould be down in a minute to help clean them. Before Joan had taken all\nout of her cowal, and laid them on the stepping-stones, that stood in\nthe water where Baranhual bridge now crosses it, old mistress arrived,\nknife in hand, ready to help clean and split her fish. They had nearly\nfinished their job,--the old lady standing on a stepping-stone, with her\nskirts tucked up to her knees, taking the fish from An' Joan, who waded\nin the stream to give them a last rinsing,--when the old fishwife, on\nhearing a clatter of horses' hoofs coming down hill, looked up, turned\nround, and bawled out, \"Can I believe my eyes; look 'e mistress, dear;\nef I live, there's hundreds of kings and queens ridan down the hill. I\ncan see more than a score, and there's more a coman round the turnan;\npull down your petticoats, do! Oh, I wish to gracious I had a clean\ntowser on, and my best hat.\"\n\nBefore old Joan had ceased exclaiming, and fixing herself as tidy as she\ncould--though Madam Pendar, intent on the fish, didn't notice her\ncommotion--a score or so of ladies and gentlemen on horseback, were\nwithin a stone's-cast. They drew reins, and a horseman started forward,\nrode down into the water, accosted the old lady, enquired if Squire\nPendar lived in the house on the hill, and informed the wondering women\nthat Her Majesty, on her route to the Logan Rock, well remembering that\nthe Pendars had always been staunch friends to the royal cause, had\npreferred coming that way to give him a visit, instead of seeing Buryan\nChurch, which Her Majesty and her attendants might have a glance at on\ntheir return from the Land's End. Madam replied that she was very glad\nto see \"my lady, the Queen;\" and was sorry that her son and his wife,\nwith all their servants, were gone to pay their respects to Her Majesty\nin Church-town, as everybody said that was the intended route, and\nnobody home but herself to receive them.\n\n\"My royal mistress approaches to speak for herself,\" said he.\n\nMadam was still standing on a stone, knife in hand, her coats tucked\nup, and kirtle drawn through her apron-string, when the Queen,\nunderstanding that her gentleman was speaking to no less a person than\nMadam Pendar, rode into the water, shook hands with her, and said, \"If\nall are gone to see the Queen and left 'e alone, the Queen is come to\nsee you; and I, and my attendants, would be glad to rest a while to have\nsomething to eat, and to mend the rents in our clothes that are torn to\n'skethans' with thorns and brambles that overhang the narrow lanes.\"\n\"The Lord love 'e, my dear lady, the Queen,\" exclaimed she, making a low\ncurtsey, and quite overcome with honour. \"Do 'e put your hand, now--as\nmine, on that side, is fishy and wet--into my left pocket, take out the\nkey of the fore-door, and my huzzey (housewife) you will find in it\nneedles and thread of all colours, ride up to the house, let yourselves\nin, and I'll follow with the fish, and do the best we can to entertain\n'e.\" \"We should like nothing so much as some of that nice fish, draining\non the stones,\" said the Queen, in trying to get a key, large enow for a\nchurch-door, out of Madam's pocket. \"Bless your life, and you shall have\nthem,\" replied the old lady. \"I am so flambustered (confounded) with the\nhonour you have done me, that I hardly know which end I stand upon. But\nyou will want my scissors, pieces of stuff, and other things in my\npockets, for mending,\" continued she, in untying the string from around\nher waist, that kept up her pockets; \"take them all as they are; you\nwill find most everything in them.\"\n\nThe precious pockets, like knapsacks, were handed to a gentleman who\nslung them across his saddle-bow, and the Queen rode on well pleased\nwith Dame Pendar.\n\nJoan stood gaping and staring, nodding and smiling, without speaking a\nword, though many spoke to her; but their backs were no sooner turned\nthan she said, \"Why, mistress, dear, can you make out their lingo? Can\nthat lady, who spoke to 'e, be a Queen? Why, where's her crown? It\nwasn't upon her head, I'm sure.\" \"Cease thy clack, be quick and gather\nup the fish,\" Madam replied; \"she put her crown in her pocket, I\nsuppose, that the thorns might'nt sweep it off her head and under the\nhorses' feet; thee west see her wearing of it when she's seated in the\ngreat parlour, by and bye, eating bread and honey: I'm glad, though,\nthee hast brought up a lot of nice mullett, bass, whiting-pullocks, and\nother fish for pies and frying, besides good large cod and ling for\nboiling.\"\n\nWhen Dame Pendar and Joan got up to the house, they found the Queen and\nher ladies in the parlour busy sewing up rents in their garments; and\nthe gentlemen--having stabled their horses--had made a blazing fire on\nthe hearth. A large brass brewing-pan was placed on a brandes (trivet);\npounds of butter and lard cast into it, and the nicest frying-fish\ncooked therein.\n\nMullet-and-parsley pies were put to bake on the hearth; large fishes\nboiled, and conger stewed, with fennel, in as many crocks and kettles as\nit would contain, with other things. Ladies and gentlemen--Queen and\nall--helped: some got the best pewter platters, plates, and\nflagons--only used on grand occasions--out of a chest, those on dressers\nand shelves, for ordinary use, wern't half enough; others peeled garlic\nand hollick, chopped fennel, tarragon, and other herbs to flavour\nsauces. Several tried to grind mustard, but none could give the right\nmotion to their knees to make the bullet spin round in the bowl, and old\nmistress was obliged to grind it all, or have it spoiled. They dished up\nfried and boiled fish, swimming in butter; bowls of cream were poured\ninto the pies; lucky, too, Madam had a batch of barley bread just baked,\nhot and hot.\n\nTwo gentlemen placed a high-backed carved oak chair, with several\npillows thereon, at the head of the hall table, and Her Majesty was\nseated in as much state as she desired. They ate, one and all, with such\nan appetite, as if they hadn't tasted \"meat\" for a week, so old Joan\nTaskes said. The Queen imbibed old ale from a silver goblet; her ladies\nfrom pewter tankards and flagons; her gentlemen drank beer and cider\nfrom black-jacks and brown-georges (leather drinking vessels), which\nwere often replenished.\n\nWasn't Dame Pendar delighted to see it all, as she bustled about to help\nHer Majesty to all sorts of sauces, of her own compounding. Indeed it\nwas, as she said, \"the proudest day of her life.\" She was, above all,\nelated when her royal guest smacked her lips after a sip of brandy, and\nswore, \"by cock and pie,\" that \"true as she was a sinner, never before,\nin all her born days, had she so much enjoyed a repast.\"\n\nWhen the Queen and her ladies returned to the parlour, Dame Pendar\nplaced before them white bread, cream and honey, brandy, sweet-drink\n(metheglin), and other cordials, of which they all partook with great\npleasure. Having mended their garments, the ladies thought it full time\nto proceed on their journey, if they were to see the Logan Rock and\nLand's End that day.\n\nBut Her Majesty, bless her honest heart, was so well pleased with her\nentertainment that she preferred to stay there with old Dame Pendar till\nher attendants returned; so they, with her permission, rode away to\nCastle-Treen.\n\nWhen the Queen's suite had departed, Dame Pendar produced from her own\nprivate cupboard, a bottle of rare old mead, and a flask of extra strong\nbrandy, for Her Majesty to taste; and she, liking them well, drank glass\nupon glass of mead, with several sips of brandy, to keep the fish from\n\"flowing on her stomach,\" and to show their loving regard for each\nother, they exchanged all the contents of their pockets for keepsakes;\nyea, every item, except their crooked sixpences, which they kept for\ngood luck.\n\nAt length the Queen, feeling drowsy, reclined in a long window-seat,\nthence rolled on the floor, where she lay puffing and snoring, unable to\nrise. Dame Pendar, by so often drinking \"Here's health and long life to\n'e, my dear lady, the Queen,\" was too fuddled to help her up, so she lay\ndown with her for company; and old Joan, who had been sipping of all\nsorts, and drinking everybody's health, was stretched under the kitchen\ntable.\n\nThe Queen's attendants, having passed hours in viewing the Logan Rock\nand other wonders of Castle-Treen, 'couranted' about amongst the rocks,\nwhere they found pleasant places for courting, till nearly sunset. They\nthen, concluding it was too late for going to the Land's End, mounted\nand returned to Baranhual, that they might wait on their royal mistress,\nand reach Moushal in time to be on board before dark. They galloped away\nin hot haste, expecting to find Her Majesty impatiently awaiting their\nreturn; but, sad to say, they found her--all her state forgotten--lying\nhelpless on the floor, beside Dame Pendar. The royal lady was hastily\nlifted on her palfrey; Joan Taskes--now the least drunk of the\nthree--helped to fasten a giss (hempen girth) across her Majesty's lap,\nto keep her safe in the saddle, and they quickly departed.\n\nNow it so happened that Squire Pendar, his wife, and their servants,\ntired waiting for the Queen, in Church-town, till near night, returned\nhome across the fields, Selena way, arrived at the Green-court gate just\nin time to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty under the trees that darkened\nthe avenue. He had the merest glance of her going down hill with her\nhead drooping over her horse's mane, and a gentleman holding her steady;\nand that's the last seen of her in Buryan. Squire Pendar, his wife, and\ntheir servants were all rather muddled too, from having passed all day\nat Church-town with hundreds of gentle and simple, in drinking \"Here's\nto the Queen and ourselves, comrades;\" yet he and his wife expressed\ngreat surprise and ill-humour at finding their house all in disorder.\n\nJoan told them how they all enjoyed their entertainment. \"Bad luck to\nthem all!\" murmured he; \"our cellar-floor is like mud with spilt liquor,\nand not a gallon of beer or cider left in the casks. What mother said\nwas true enow; the Queen, for all her fine clothes, is much like another\nwoman, especially when drunk.\" Next morning he could hardly be persuaded\nthat Her Majesty had been there at all, till his mother showed him what\nfine things she had as keepsakes. \"My thimble, as thou knowest, was\nbrass,\" said she, \"and my bodkin silver; but see, here's my gracious\nlady's silver thimble and golden bodkin:\" then, with great pride,\ndrawing from her pocket the Queen's huzzey, she continued \"if anything\nmore is wanted to assure thee how I've been honoured by my gracious\nlady, behold this!\" She then displayed what one may conjecture to have\nbeen a remarkable contrivance for containing many requisites of a lady's\nwork-box or bag, and several toilet articles besides. It was a yard long\nwhen unfolded; every little pocket and flap of a different sort of rich\nstuff, all worked in elegant designs, with gold and silver thread,\ncoloured silks, intermixed with pearls and precious stones, or what\npassed for such. It folded into strong leather covers, fastened with\nsilver clasps like a book; and the upper cover was lined with a mirror.\n\nHundreds of people came to see it suspended, at full length, the\nlooking-glass at top, over the parlour fire-place, where it was kept in\nremembrance of the Queen's visit.\n\nThe shell-room was built after, and some say it was intended to\ncommemorate that honour. This apartment was incrusted with\nshells,--mostly from Parcurnow. Among other devices, a cavalier was\npourtrayed, as if pursued by robbers; and under this shell-picture, the\nlegend,--\"This is the heir, come let us slay him, that the inheritance\nmay be ours.\"\n\nWe have frequently remarked to old persons, who related the above story,\nthat nothing is said in any county or other history of a Queen having\nvisited Baranhual. \"Perhaps your history-makers never heard of it,\" they\nreply: \"no one belonging to Buryan saw her plainly, that's true, except\nthe two old women.\" Squire Pendar and his servants only had a glimpse in\nthe twilight of a company on horseback passing down the road, which was\nthen overhung with large spreading sycamores,--three rows of them on\neach side,--which soon hid his royal guests. But the Pendars, even in\nour time, poor as they were,--many of them labourers and fishermen,--had\nalways preserved something among them that the Queen was said to have\nleft with old Madam hundreds of years ago; and all of the name, that we\nhave met with, say that Pendre, Baranhual, Trevider, and other lands in\nBuryan, once belonged to their forefathers.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n THE SMALL PEOPLE'S COW.\n\n They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die.\n I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.\n _Merry Wives of Windsor._\n\n\nThere is a story connected with the Pendars which says that, when this\nfamily was on its wane, the owner of Baranhual had a fine red cow,\ncalled Rosy, which gave twice as much milk as an ordinary one. She\nretained her milk-yielding power all the year through, and kept in good\ncondition, even in winter, when other cattle on better food were reduced\nto skin and bone. Rosy would yield all her morning's milk, but every\nevening when much--and that the richest--still remained in her udder,\nshe would stop chewing her cud, cock her ears, low gently as if calling\na calf, and the \"shower\" of milk would cease. If the maid attempted to\nrenew her milking Molly would kick the bucket and gallop away to a\nremote part of the field.\n\nDame Pendar, thinking the milkmaid didn't shake Rosy's bag and coax her\nenough, tried, one evening, what she could do, but when she thought by\n\"visting\" Molly's teats to get more milk, after the cow's usual signal\nto cease, she up foot and smashed the wooden pail to pieces, tossed Dame\nPendar over her back, and, bellowing, raced away--tail on end.\n\nThough Rosy kept in milk when all other cows were \"gone to sew\" (dry),\nyet, because there was something strange about her and as she was always\nfit for the butchers, an attempt was made, soon after the dame's\ntossing, to get her to market; but all the people on Baranhual couldn't\ndrive her off the farm.\n\nOver a while Rosy had a heifer calf, and when it had sucked its fill,\nits dam gave her usual quantity of milk into the bucket, and then enough\nremained to fill another. Stranger still, in a few weeks the calf could\neat herbage, and its dam weaned it gradually, but it could never be\nseparated from her.\n\nEverything prospered with Mr. Pendar. His cattle and crops throve\nwonderfully, till one Midsummer's night. His milkmaid having gone to\ngames held at Penberth, or some place near it, only returned when the\nstars began to blink. Rosy, impatient to be milked, came to meet her in\nthe field, stood still, placed back her leg, chewed her cud, and\nshowered her milk into the bucket till she had yielded more than usual:\nthen she stretched herself, looked around, and gently lowed whilst the\nmaid, without rising from her milking-stool, pulled up a handful of\ngrass, rolled it into a pad and placed it inside her hat, that she might\ncarry her bucket the steadier. Having put on her hat she was surprised\nto see hundreds of \"Small People\" (fairies) around the cow, and on her\nback, neck, and head. A great number of little beings--as many as could\nget under Rosy's udder at once--held butter-cups, and other handy\nflowers or leaves, twisted into drinking vessels, to catch the shower of\nmilk that fell among them, and some sucked it from clover-blossoms. As\none set walked off satisfied, others took their places. They moved about\nso quickly that the milkmaid's head got almost \"light\" whilst she looked\nat them. \"You should have seen,\" said the maid afterwards, \"how pleased\nRosy looked, as she tried to lick those on her neck who scratched her\nbehind her horns, or picked ticks from her ears; whilst others, on her\nback smoothed down every hair of her coat. They made much of the calf,\ntoo; and, when they had their fill of milk, one and all in turn brought\ntheir little arms full of herbs to Rosy and her calf,--how they licked\nall up and looked for more!\"\n\nSome little folks, who came late, were mounted on hares, which they left\nto graze a few yards from the cow.\n\nFor a good while the milkmaid stood, with the bucket on her head, like\none spell-bound, looking at the Small People; and she would have\ncontinued much longer to admire them, but, just as some came within a\nyard of her, Dame Pendar suddenly stood up on the field-hedge and called\nto know how she was so long about Rosy, and had all the rest still to\nmilk, and how she hadn't brought in a bucket-full yet?\n\nAt the first sound of old Dame Pendar's voice, the Small People pointed\ntheir fingers and made wry faces at her; then off galloped Rosy and the\ntroop of small folks with her--all out of sight in a wink.\n\nThe maid hastened in, and told her mistress, and master too, what she\nhad seen.\n\n\"Ah! fax, I knowed,\" said Dame Pendar to her husband, \"and didn't I\nalways tell 'e something was the matter that Rosy wouldn't yield half\nher milk. And surely,\" she continued to the milkmaid, \"thou must have a\nfour-leaved-clover, about thee; give me the wad in thy hat that I may\nlook through it.\"\n\nShe examined it, and sure enough, found a stem of white clover, or\nthree-leaved grass, with four leaves on it.\n\nThe mistress asked how big the Small People were, and how dressed.\n\n\"But few of them are more than half a yard or so high,\" the maid\nreplied; \"the women not so tall, yet they looked beautiful, all dressed\nlike gentry; the women wore gowns as gay as a flower-garden in summer;\ntheir flaxen hair fell, in long curls, on their necks; and the men were\nvery smart, all like sodjers or huntsmen, so it seemed to me. But they\nmade frightful faces at you, and glared as if they would be the death of\n'e. I shouldn't like to be in your shoes.\"\n\n\"Our best cow is as bad as bewitched,\" said Dame Pendar to her husband,\n\"and what shall we do to drive the plagues of sprites?\"\n\nHer husband told her not to be so greedy; for old folks said that the\nSmall People always brought good luck when unmolested and their doings\nwere not pried into by curious fools; for his part, he was content to\nleave well alone. She made no reply, but--determined to have her way,\nnext morning, betimes, unknown to her good man--she trotted off to\nPenberth, or Treen, and consulted a red-haired woman that Mr. Pendar\ncouldn't \"abide,\" because she was reputed, and truly, to be a witch.\n\n\"I'll drive them from our best cow, and from Baranhual, too, if it can\nbe done,\" said Dame Pendar to the hag. \"Nothing easier,\" replied she,\n\"for they can't endure the sea, nor anything that comes therefrom, and,\nabove all, they abhor salt; so you have only to scatter it over your\ncow, wash her udder in brine or sea-water, and sprinkle it about your\nplace.\"\n\nDame Pendar hastened home, and, without delay, powdered Rosy with salt,\nbathed her udder in brine and sprinkled it about the fields and\ntown-place.\n\nIn the evening, betimes, she went herself to milk her best cow, and\ncarried two buckets, thinking they would both be filled. Rosy, without\nbudging, let her be seated and milk a little; but feeling her udder\nthumped, \"visted,\" and roughly shaken, when she withheld her flow, she\nkicked the pail to shivers, laid Dame Pendar sprawling, then tossed her\ngreedy mistress heels over head, and galloped off, \"belving\" like a mad\nthing.\n\nAll the people in Baranhual couldn't stop her in a corner, and, from\nthat day, not a drop of milk did they get from her.\n\nFor days and nights she would roam about the farm, followed by her\nheifer--no hedges stopped them--and both \"belving,\" all the time, like\ncows that had lost their calves. Before Christmas they became\nhair-pitched, lean, and lousy; and all the other cattle on Baranhual\nwere as bad.\n\nMr. Pendar, being ignorant of what his wife had done, sought aid from,\nand brought to his farm, all the most noted conjurers, pellars, and\nwhite witches in the West Country to arrest the run of bad luck that\npursued everything belonging to him. They bled his diseased cattle on\nstraw, burned the straw and blood, carried flaming torches of a night,\naround the folds. Fire was also borne--with the sun's course--around\nsown fields. Bonfires were lit, and his cattle forced through their\nflame. Other rites were performed according to old usages only known to\npellars. Even his finest calf was burnt alive. But all was of no avail.\n\nTo leave nothing undone, they cut down or rooted up all barberry bushes,\nthat grew about on orchard hedges and elsewhere; but Mr. Pendar's crops\nwere blighted all the same. In the meantime Rosy and her heifer were\nseldom seen, but often heard bellowing about Pednsawnack, over\nPorguarnon, or in other dangerous cleves and unfrequented places: they\ncouldn't be brought into the town-place to undergo spells or\ncounter-spells. But when more than a year had passed, and the next\nBuryan fair came round, Mr. Pendar made up his mind to sell Rosy and her\nheifer. All Baranhual men and boys, with many neighbours mustered, and\nafter much trouble, drove them on to the church-town road. But they\ncould neither be got to fair nor home again. After following them on\nhorseback till night, Mr. Pendar caught a glimpse of Rosy and her heifer\nracing over Sennen Green toward Genvor Sands, and they were nevermore\nseen. Dame Pendar, from the time she got kicked and tossed, was rickety\ntill the day of her death. The milkmaid, too, from a spanking damsel who\nhad her choice of sweethearts, in less than a year became a doudy that\nno young man cared for or would look at. From that time everything went\nwrong with the Pendars, and, in a few generations, those of the name who\nremained in Buryan hadn't an inch of land to call their own.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere are two or three versions of this story, which differ but little\nfrom the above, except in locating the Small People's Cow on other farms\nthat were dwelling-places of the Pendars in olden times.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n TOM OF CHYANNOR, THE TIN-STREAMER.\n A WEST-COUNTRY DROLL.\n\n Telle us swiche thing, as may our hertes glade.\n Be blithe, although thou ride upon a jade.\n What though thyn horse be bothe foule and lene,\n If he wol serve thee, recke thee not a bene:\n Loke that thyn herte be mery evermore.\n Yes, hoste, quode he, so mote I ride or go,\n But I be mery, ywis I wol be blamed.\n * * * * *\n But right anon thise gentiles gan to crie;\n Nay, let him tell us of no ribandrie,\n Tel us som moral thing, that we mow lere,\n Som wit, and thanne wol we gladly here.\n CHAUCER.\n\n\nA long way back, in old times, when Parcurnow was the chief port west\nof Hayle, and Treene a market town, (as it had been since the castle's\nouter walls were built, 'tis said), there lived in a little\nout-of-the-way place known as Chyannor, a man called Tom, with his\nwife--we don't know her name, more's the pity--and their daughter\nPatience. When farm-work fell scant Tom streamed for tin in moors near\nhis dwelling; but, the overburthen there being deep and tin scarce, he\ngot sick of the job, and one day, between tilling season and harvest,\nknacked his bal, and took the little tin he had raised that summer down\nto Treen for sale. Many woollen-weavers and ropers lived there, and\nwithe-weavers (basket-makers) who made cowals (creels) that pleased\nfisherwomen better than any to be got elsewhere. In Treen market-place\nstood a fine broad garack-zans (holy rock). It was nearly round, about\nfour feet high, eight feet across, and level as a table, except that in\nits upper surface shallow pits were hollowed, and in these stream-tin,\nbrought for sale or exchange, was piled. Tom, having placed his tin in\none of the hollows of this stone, inquired the news, and asked how work\nwas away in the East Country, of merchants from Market-jew, who brought\ngoods in their vessels to Parcurnow, which was then clear of sand, and\nthe tide flowed in a deep channel up to an old caunse (paved road) still\nto be seen. The merchants told him that streamers' work might be had in\na place called Praze-an-Beeble, a short day's journey from Market-jew.\nTom, having exchanged his tin for leather and other things, took a drink\nof cider with the merchants, went home, and told his wife what he had\nlearned.\n\n\"One must be a fool,\" said he, \"to stay here and starve, when two or\nthree days' journey will take one to a land of plenty. What do'st thee\nthink wife?\"\n\n\"Well, good man,\" said she, \"thee west (wilt) always have thy own way,\nwhatever one may say: if thee hast a mind to go eastward, to look for\nwork, go! I and the maid will stay and get our living here. But don't 'e\ngo for a day or two, that I may put thy clothes in order, and bake a\nfuggan (heavy cake) for thee to eat on thy way. Long lanes and scant\nentertainment thee west find, I expect?\"\n\n\"It will take me some days,\" replied he, \"to go round and wish the\nneighbours well, and to get my tools to-rights before I start.\"\n\nIn three days Tom got his piggal (beat-axe) and visgey (pick) cossened\n(re-steeled), and other tools repaired, that he intended to take with\nhim, and had said, \"I wish 'e well, till I see 'e again\" to every body\nfor miles round. Tom kissed the young women, and the elderly ones kissed\nhim, and said, \"If we never see thee again we wish thee good luck for\nthy courage; but take care thee doesn't get kidnapped and sperritted\naway in Market-jew, as many a good man have been before now, and\nnevermore heard of.\"\n\nWhen all was ready for Tom's journey, his tools, provisions, and clothes\nmade a heavy load to travel with. In the morning, early, he started. His\nwife and daughter went many miles on the way, carrying his things, till\nthey arrived at a public house where the roads meet in a place since\ncalled Catch-all. Here they had a drop to cheer their hearts. \"Be sure,\nwife,\" said Tom, \"to take care of our only child, Patience. She is but\nfifteen, mind.\" After much kissing, crying, wishes for good luck, and a\nspeedy return, they parted.\n\nTom reached Market-jew before dark, and was much bewildered to see so\nlarge a place and so many people. Moes-hal was the largest town he had\nseen, and the farthest east he had ever been till then. As it happened\nto be Whitsun market, streamers in great numbers had brought their tin\nfor sale or to exchange for clothing and other things. It was sold by\nmeasure, from a pottle to a strike (bushel). Large quantities were\npurchased by smelters and merchants. What with foreign traders,\nmarket-people, pilgrims to the Mount, and pleasure-seekers, there was\nnoise and bustle enough. Tom, however, found lodgings in a quiet house,\na little out of the town, and was on his road, early next day, towards a\nplace where he was told that he might get work. Though in a strange land\nhe went boldly on over barren hills, across deep bottoms, overgrown with\nthickets; and, nothing daunted, he waded streams of names unknown; and\nindeed he felt proud, as a traveller, to think that he was going farther\neast from home than but few of St. Levan had ever been. Thus trudging\nalong he passed over Roost Common, through Colenso and Chypraze,\ntraversed Godolphin hills, rested some time near Godolphin\nstepping-stones, and then pursued his way through Chywhella, and over\nCrenver Downs. About sunset he passed this tract of moorland, rich in\ntin, and arrived at a dwelling surrounded with a court and outbuildings\nthat showed it was a farmer's house. This he afterwards learnt was\nPenthoga.\n\nHe knocked at the door and said to the mistress, who opened it, \"I have\ntravelled from far away in the West Country, to seek work, and would be\nglad to lodge in your barn to-night.\"\n\n\"Come in, good man; lay down your burthen and sit at the board,\" said\nshe.\n\n\"What cheer, stranger?\" exclaimed the farmer; \"come here beside me, and\nwhen supper is over we will hear the news from your country. And wife,\nbring a flagon of ale; that's better drink after a journey than milk,\"\ncontinued he, whilst heaping Tom's trencher from a huge steaming pie of\nhare, beef, and other meat.\n\nHaving made a hearty meal Tom turned his leg over the form and, looking\ntowards the farmer, said, \"This is a house of plenty, master. I wish you\nwanted a servant.\"\n\n\"Well, my son, and what work can you do?\" asked the farmer.\n\n\"All sorts of husbandry or moor-work,\" he replied. \"Give me a board like\nthis, to keep up my strength, and I'll turn my back for no man.\"\n\nAfter some hours' talk about Tom's country, and other matters, the\nfarmer, finding him to be a simple, honest fellow, agreed to take him,\nand they bargained for two pounds a year wages. Now, as Tom didn't mind\ndoing a trifle of work, after his day's task was done, the farmer gave\nhim many odd pence. After supper of winters' nights master and men told\nold drolls and carded wool, whilst mistress and her maids kept their\nturns (spinning wheels) going till they had each spun their pound of\nyarn. The women knitted for him warm stockings, and washed and mended\nhis clothes. All were well pleased with Tom, and he liked his place.\n\nWhen the year was ended, the farmer brought two pounds from his chest,\nlaid them on the board, and, showing them to Tom, who sat opposite, said\n\"Here are your wages, my son; but if you will give them back to me I\nwill teach 'e a piece of wisdom more worth than silver and gold.\"\n\n\"Give them here to me,\" said Tom, \"and keep your pennyworth of wit.\"\n\n\"No,\" said his master, \"give them to me, and I will tell thee.\"\n\n\"Well take them to thee,\" said Tom.\n\nThen said his master, \"_Take care never to lodge in a house where an old\nman is married to a young woman._\"\n\nThen they bargained for another year, and, when that was ended, his\nmaster brought two pounds; laying them on the table, as before, he said\n\"See, Tom, here are thy wages; but if thou wilt give them back to me I\nwill teach thee another piece of wisdom.\"\n\n\"No, by dad,\" answered he; \"hand them here to me; I don't want your\npennyworth of wit.\"\n\n\"No,\" said his master, \"give them to me, and I will tell thee a piece of\nwisdom more worth than strength.\"\n\n\"Take them to thee,\" said Tom.\n\nThen said his master, \"_Take care never to leave an old road for a new\none._\"\n\nThey bargained for another year.\n\nTom now thought much of his wife and daughter, and made up his mind to\nreturn home when his time was up. Next year ended, his master brought\nthe two pounds, and said, \"See here are thy wages; but if thou wilt give\nthem back again to me I will teach thee the best point of wisdom of\nall.\"\n\n\"No bring them here; I have wit enow to find my road home again.\"\n\n\"No,\" said his master, \"thou wilt need it then, more than ever. Give\nthem to me and I will tell 'e.\"\n\n\"Take them to thee,\" said he.\n\n\"Well now, as thee hast served me truly, like an honest fellow,\" said\nhis master, \"I will tell thee two points of wisdom. First, _never swear\nto any body or thing seen through glass_; second, _be thrashed twice\nbefore content once_. This is the best point of wisdom of all.\"\n\nNow Tom said he would serve no longer but leave at once and go to see\nhis wife and child. \"No, don't go to-day,\" his master answered; \"for my\nwife is going to bake to-morrow morning; she shall make a cake for thee\nto take home to thy wife, and a hoggan (a cake with meat baked on it)\nfor thee to eat by the way.\"\n\n\"Very well.\" said Tom, \"as it's Whitsuntide, I'll wait till Tuesday.\"\n\n\"I am very sorry thee art going to leave us, my son,\" said the farmer's\nwife; \"and I should be glad if thee west thatch the hen's house and the\nduck's crow for me, whilst I make thee a cake and hoggan; then I will\ngive thee a charmed stone for thy daughter, that shall be of more worth\nto her than gold or jewels.\"\n\nIn a few hours Tom thatched all the outbuildings that required it, came\ninto the house, and his mistress gave him a smooth grey stone, about the\nsize and shape of an acorn, with a hole drilled through it, for hanging\nit by a cord round the neck. \"Though this appeareth only like a bit of\nsmooth elvan (trap rock) it is a jewel of great virtue,\" said the\nmistress. \"It will preserve any woman that weareth it from much trouble\nif she but keepeth it in her mouth, with her lips closed, that it may\nnot drop out when her husband or any other contendeth with her. I will\ntie it round thy neck, that it may'nt be lost,\" said she; and did so.\n\nTuesday morning Tom took leave, with many kind wishes and promises to\nsee them again. \"Take this cake home to your wife, my son,\" said his\nmaster, \"and eat it when you are most merry together.\" \"And what you\nwill find in this dinner-bag,\" said his mistress, \"is for 'e to eat on\nthe road. Good luck attend thee; come to see us again; thee west be\nright welcome always.\"\n\nTom trudged on for many miles a somewhat different road to that he went,\nwithout meeting with anybody, till, having passed St. Hillar downs, he\nfell in with three merchants of Treen, driving before them their\npack-horses laden with wool from Helaston fair, whither they had been\nwith cloth and other goods. \"What cheer, Tom,\" cried they, \"where hast\nthou been, and how hast thou fared this long time? We are glad to have\nthe sight of thee!\"\n\n\"I have been in service and am now going home to my wife; and glad I am\nto meet men of my parish,\" said he.\n\n\"Come along with us; right welcome thou shalt be,\" said they.\n\nThey kept together and came to Market-jew, where the merchants proposed\nto sup and stay over night in a house where they had formerly lodged.\n\"And come along with us, Tom, right welcome thou shalt be,\" said they.\nAnd when they were come to the inn, Tom said, \"I don't know about\nstopping here; before settling that point, I must see the host.\"\n\n\"The host of the house!\" they exclaimed; \"what cans't thou want with\nthe host? Here is the hostess--young and buxom, as you may see. But if\nyou must needs see the host, you will find him in the kitchen.\"\n\nBy the kitchen fire, sitting on a three-legged stool, Tom saw a feeble,\nbald-headed old man, turning the spit. \"Oh! by my dearly bought wit, I\nsee this is never the inn for me,\" said Tom, \"I will not lodge here, but\nin the next house.\"\n\n\"Go not yet,\" said Treen merchants; \"stay, take supper with us, thou art\nheartily welcome.\"\n\nSoon after supper the merchants saw their horses fed, well groomed, and\nlittered; then, being tired, they went early to bed, and Tom, on\nentering the next house, was told there was no spare bed, only some\nstraw in a garret where lumber was mostly kept; he might rest there and\nwelcome, free of charge.\n\n\"I can sleep there very well,\" Tom answered; and the host shewed him the\nplace, where sweet straw was piled near a boarding that divided it from\nthe next house, where the Treen merchants lodged. Now the mistress of\nthe inn was very fond of a young fellow who sauntered about, and did\nnothing for his living but court the landladies of Market-jew. The young\nwife had long been tired of her old man and wished him dead, but as he\nnever seemed inclined to die, she persuaded the young fellow to put him\ngoing that night, as it seemed to her a good opportunity for them to\nescape suspicion of the dark deed.\n\nA little before daybreak she ran to the mayor's house--her hair in\ndisorder and her clothes rent--crying when she came near it, \"Vengeance!\nVengeance! Do me justice my neighbours! Help me, your worship! My sweet\nhandsome man, don't delay,\" cried she, when under his chamber window. \"I\nhave been foully dishonoured. My money is stolen, and my dear husband\nmurdered, by three West Country villains, who lodged in our house last\nnight. They are now getting ready to start in haste.\"\n\nThe mayor called from his chamber window, \"Go, tell the crier to sound\nhis trumpet through the streets, and summon the town folk to meet me in\nthe market place.\"\n\nIn a short time the townspeople assembled in the market square, where\ntheir mayor and the hostess awaited them. Said the mayor to his\nconstables, \"Go to this good woman's house, and bring hither three men\nyou will find there.\" Turning to the town's people he continued, \"My\nhonest neighbours, choose a jury among ye, that we may try these West\nCountry rascals, right away, for robbery and murder, and hang them\nbefore breakfast--no doubt they are guilty--and the urgency of our own\nbusiness will not admit of our wasting much time on such matters. And,\nthank God, we have no lawyers in Market-jew to confound us with their\nquibbles, to embarrass justice, and to hinder speedy punishment.\"\n\nBefore the mayor had finished speaking the three Treen merchants were\nbrought, handcuffed, into his presence. When they had all entered the\ntownhall (where the mayor, even in those days, sat with his back towards\nthe one window) his worship said, \"Good woman, state your case.\"\n\nWhen she stood up one might see that she was one of those who never\nlooked a person fairly in the face, but take one's measure with stealthy\nglances. She put on a sanctified look; groaned; sighed; turned up her\neyes; and exclaimed, \"Oh, blessed Saint Mary, help me to declare the\ntroubles I endured last night! Know, your worship and kind neighbours\nall,\" said she, glancing round, \"that, towards the morning part of the\nnight, these three villains came into my chamber, where my blessed\nhusband--God rest him!--and myself were in bed. One of them broke open\nour money-chest, whilst another did a deed my modesty forbids me to\nname. My dear man, in trying to defend my virtue and his money,\nstruggled hard. The third blackguard, to keep him quiet, grasped his\ndear throat with both hands and strangled him. Then they gave me more\nill usage all three.\"\n\n\"That will do,\" said the mayor, \"the case seems clear to me. Gentlemen\nof the jury, what say ye?\"\n\n\"We are all agreed to hang them,\" replied the foreman; \"but our doctor,\nwho saw the body, has some doubts of what the woman sayeth.\"\n\n\"You,\" said the mayor, in an angry voice, \"you, with your crotchets,\nfears, and doubts, are always causing inconvenient delay. Yet be quick\nand we will hear what you have to say.\"\n\n\"The old man has been strangled many hours,\" said the doctor, \"for the\nbody is stiff and cold, and I want to know how the woman did not make an\nalarm before.\"\n\n\"Woman, what hast thou to say to that?\" demanded his worship.\n\nWithout hesitation she replied, \"After these three black West Country\nrascals, robbers, and ravishers had misused me I fainted, and remained\nin a fit. I don't know how long before I awoke to my trouble and ran to\nseek your worship's aid.\"\n\n\"Now, doth that clear your doubts?\" said the mayor: \"and you villains,\"\nspeaking to the merchants, \"what can ye say for yourselves that ye\nshould not be hanged and your heads fixed on spikes over the\nprison-gate, as a warning to such as you not to murder, rob, and ravish\nthe virtuous people of Market-jew?\"\n\n\"We are innocent,\" said they, \"and we never saw the old man but once, in\nthe kitchen, where he was turning the spit. A tinner, who came with us\nfrom St. Hillar downs, knoweth us to be men of good repute, but we know\nnot where to find him, and can only declare our innocence each for the\nothers.\"\n\n\"That's a kind of evidence that won't stand here,\" replied the mayor,\n\"and, not to waste more time, I sentence you to be hanged all three.\nOfficers,\" he continued, \"see it done immediately, and seize their\nhorses and merchandise to pay costs.\"\n\nWhilst the mayor of Market-jew was pronouncing sentence, Tom, in\nhaste, entered the court. \"Hold,\" cried he, \"and don't ye murder\nthree innocent men. That woman caused the death of her husband, and a\nlong-legged-red-haired fellow, with a pimply face, who weareth a coat of\nthis colour,\" said he, holding aloft a piece of grey cloth, \"did the\nfoul deed.\"\n\n\"What can you know of this matter?\" demanded the mayor.\n\n\"Give time to draw breath, and I will tell 'e,\" said Tom. \"I was fellow\ntraveller with these three merchants of Treen. They asked me to lodge in\nthe same house with them, but having bought a piece of wit that teacheth\nme to avoid the house where a young woman is wedded to an old man, I\nwent next door. There was no room to spare but in the garret, where I\nfound a pile of straw against a screen of boards between that house and\nthe one in which the merchants lodged. On the straw I made my bed.\nThough tired, I didn't sleep, because music, singing, and dancing,\nbelow, kept me awake. About midnight, when all was quiet, I saw, through\na hole in the screen, a light in the next house, and that woman (I know\nher by her purple nose and splatty face) talking to a tall red-haired\nman. Both stood near the screen. Then she said to him, 'I am heartily\nsick and tired of my old fool. All he's good for is to turn the spit,\nand a small dog would do that better. To-night would be a capital time\nto stop his wheezing. Here's what you might do it with,' said she,\ngiving him a nackan (handkerchief). 'Draw it tight around his scraggy\nthroat; give it a good twist, just so (said she showing him how), and we\nshall be no more troubled with his jealousy. Don't fear the\nconsequences; leave them to me; I know how to get these three jeering\nWest Country fellows into the scrape. If they are hanged for it, it will\nbe good fun for us.' The man seemed unwilling till, putting her arms\nround his waist, she said, 'With all the love I have for thee, cans't\nthou stick at such a trifle, my dearest Honney (Hannibal), that will\nmake the way clear for thee to be master here, with me and all the old\nfool's money. And there it is, in the bags by the screen--all the best\nof it,' said she, pointing to them; 'what's left in the chest is only\ncopper coins and old tokens, and his claws are too stiff and crum\n(crooked) to untie the bags and see what's in them. And here, faint\nheart,' said she, taking up a bottle and pouring out a cup of liquor,\n'drink this brandy; go down; be quick; and do it quietly, that Treen\nmen, in the next room, may'nt hear thee.' The man went down with the\nnackan in his hand, and in two minutes or less returned. 'Well! is all\nright?' she asked. 'That it is,' he replied, 'I quickly wound the nackan\nround his neck; he moved a little and murmurred in his sleep, 'Don't 'e\nhug me so close, my dear.' I then drew it tight, and gave it a wrench;\nhe made but one squeak and all was over. And now I'll take the money and\ngo.' 'Don't be in such a hurry,' said she, 'one or two bags are enough\nfor 'e now.' 'No,' said he, getting from her and approaching the screen,\n'all isn't enough for the deed I've done to please thee.' Then he\nhandled the bags, took two, and went away. I know it was about midnight\"\n(said Tom in reply to the doctor's query) \"because, while the man was\nbelow I heard the bell that shaven crowns on the Mount toll at the dead\nof night.\"\n\n\"Well, and what next?\" demanded the mayor; \"if thou hast anything more\nto say, be quick, and out with it.\"\n\n\"I have only to state,\" resumed Tom, \"that when he stooped to pease\n(weigh) the bags of money, his skirt came against the hole in the\nscreen. With my left hand I caught hold of the cloth; with my other\nunsheathed my knife, and cut off this piece. I tried to keep awake,\nknowing these men were in danger from that false woman, but I fell\nasleep, I don't know how, and only waked just in time to learn they were\nbrought here to be tried for their lives.\"\n\n\"It's provoking,\" said the mayor, \"yet this man's story may be as true\nas the woman's; or truer, my men,\" continued he speaking to the\nofficers; \"You know the long-legged scamp, that haunts this woman's\nhouse and all the others in the town, where liquor and victuals can be\ngot for his bladder-dash. Hunt him up and bring him hither; he is likely\nto be at the St. Michael's or some other public house. Get the money he\ntook away, and all you can find in this woman's house; bring it all here\nto pay the cost.\"\n\nIn a short time the officers returned, dragging in the man Tom had\nspoken of. They turned him round, held up his skirt, and there saw a\nhole that the piece Tom held fitted exactly, and in his pockets were\nfound two bags of gold.\n\n\"It's a clear case now then,\" said the mayor, \"so string them up at\nonce--the man and woman, I mean, ye fools. You Treen men go about your\nbusiness, and thank your luck that this tinner is as wise as a St. Levan\nwitch to get 'e out of the hobble.\"\n\nTom and the merchants took a hasty breakfast, loaded their pack-horses,\nand started homewards, about sunrise. In passing the jail they saw the\nwoman and her long-legged Honney strung up. They went quickly on to\navoid the ugly sight, and the merchants made much of Tom, you may be\nsure.\n\nTwo hours or so before noon, they arrived at a public house, tied their\nhorses to a hedge, gave them their nose-bags of corn, and eased their\nbacks by propping up their loads with sticks, such as were then kept at\nroad-side inns for that purpose. \"You will dine with us, Tom, and we\nwill treat you to the best the house affords,\" said the merchants; \"we\nshall at least get good malt liquor and wholesome fare. We may as well\nrest a few hours, now that we are just as good as home and in a part\nwhere honest folks dwell.\"\n\nThe merchants being cheered with good ale said to Tom, \"Comrade, we will\none and all give thee something to show how we value the good turn thou\nhast done us in Market-jew. But for thee, my son, we should never more\nhave seen our wives and children dear, or the castle and good old town\nof Treen.\"\n\n\"Hold your clack, my masters,\" Tom replied, \"I am vexed with myself to\nthink that I should have slept and left 'e in such danger; it's only by\na mere cat's jump that you arn't hanged. But who would ever think the\nmayor of Market-jew is the man to try a case so quick? Come, let us be\ngoing. I am thinking, too, about my wife and cheeld; it was here we\nparted, and I wonder how they have got on, poor dears, since I've been\nfar away.\"\n\n\"Well then, as you are so hastes we will pay the shot,\" replied they,\n\"and jog along again, and be home before sunset, if all be well.\"\nDriving their horses at a quick pace, they went on with great glee and\narrived at the foot of Trelew Hill.\n\nHere, since Tom went eastward, a new road had been made, that took\nanother direction to reach the hill-top, where it re-entered the old\none. The merchants were for going by the new road, because it was easier\nfor their horses.\n\n\"Friend Tom, you had better come along with us,\" said they, \"than\nscramble up the steep hill through that rocky lane.\"\n\n\"No, my friends, though I am loath to leave your pleasant company,\"\nreplied he, \"I shall take the old road, for I have bought another piece\nof wit that telleth me never to leave an old road for a new one. Choose\nfor yourselves. A short way hence, where the two roads join, the first\nthat arrives can await the others.\"\n\nThe merchants went on, saying, \"We shall soon meet again.\"\n\nWhen Tom came to where the roads joined, he saw the horses jogging\nhomewards, without their owners. He looked along the road both ways, but\nsaw no merchants. Then getting on a high bank, in a minute or two he\nbeheld one of them coming across the downs stripped of his coat, hat,\nand wallet. He saw soon afterwards the two others, coming from different\ndirections, almost naked.\n\n\"Halloo, my masters,\" said Tom, when they came near, \"however are ye in\nthis sad plight?\"\n\n\"Ah, comrade,\" answered they, \"we wish we had been so wise as thou.\nHalf-ways up the hill robbers fell on us and stripped us, as you see.\"\n\n\"How many were they?\" Tom asked.\n\nIn their confusion each merchant answering, \"Three attacked me;\" they\ncounted the robbers nine, till considering how they had separated at the\nonset, each one trying to save himself, they saw that the same men,\nhaving fallen on each one of them in turn, they were only three robbers\nafter all. Tom remarked, in angry tones, \"One wouldn't take you for West\nCountry men, yet I should think it's hard to find three stouter than\nyou, this side of Hayle. But you forgot _One and All_; so I havn't much\npity for 'e; each one trying to save himself took to his heels and left\nhis comrades in the lurch; that's the way you are beaten; and serve 'e\nright. My old dad always said to me, \"Tom, my boy, mind _One and All_.\nFall fair, fall foul, stand by thy comrades, and in misfortune, stick\nall the closer, my son.\" But we have no time to lose,\" he continued, \"we\nare four of us together now; they can't be gone far, and, dash my\nbuttons, if we don't beat them yet. You have lost your sticks, I see,\nbut here's what will serve your needs,\" said he taking up his threshal\n(flail), undoing it, and putting the keveran (connecting piece of\nleather) in his pocket. \"One take the slash-staff, another the\nhand-staff, the other of 'e take my threshal-strings, and bind the\nrascals hand and foot as we knock them down. Now come on, boys! _One and\nAll_ mind; or the devil take the first to run.\"\n\nThe merchants, wishing to recover their clothes and money, readily\nagreed to return with Tom in pursuit. They ran down the rocky lane. At\nthe bottom, near where the roads separated, they saw, on a rock, by the\nside of the new road, bundles of clothes and the merchants' wallets.\nGoing on softly a few paces farther, they beheld the three robbers\nstretched on the grass, a little off the road, counting the stolen money\nand dividing their spoil. They sprang to their legs, but were scarcely\nup when Tom and the two merchants knocked them down and the other\nsecured them.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Tom, with a satisfied look, when he saw the robbers laid low,\n\"the buff coat and new boots on that big fellow, who looks like their\ncaptain, will suit me, and I will take them for my Sunday's wear.\"\n\nNo sooner said than done with Tom. Whilst the merchants gathered up\ntheir money, he pulled off the captain's boots and stripped him of his\nbuff; saying, \"Now, my fine fellow, you won't be able to run very fast\nover furze and stones, if you should be inclined to give chase when you\ncome round again.\"\n\nThe merchants, having well thrashed the robbers, left them stretched on\nthe ground, half-killed, took their own clothes, and proceeded\nhomewards, giving Tom much praise for his wit and valour.\n\nThey soon overtook their horses, and, without stopping, arrived at\nCoet-ny-whilly. Here the nearest road to Chyannor strikes off to the\nright of that leading to Treen. The merchants pressed Tom to go home and\nsup with them.\n\n\"No, thank 'e, not now, some other time,\" he answered.\n\n\"Come along,\" they again urged, all three; saying, \"thou art right\nwelcome, and we will treat thee well.\"\n\n\"No, not now,\" replied he, \"but I don't doubt your welcome, though, as\nmy master used to say, 'It is often good manners to ask, but not always\nto take.' Besides,\" continued he, \"I am longing to get home quickly and\nsee my wife and cheeld.\"\n\nEach party proceeded their separate ways. When Tom had passed a place\ncalled the Crean, and was within half a mile of his dwelling, he sat\ndown on a bank and lingered there till dusk, that he might get home\nabout dark, and have a chance to look round unperceived, and thus find\nout if his wife had attended to her duty. Tom had learned but little\nabout his family from the merchants. They merely told him that his wife\nhad often been to Treen with yarn to sell, and, as she was a good\nspinster, they supposed the weavers gave her plenty of work. They knew\nnothing of either his wife or his daughter.\n\nWhen it was all but dark Tom again went on slowly, and quickened his\npace in going up the Bottom, till he approached within a stone's-cast of\nhis dwelling. Here he paused a moment, on hearing a man's voice inside.\nThen he went softly on to a little glass window--the only one glazed in\nhis house--and peeped in.\n\nOn the chimney-stool he espied, by the fire-light, a man and a woman,\nhugging, kissing, and seeming very fond of each other.\n\n\"Oh! but this is double damnation,\" groaned Tom to himself, \"that I\nshould ever come home, after working for years far away, to be greeted\nwith such a sight. Where can the cheeld be? 'Tis enough to make one mad\nto see her faggot of a mother there, showing more love for that\nblack-looking fellow than she did for me, except in our courting times\nand a week or so after marriage. I'll kill the villain, and drive the\nold huzzey to doors, that I will.\"\n\nWhilst such thoughts of vengeance passed through Tom's mind, he\nrecollected his last two pounds' worth of wit, and hesitated a minute at\nthe door; but he was sure of what he saw; and now, hearing them laughing\nand couranting (romping) in their loving play, that aggravated him all\nthe more. He grasped his stick and looked again to be certain, when a\nvoice close behind him called out to him in tones like his wife's,\n\"Halloo, eaves-dropper! Who art thou, and what dost thee want there\nspying and listening? Thee west hear no good of thyself, I'll be bound!\"\n\nTom looking round, saw his wife close by, with a 'burn' of ferns on her\nback.\n\n\"That can never be thee, wife,\" said he, \"unless thee art a witch; for\nthis instant thou wert sitting on the chimney-stool with a strange man,\nand behaving in a way that don't become thee.\"\n\n\"Art thou come home such a fool as not to know thy own cheeld?\" she\nreplied. \"Who else should be in but our Patience and her sweetheart Jan\nthe cobbler. I left them there half an hour ago, when I went down in the\nmoors for a 'burn' of fuel. Come in, quick, and let's see how thee art\nlooking, after being so long away. Wherever hast a been to? We didn't\nknow if thee wert alive or dead. If I had been married again nobody\ncould blame me.\"\n\nPatience, hearing her father's voice, ran out, and great was her joy to\nfind him come home. Tom shook hands with her sweetheart, saying, \"I\ncould never have believed when I left thee, Jan, a mere hobble-de-hoy, I\nshould come back and find thee such a stout man, and the cheeld too,\ngrown a woman--taller than her mother.\"\n\nTom having taken his accustomed place on the bench, his wife said, \"I\nsee thee hast got a buff coat and a pair of new high boots, fit for any\ngentleman or a lord of the land to wear on Sundays and high holidays,\nand I suppose you have brought home something new for me and the maid to\nwear that you mayn't be ashamed of us, when rigged in your boots and\nbuff. Come now, Tom dear,\" continued she, over a bit, when they had\nadmired what Tom didn't tell them he took from the robber; \"Come, love,\nlet's see what have 'e got for us?\"\n\n\"I have brought 'e home myself,\" Tom replied, \"and a charm-stone for\nPatience to wear when she is married, that will be better than a fortune\nof gold and lands for her and her husband. Besides, I have brought 'e a\ncake,\" continued he, in placing it on the board.\n\n\"And is that all?\" demanded his wife, looking as black as thunder at\nhim; \"and tell us what's become of thy wages then,\" continued she with\nincreasing anger.\n\n\"I gave my two pounds a year wages,\" he replied, \"back again to my\nmaster for six pounds' worth of wit, and he gave me that cake for thee.\"\n\n\"Ay, forsooth,\" said she in a rage. \"Thee art a wise man from the East,\nthat lacked wit to know his own cheeld after being three years from\nhome. Go the way'st away again, and take thy fuggan along with thee.\"\nSaying this she snatched up the cake and fired it at her husband, aiming\nfor his head; but Tom ducked quick, the cake went smash against the\nwall, broke in pieces, and out of it fell a lot of money. Silver and\ngold ringled on the floor! When all was picked up and counted they found\nTom's three years' wages and many shillings over.\n\n\"Oh, my dear Tom,\" said his wife, \"no tongue can tell how glad I am to\nsee thee home again, safe and sound, after being so long away in strange\ncountries one didn't know where. And thou didst know well enow about the\nmoney, and only played the trick to try me.\"\n\n\"The devil a bit,\" said Tom, \"but I forgive thee, and let's have\nsupper.\"\n\nThe wife gave Patience a large bottle, telling her to run quick over to\nTrebeor and have it filled with the best she could get, to drink her\nfather's health and welcome home. Turning to Tom she said, \"The sand\nwill soon be down in the hour-glass, and then a leek-and-pilchard pie,\nput down to bake before I went out for fuel, will be ready; meanwhile\nlet's have a piece of thy cake; it seems very good.\"\n\nWhen Patience and Jan had gone away for liquor, Tom's wife seated\nherself on the chimney-stool, with a piece of the cake in her hand, and\nsaid quite coaxing like, \"Take thy piece of cake in thy hand, my son,\nand come the way'st here alongside of me; I have something to tell\nthee.\"\n\nWhen both of them were seated on the chimney-stool, very lovingly,\neating their cake together, she continued to say, \"I hope thee wesent be\nvexed, Tom dear, to hear me confess the truth; and if thee art it can't\nbe helped now; so listen, and don't leave thy temper get the upper hand\nof all thy wisdom, for I have had a young fellow living in the house\nmore than two years and we have slept in the same bed lately every\nnight. Why thee art looking very black good man, but he is very innocent\nand handsome and so thee west say; he is in my bed asleep now! Come the\nway'st down in the 'hale' and see him. One may see by thy looks that\nthee hast a mind to murder the youngster, but have patience and come\nalong.\"\n\nTom sprang up, like one amazed, and followed his wife when she took the\nchill (lamp) and entered the other room.\n\n\"Come softly, Tom,\" said his wife, as she approached the bed, turned\ndown the bedclothes, and showed her husband, to his great surprise, a\nfine boy nearly three years old. She then told Tom how, after being many\nyears without children, when he left her for the East she found reason\nto expect an increase to their limited family. Tom's joy was now past\nall bounds. He had always wished for a boy, and hadn't satisfied himself\nwith kissing the child, and admiring his big-boned limbs (for one of his\nage) when Patience and her sweetheart entered. Tom and the rest drank to\nthe boy's health, and all was now joy and content.\n\nNews of Tom's return having been quickly carried from house to house,\nsupper was scarcely put aside, when in came a number of neighbours. All\nbrought wherewith to drink his welcome home, and the night sped jovially\nin hearing him recount his adventures in the East Country.\n\nNext day, Tom and his wife, being alone together, she said to him, \"Now,\nwhilst the maid is out, tell me, my son, what dost thee think of her\nsweetheart and of their being married soon?\"\n\n\"Well, wife, from what I saw when I looked through the window last\nnight,\" Tom replied, \"I should say that she wouldn't break her heart,\nany more than her mother before her, if she were to be married\nto-morrow; but is Jan a fool, like I was, to give up a young man's life\nof pleasure and wed in haste, like I did, thou knowest, that he may\nrepent at leisure? Yet thee wert very good looking then, just like our\nPatience is now, and, with thy deceiving ways, I didn't stop to consider\nthat beauty is only skin deep. Jan the cobbler,\" Tom continued, nodding\nhis head very knowingly, \"is hale and strong, and come of an honest\n'havage' enow. I am loath to lose the maid so soon; yet my wise master\nused to say to his wife, 'One that will not when he may, when he will he\nshall have nay;' and it is better to have a daughter but indifferently\nmarried than well kept; though the charm I have for Patience will make\nher a prize for a lord, yet a cobbler isn't to be despised, and a good\ntrade is often more worth than money that may be spent; so, with all my\nheart, let them be wedded when they will.\"\n\nA few days after Tom's return, he and Patience went down to Treen.\nWhilst they were away, his wife, curious (like most women are), took it\ninto her head to examine the coat Tom took from the robber. She wondered\nhow it was so heavy, and noticed that the body-lining of serge was\nworked over very closely. She undid the cloth, and found that gold coins\nwere quilted in all over it, two-deep in some places, between the\nwoollen stuff and an inner lining. Before Tom returned she took out more\nmoney, all in gold, than filled a pewter quart, and then there was a\ngood portion left untouched, for fear Tom might come home and see the\nnest she had found; all in good time, the money and coat were put in an\nold oak chest, of which she kept the key. When Tom and Patience came in\nshe could hardly conceal her joy. They wondered at her sprightly humour\nyet, for a great marvel, she kept her counsel, though Tom said more than\nonce that evening. \"I can't think, old woman, what can be the matter,\nthat thee art going about cackling to thyself like an old hen shot in\nthe head, and with as much fuss and consequence, too, as a mabyer (young\nhen) searching for a nest, days before it is wanted, and finding none to\nher mind, good enow to drop her first egg in. And look at her, tossing\nher head,\" he continued, \"don't she look proud, like the lightheaded\nmabyer, after laying her egg?\"\n\nAs Tom knew nothing of his good fortune he continued to work on\ndiligently, as usual.\n\nWhen Feasten Monday came round Jan the cobbler and Patience were\nmarried. Her father gave her the charm-stone privately, with\ninstructions for its use, as his old mistress had directed. Strangers\nwere not let into the secret, because all charms lose their virtue when\nknown to others than the charmers, who, if they give or tell it, lose\nits use for ever.\n\nWhen the honey-moon waned Jan would sometimes get into an angry mood.\nThen his wife would, unobserved, slip the charm-stone into her mouth,\nand (let him talk or fume) keep quietly about her work. In a short time\nwith good humour, like sunshine returned, he would again be heard\nringing his lap-stone to the measure of some lively old tune. The quiet\nways of Patience and her gentle bearing, kept love and content, with\npeace and plenty, in their happy dwelling; and her charm had such power\nthat, over a while, she had seldom occasion to use it. Yet, indeed, some\nwomen, living near, who liked to let their crabbed tongues run like the\nclapper of a mill, would say that Patience was a poor quiet fool, and\nthat the more one let blockheads of husbands have their own way the more\nthey will take till they go to the dogs, or the devil, at last. Jan\nwould tell these idle cacklers, who stuck up for woman's misrule, to\nmind their own affairs and that for such 'tungtavusses' as they were the\nold saying held good--that \"a woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, the more\nyou beat them the better they be.\" But gentle Patience, heedless of\ntheir prate, kept on in the even tenor of her life, and retained her\nhusband's unabated love till the peaceful close of her days.\n\nNow it happened about three years after Tom had returned from the East\nCountry, there was a large farm in St. Levan for sale. \"Ah, poor me,\"\nsaid Tom one night, after a hard day's work, \"I have been toiling and\nmoiling, like a slave, all my life long, but we shall never have an inch\nof land to call our own till laid in the church-hay. Yet here are our\nhunting gentry, who have more than they can make good use of, and they\ncan't live on that. If we could but scrape together enough to buy an\nacre or two of fee, or only the corner of a croft, where one might have\na hut and a gar'n for herbs, with the run of a common for a cow or\nanything else, and none to say us nay, how happy we should be. But now,\"\nhe continued, \"it is only by the lord's leave, and that I don't like to\nask of any man; and why should one who hath hands to work when there is\nso much land in waste untilled?\"\n\n\"Tom, my son, cheer up,\" his wife replied; \"there are many worse off\nthan we are, with our few pounds laid by for a rainy day, and health and\nstrength to get more. Why I am afraid,\" said she, \"that thou would'st go\ncrazy, or die for joy, if any one gave thee enough to buy a few acres.\"\n\n\"I wish to gracious somebody would but try me,\" Tom replied.\n\n\"Well now, suppose I were to tell thee,\" said she, \"that we have saved\nenough to buy good part, if not all, of the land for sale, as you shall\nsoon see.\"\n\nShe then brought from the chest a quart measure of gold coins, and\npoured them out on the board. At the sight of the glittering gold Tom\nsprung up in a fright and exclaimed, \"Now I know, for certain, that thee\nart a witch! I had often thought so. That money is the Old One's\ncoinage; don't think that I'll have any dealings with him; I wouldn't\ntouch with a tongs a piece of the devil's gold.\"\n\n\"Hold thy clack, cheeld vean, if I'm a witch thou art no conjuror,\nthat's clear,\" replied she. \"Now listen, and learn that the coat taken\nby thee from the robber-captain was all lined with gold, quilted in\nbetween the serge and the leather, and what thou seest on the board\nisn't all I found in it.\"\n\nWhen Tom's surprise had somewhat abated, he counted the money and found\nmore than was required to purchase and stock two such farms as the one\nthen for sale. Over a while Tom bought a great quantity of land--many\nacres might be had for a few pounds in Tom's time, when a very small\npart of the land was enclosed, and much less cultivated. In a few years\nhe was regarded as a rich yeoman, and his sons and grandsons became\nsubstantial farmers.\n\nTom's posterity may still be flourishing in St. Levan, or some place\nnear, for what any body can tell, as no one knows what name they took\nwhen surnames came into use, long after Tom lived in Chyannor.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n THE FAIRY DWELLING ON SELENA MOOR.[3]\n\n \"Merry elves, their morrice pacing,\n To a\u00ebrial minstrelsy,\n Emerald rings on brown heath tracing,\n Trip it deft and merrily.\"\n SCOTT.\n\n\nWhen the ancient family of Noy flourished in Buryan there was a large\ntract of unenclosed common, belonging to the farms of Pendrea, Selena,\nand Tresidder, which extended from Cotnewilly to Baranhual, and branched\noff in other directions. Great part of this ground was swampy and\nproduced a rank growth of rushes, water-flags, and coarse herbage. Many\nacres were gay in summer with cotton-grass, bog-beans, cucco-flowers,\nand other plants usually found in such soil. In some places were dry\nrocky banks overgrown with sloe-trees, moor-withey, furze, and brambles;\nthese patches being surrounded by a broad extent of quaking bog or muddy\nsoil appeared like islands in a marsh. There were also many springs,\nrivulets, and pools, that seldom froze, much frequented by wild-fowl in\nwinter. Great part of this moorland was then impassable; horse-tracks\nleading to Baranhual, Selena, and other farms, passed over the dryest\nplaces, and were continued by rough causeways through swamps;--they were\nvery bad roads at all seasons.\n\nMost of this wilderness has long been enclosed and drained; Pendrea\nportion of it is now a separate tenement called Westmoor. Near\nCotnewilly were the scattered remains of an ancient grove which, in very\nremote times, extended thence to Alsia-mill.\n\nOne afternoon in harvest, Mr. Noy, with some of his men, were over to\nBaranhual helping his kinsfolks, the Pendars. As more hands were\nrequired for the next day, which was to be the gulthise (harvest home),\nsoon after 'croust' time he rode up to Church-town to get them, and to\ninvite the parson, clerk, and sexton--the latter was particularly\nwelcome to the harvest folk as he was generally a good fiddler and\ndroll-teller. With these, according to old usage, were asked the\ncrafts-men and others who had lent hand about the harvest work, and aged\ninmates of the poor house; one and all were welcome to the gulthise\nsupper.\n\nSoon after 'day-down' Mr. Noy, followed by his dogs, left the\npublic-house intending to return to Baranhual, but he didn't arrive\nthere that night nor the next. The Pendars and their people thought he\nmight have enjoyed himself at the _Ship_ Inn till late, and then have\ngone home to Pendrea. Mr. Noy had no wife nor anybody else to be much\nalarmed about him, as he was a middle-aged or rather elderly bachelor.\nBut next day when people from Church-town, Pendrea, and scores of\nneighbours from other farms, came with their horses to help and to feast\nat the gulthise, and nobody among them had seen or heard of Mr. Noy from\nthe time he left the inn, they got somewhat uneasy; yet they still\nsupposed he might have gone to some corn-carrying down the lower side of\nBuryan, as was likely enow, for all the neighbours round about were just\nlike one family then.\n\nAs usual there was a great chase bringing home the corn in trusses;\nleaders and other helpers took their flowery-milk (hasty pudding) for\nbreakfast, apple pies for dinner, just when and how they could, with\nbeer and cider whenever they felt inclined, so they might keep the\nmowers always building, to have the corn under thatch before supper\ntime. All being secured in the mowhay scores of all ages enjoyed roast\nand boiled beef, mutton, squab pies, rabbit and hare pies, pudding, and\nother substantial fare, usually found at a bountiful gulthise supper;\nthen drinking, singing, dancing, and other pastimes, were kept up till\nlate. In the meantime Dame Pendar had sent messengers round to all\nplaces where she thought Mr. Noy might have gone, and they returned,\njust as the feast was breaking up, without any tidings of him.\n\nThen everyone became anxious, and as it was near daybreak they\nvolunteered to disperse and search in every place they could think of\nbefore going to bed.\n\nSo away they went, some on horseback, others afoot, to examine\nmill-pools, stream-works, cliffs, and other dangerous places, near and\nfar away. They returned at night, but nobody had seen or heard of the\nmissing gentleman. Next morning horsemen were despatched to other\nparishes, and as Mr. Noy was well known and liked there was a general\nturn out to hunt for him; but this day, too, was passed in a like\nfruitless search miles away.\n\nOn the third day, however, in the grey of the morning, a horse was\nheard to neigh, and dogs were heard barking among thickets on a piece of\ndry ground almost surrounded with bogs and pools, on Pendrea side of\nSelena moor.\n\nNow it happened that no one had thought of looking for Mr. Noy in this\nplace so near home, but when with much ado, a score or so of men\ndiscovered a passable road into this sort of island in the bogs, there\nthey saw Mr. Noy's horse and hounds; the horse had found plenty of\npasture there, but the dogs, poor things, were half-starved. Horse and\ndogs showed their joy, and led the way through thorns, furze, and\nbrambles--that might have grown there hundreds of years--till they came\nto large 'skaw' trees and the ruins of an old bowjey or some such\nbuilding that no one knew of. Hunters never attempted in winter to cross\nthe boggy ground that nearly surrounded these two or three acres of dry\nland, and in summer no one was curious enough to penetrate this\nwilderness of thickets which, like all such places, was then swarming\nwith adders.\n\nThe horse stopped at what had been a doorway, pawed on the 'drussal,'\nlooked around and winneyd; the dogs, followed by several people, pushed\nthrough the brambles that choked the entrance, and within they found Mr.\nNoy lying on the ground fast asleep. It was a difficult matter to arouse\nhim; at last he awoke, stretched himself, rubbed his eyes, and said,\n\"Why you are Baranhual and Pendrea folks; however are ye all come here?\nTo-day is to be the gulthise, and I am miles and miles away from home.\nWhat parish am I in? How could 'e have found me? Have my dogs been home\nand brought 'e here?\" Mr. Noy seemed like one dazed as we say, and all\nbenumed as stiff as a stake, so without staying to answer his questions,\nthey gave him some brandy, lifted him on horseback, and left his steed\nto pick its way out, which it did readily enow, and a shorter one than\nthey discovered.\n\nThough told he was on his own ground, and less than half a mile from\nBaranhual, he couldn't make out the country as he said, till he crossed\nthe running water that divides the farms. \"But I am glad,\" said he\n\"however it came to pass, to have got back in time for the gulthise.\"\nWhen they told him how the corn was all carried three days ago, he said\nthey were joking, and wouldn't believe it till he had seen all in the\nmowhay under thatch and roped down; that the loose straw was raked up,\nand all harvest implements put away till next season.\n\nThen whilst breakfast was getting ready, seated on a chimney-stool by a\nblazing fire, he told his neighbours that when he came to Cotnewilly,\nthe night being clear, he thought he might as well make a short cut\nacross the moor and save nearly a mile--as he had often done before in\nsummer time--instead of going round by the stony bridle-path; but his\nhorse, that was pretty much used to finding his own way when his master\nwas tipsy, wanted to keep the usual road, and his rider, to baulk him,\npulled farther off towards Pendrea side of the common than he would\notherwise have done, and went on till he found himself in a part that\nwas unknown to him; though he had been, as he thought, over every inch\nof it that man or beast could tread on, both in winter and summer.\nGetting alarmed at the strange appearance of everything around him, he\ntried in vain to retrace his steps, then gave the horse its head, and\nlet it take its own course.\n\nYet instead of proceeding homeward, as was dobbin's wont, it bore Mr.\nNoy to a land so crowded with trees that he had to alight and lead his\nsteed. After wandering miles and miles, sometimes riding but oftener\nafoot, without seeing any habitation in this strange place, which he\nbelieved must be out of Buryan but in what parish he couldn't tell, he\nat last heard strains of lively music, and spied lights glimmering\nthrough the trees and people moving about, which made him hope that he\nhad arrived at some farm where they had a gulthise, and the\nharvest-folks were out, after supper, dancing in the town-place.\n\nHis dogs slunk back, and the horse wasn't willing to go on, so he tied\nhim to a tree, took his course through an orchard towards the lights,\nand came to a meadow where he saw hundreds of people, some seated at\ntables eating and drinking with great enjoyment apparently, and others\ndancing reels to the music of a crowd or tambourine--they are much the\nsame thing--this was played by a damsel dressed in white, who stood on a\nheaping-stock just beside the house door, which was only a few paces\nfrom him.\n\nThe revelers, farther off, were all very smartly decked out, but they\nseemed to him, at least most of them, to be a set of undersized mortals;\nyet the forms and tables, with the drinking-vessels on them, were all in\nproportion to the little people. The dancers moved so fast that he\ncouldn't count the number of those that footed jigs and reels together,\nit almost made his head giddy only to look at their quick and intricate\nwhirling movements.\n\nHe noticed that the damsel who played the music was more like ordinary\nfolks for stature, and he took her to be the master's daughter, as, when\none dance was ended, she gave the crowd to a little old fellow that\nstood near her, entered the house, fetched therefrom a black-jack, went\nround the tables and filled the cups and tankards that those seated, and\nothers, handed to be replenished. Then, whilst she beat up a new tune\nfor another set of dancers, Mr. Noy thought she cast a side-glance\ntowards him; the music, he said, was so charming and lively that to save\nhis soul he couldn't refrain from going to join the dancers in a\nthree-handed reel, but the girl with a frown and look of alarm, made a\nmotion with her head for him to withdraw round a corner of the house out\nof sight. He remained gazing, however, and still advancing till she\nbeckoned to the same little old man, to whom she spoke a few words, gave\nhim the crowd to play, and leaving the company, went towards the orchard\nsignaling to Mr. Noy to follow her, which he did. When out of the\ncandle-glare and in a clear spot where moonlight shone, she waited for\nhim. He approached and was surprised to see that the damsel was no other\nthan a farmer's daughter of Selena, one Grace Hutchens, who had been his\nsweetheart for a long while, until she died, three or four years agone;\nat least he had mourned her as dead, and she had been buried in Buryan\nChurchyard as such.\n\nWhen Mr. Noy came within a yard or so, turning towards him, she said,\n\"thank the stars, my dear William, that I was on the look-out to stop\nye, or you would this minute be changed into the small people's state\nlike I am,--woe is me.\"\n\nHe was about to kiss her, \"Oh, beware!\" she exclaimed, \"embrace me not,\nnor touch flower nor fruit; for eating a tempting plum in this enchanted\norchard was my undoing. You may think it strange, yet it was all through\nmy love for you that I am come to this.\n\n\"People believed, and so it seemed, that I was found on the moor dead;\nit was also supposed that I must have dropped there in a trance, as I\nwas subject to it. What was buried for me, however, was only a\nchangeling, or sham body, never mine I should think, for it seems to me\nthat I feel much the same still as when I lived to be your sweetheart.\"\n\nAs she said this several little voices squeaked, \"Grace, Grace, bring us\nmore beer and cider, be quick!\"\n\n\"Follow me into the garden, and remain there behind the house; be sure\nyou keep out of sight, and don't for your life, touch fruit or flower,\"\nsaid she, in conducting out Mr. Noy, who desired her to bring him a\ntankard of cider too. \"No, my love, not for the world,\" she replied,\n\"await me here, I'll soon return. Sad is my lot to be stolen from the\nliving and made housekeeper to these sprites,\" murmured Grace, in\nquitting the garden.\n\nOver a few minutes she returned to Mr. Noy, led him into a bowery walk,\nwhere the music and noise of merriment didn't overpower their voices,\nand said, \"you know, my dear Willy, that I loved you much, but you can\nnever know how dearly.\"\n\n\"Rest yourself,\" she continued pointing to a stone, \"on that seat,\nwhilst I tell ye what you never dreamt of.\" Mr. Noy seated himself as\ndesired, and Grace related how one evening, about dusk, she was out on\nSelena Moor in quest of strayed sheep, when hearing him, in Pendrea\nground, halloo and whistle to his dogs, she crossed over towards the\nsound in hopes of falling in with him, but missed her way among ferns\nhigher than her head, and wandered on for hours amidst pools and shaking\nbogs without knowing whither.\n\nAfter rambling many miles, as it seemed to her, she waded a brook and\nentered an orchard, then she heard music at a distance, and proceeding\ntowards it, passed into a beautiful garden with alleys all bordered by\nroses and many sweet flowers, that she had never seen the like of.\nApples and other tempting fruit dropped in the walks and hung over head,\nbursting ripe.\n\nThis garden was so surrounded with trees and water--coming in every here\nand there among them--that, like one 'piskey-led,' all her endeavours to\nfind a way out of it were in vain. The music, too, seemed very near at\ntimes, but she could see nobody. Feeling weary and athirst, she plucked\na plum, that looked like gold in the clear starlight; her lips no sooner\nclosed on the fruit than it dissolved to bitter water which made her\nsick and faint. She then fell on the ground in a fit, and remained\ninsensible, she couldn't say how long, ere she awoke to find herself\nsurrounded by hundreds of small people, who made great rejoicing to get\nher amongst them, as they very much wanted a tidy girl who knew how to\nbake and brew, one that would keep their habitation decent, nurse the\nchanged-children, that wern't so strongly made as they used to be, for\nwant of more beef and good malt liquor, so they said.\n\nAt first she felt like one entranced and hardly knew how to 'find\nherself' in such strange company; even then, after many years'\nexperience, their mode of life seemed somewhat unnatural to her, for all\namong them is mere illusion or acting and sham. They have no hearts, she\nbelieved, and but little sense or feeling; what serves them, in a way,\nas such, is merely the remembrance of whatever pleased them when they\nlived as mortals,--may be thousands of years ago.\n\nWhat appear like ruddy apples and other delicious fruit, are only sloes,\nhoggans, (haws) and blackberries. The sweet scented and rare flowers are\nno other than such as grow wild on every moor.\n\nIn answer to Mr. Noy's enquiries about small people's dietry, Grace told\nhim how she sickened, at first, on their washy food of honey-dew and\nberries--their ordinary sustenance--and how her stomach felt so waterish\nthat she often longed for a bit of salt fish.\n\nThe only thing she relished was goat's milk, \"for you must have often\nheard,\" said she, \"that these animals are frequently seen on moors, or\namong carns and in other out-of-the-way places, miles from their homes.\nThey are enticed away by small people to nourish their babes and\nchangelings. There's a score or more of goats here at times. Those\ncunning old he-ones that often come among a flock--no one knows\nwhence--and disappear with the best milkers, are the decoys, being small\npeople in such shapes. One may often notice in these venerable\nlong-beards, when seen reposing on a rock, chewing their cuds, a look of\nmore than human craftiness and a sly witch-like glance cast from the\ncorner of their eyes.\"\n\nLooking at Mr. Noy for a moment with a melancholy expression, she sighed\nand continued, \"I am now getting used to this sort of life and find it\ntolerable, the more so because the whole tribe behave to me with great\nkindness, the elderly men above all; you observed that little fellow to\nwhom I spoke and who now plays the tambourine, I desired him to tell the\nrest, in case they inquired for me, that I was gone to look after the\nchildren, and he is so much attached to me as to do or say anything I\nrequest.\" Seeing Mr. Noy look somewhat lowering, Grace exclaimed, \"Oh!\nmy dear Willy, don't be such a noddy as to be jealous, for he's no other\nthan vapour, and what he is pleased to think love, is no more\nsubstantial than fancy.\"\n\nMr. Noy asked if there were any children among them besides those they\nstole and replaced with changelings?\n\n\"Very few indeed,\" she replied, \"though they are fond of babies, and\nmake great rejoicing when one happens to be born amongst them; and then\nevery little man, however old, is proud to be thought the father. For\nyou must remember they are not of our religion,\" said she, in answer to\nhis surprised look, \"but star-worshippers. They don't always live\ntogether like Christians and turtle-doves; considering their long\nexistence such constancy would be tiresome for them, anyhow the small\ntribe seem to think so. And the old withered 'kiskeys' of men that one\ncan almost see through, like puffs of smoke, are vainer than the young\nones. May the Powers deliver them from their weakly frames! And indeed\nthey often long for the time when they will be altogether dissolved in\nair, and so end their wearisome state of existence without an object or\nhope.\"\n\nShe also told him--but he didn't remember exactly the words she\nspoke--that she was the more content with her condition since she was\nenabled to take the form of any bird she pleased, and thus gratify her\ndesire to be near him, so that when he thought of her but little\nsuspected her presence; she was mostly hovering round and watching him\nin the shape of some common small bird. Grace assured Mr. Noy of her\neverlasting love, yet as long as nature would permit him to retain his\nmortal form she would rather behold him in flesh and blood, than see him\nchanged to her state. She also told him, that when he died, if he wished\nto join her, they would then be united and dwell in this fairy-land of\nthe moors.\n\nMr. Noy wanted to know much more about these strange beings, and was\nabout to enquire, when they again called, \"Grace, Grace, where art thou\nso long? Bring us some drink quickly.\" She hastily entered the house,\nand that moment it came into his head that he, too, would have some\nliquor, disperse the small tribe, and save Grace.\n\nKnowing that any garment turned inside out and cast among such sprites\nwould make them flee, and happening to put his hand into his coat\npocket, he felt there the gloves that he had worn for binding in the\nafternoon; quick as thought, he turned one inside out, put into it a\nsmall stone, and threw it among them; in an instant they all vanished\nwith the house, Grace, and all the furniture. He just had time to glance\nround, and saw nothing but thickets and the roofless house of an old\nbowjey, when he received a blow on his forehead that knocked him down,\nyet he soon fell asleep and dozed away an hour or two he thought.\n\nThose to whom Mr. Noy related his story, said that he had learnt nothing\nnew from Grace, for old folks always believed of the fair people such\nthings as she told him, and they disliked to be seen, above all by\ndaylight, because they then looked aged and grim. It was said, too, that\nthose who take animal forms get smaller and smaller with every change,\ntill they are finally lost in the earth as muryans (ants), and that they\npassed winter, for the most part, in underground habitations, entered\nfrom cleves or carns. And it is held that many persons who appear to\nhave died entranced, are not really dead, but changed into the fairy\nstate.\n\nThe recovered gentleman farther informed them that he had remarked\namongst the small folks, many who bore a sort of family-likeness to\npeople he knew, and he had no doubt but some of them were changelings of\nrecent date, and others their forefathers who died in days of yore, when\nthey were not good enow to be admitted into heaven, nor so wicked as to\nbe doomed to the worst of all places. Over a while, it is supposed they\ncease to exist as living beings, for which reason fewer of them are now\nbeheld than were seen in old times.\n\nFrom the night that Mr. Noy strayed into the small people's habitation,\nhe seemed to be a changed man; he talked of little else but what he saw\nand heard there, and fancied that every redbreast, yellow-hammer, tinner\n(wag-tail), or other familiar small bird that came near him, might be\nthe fairy-form of his departed love.\n\nOften at dusk of eve and moonlight nights, he wandered round the moors\nin hopes to meet Grace, and when he found his search was all in vain he\nbecame melancholy, neglected his farm, tired of hunting, and departed\nthis life before the next harvest. Whether he truly died or passed into\nfairy-land, no one knows.\n\n * * * * *\n\n A story, much like the foregoing, is related of a young farmer\n called Richard Vingoe, who was 'piskey-led' in Treville Cliffs.\n After wandering for hours over places which appeared strange to\n him, he followed a path through a rocky 'bottom' or glen into an\n underground passage or cavern, from which, on emerging, he found\n himself in a pleasant looking country. Walking on he heard sounds\n of merry-making, and came to a place where people appeared to be\n keeping feast. He noticed a great number of persons hurling, and\n being fond of that game, he was about to run and seize the silver\n ball, as it fell near him, when a female darted from behind a\n rock--which screened her from view--and made eager signs for him to\n desist and follow her, as she withdrew into an orchard near at\n hand. He approached and saw that she was a damsel who had been dead\n a few years. She told him how she was changed into the fairy-state\n by having trespassed on the small people's domain, and that he had\n narrowly escaped the same fate. She also informed him of their mode\n of life, and that she was disposed to save him for the sake of\n their former attachment, as in the above story.\n\n When the hurlers and spectators of the game had all gone out of\n sight, she conducted her former lover to the upper world by a\n shorter road than that by which he entered; on the way she told\n him that as he had engaged to be married within a few weeks, she\n had no desire to detain him. She advised him, however, to defer\n his wedding three years, that he might be sure he knew his own\n mind. When Vingoe promised to follow her advice, they passed\n through an opening in a carn, and he saw Nanjizel; his conductress\n then said good-bye, and vanished. Being fatigued with his journey\n he lay on the grass, near the spot where he again saw the light of\n day, and there he was found asleep nearly a week after. Vingoe was\n never like the same man again, for he took to hard drinking and\n died unmarried.\n\n The details of both stories are so similar that they appear to be\n mere versions of the same fairy-tale.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n [3] This story should have preceded the \"QUEEN'S VISIT,\" but it was not\n obtained in time.\n\n\n\n\n THE I'AN'S HOUSE OF TREEN.\n\n All within is dark as night;\n In the windows is no light;\n And no murmur at the door,\n So frequent on its hinge before.\n\n Come away: no more of mirth\n Is here, or merry-making sound.\n The house was builded of the earth,\n And shall fall again to ground.\n TENNYSON.\n\n\nSome few years ago, there might have been seen on rising ground, west of\nthe road which passes through Treen, the remains of a very old dwelling,\nformerly known in that neighbourhood as the I'an's (pro Jan's) house.\nThough neglected and ruinous it still retained some signs of its former\nconsequence when it was regarded as a mansion. Visitors to the Logan\nRock often stopped to look at this forlorn-looking old house, with great\npart of its mullioned windows and a doorway, that had once been its\ngrand entrance, walled up. Its peculiar old style of masonry, the\nmassiveness and irregularity of the rough granite blocks with which it\nwas constructed, and its high-pitched thatched roof, made this old\nbuilding an object of interest, though it was neither beautiful nor\npicturesque. And a few casements, still retaining their old lead-lights\nof small panes in various patterns, to which age had imparted purple or\nrather prismatic hues, glimmered and glanced with changing lights that\ngave to the habitation a very ghostly look.\n\nWhat remained had long been divided into three or four dwellings; but\none wing was mostly unoccupied, because few persons could be found so\ncourageous or necessitous as to live in it and have their rest disturbed\nevery night, and often by day, with the rumbling of a turn\n(spinning-wheel) varied by wild shrieks, unearthly laughter, and other\nfrightful noises. There was also beyond the kitchen-court (and entered\nfrom it) a garden, surrounded by high walls, which rendered it as\nsecluded as any room of the mansion. This ground was long called\nBeaton's garden, even after, denuded of herbs and flowers, it was turned\ninto a pig's-court. This place was haunted too. In this state the old\nhouse and appurtenances remained until destroyed by fire, about ten\nyears since, and it always retained the name of a family that built it\nand resided there for generations, in the style of gentry, though never\nvery rich nor persons of much note beyond that locality.\n\nThree or four centuries ago, from their extravagance and a run of bad\nluck, the I'ans were reduced to comparative poverty. It was said that\nill fortune ever followed them from the time they broke up and removed\nto Garrack-zans (holy rock) that stood in front of their mansion, and\naround which a market was held in old times when Treen was an important\ntrading-place. However, that may have been, shortly after all the family\nremaining in Treen were John I'an (or Ivan) and his sister Beatrice,\nusually called Beaton, who had lost their parents when children. Young\nI'an from having much family pride and but little property to support\nits dignity, led a very unsettled life--mostly at sea, with a company of\nreckless young men, who carried on a hazardous trade in importing\nliquors, silks, salt, and other contraband goods from Roscroff; making\nPenberth, or some other cove, near it, their usual landing-place. Both\nbrother and sister are said to have been remarkable for their tall\nstature and good looks, though of very dark complexion.\n\nThey might, now and then, be seen at church--the former dressed in a\nlong bottle-green coat of cut velvet, and dusky crimson waistcoat (both\noverlaid with tarnished gold lace,) a plush breeches, and\ndiamond-buckled shoes. These everlasting garments, that might have been\nworn by his grandfather, were only changed in winter for home spun; and\nhis sturdy legs were then encased in long funnel-topped boots of French\nmake; and his jet black hair, that hung in curls on his shoulders, was\nsurmounted by a laced hat and plume. Though young I'an's state dress\nappeared much the worse for wear he looked every inch a gentleman, when,\nwith old-fashioned courtesy, he led into church his sister, arrayed in\nsilks or samite, a century old or more, yet still looking rich with\ntheir brilliant sheen, and thick enough to stand on end; point-lace\nruffles, yellow with age, hanging from her elbows, were met by\nembroidered silk gloves; her hair, of darkest chestnut hue, turned back\nover cushions, hung in ringlets down her neck; and a little hat was\nfastened by jewel-headed pins to her high head-dress. These remnants of\nold finery, contrasted with homely articles of dress that had to sustain\nmore wear and tear, made the I'an's poverty only too apparent; the more\nso because, at that time, several well-to-do families resided in St.\nLevan, and at church their old bravery and newest fashions were all\ndisplayed and duly criticised. Beaton showed, however, what her brother\nthought becoming pride, in treating with coolness or contempt all\nattentions offered by such rural beaux as he thought beneath her, though\nshe had but slight chance, poor girl, of becoming acquainted with any of\nhigher rank.\n\nI'an being seldom at home during the summer, his sister and two or three\nold servants managed the farm--then but a few acres of arable land, and\na great run of common--and were sole occupants of their gloomy mansion.\nThe poor young lady's dreary existence was partially relieved by her\nbrother's presence during winter. Then, too, he often brought home with\nhim many of his sea-mates or hunting companions, and the old house\nresounded with their reckless drunken revelry for days and nights\ntogether.\n\nAmong I'an's comrades his favourite was an able seaman called Willy\nTaskes or Trevaskes, who was a few years older than I'an--a courageous\nsmuggler, and mate of his fair-trader the _Mur_. Taskes was remarkably\nstrong built, the best wrestler and boxer in the western parishes. With\nmuch practice he taught I'an these arts of self-defence, and trained him\nto be just as good a seaman as himself. I'an, when overloaded with\ndrink, was often quarrelsome or rather fond of fighting, without reason,\nboth at home and abroad. Taskes as often belaboured him soundly to\ndivert his combative inclinations from dangerous antagonists; often\nalso, he got himself thrashed black and blue in taking I'an's part,\nwhich he was ever ready to do against any odds. From Willy being\nfrequently in Beaton's company, and from the favour shown him by her\nbrother, she was less reserved with him than others of his crew whom she\nkept at due distance.\n\nOf an evening when he often came alone, Beaton would ask him to card\nthe wool that she passed great part of her time in spinning, and no one\nmore ready than Willy Taskes to please her. I'an frequently left them\ntogether, little deeming that his sister--of gentle blood, poor as she\nmight be--could have a thought of the handsome young sailor as a lover.\nEre long, however, I'an was informed by his ugly old female\ndomestic--one who ever longed for but never had a lover--that her young\nmistress often met Willy Taskes by night in the walled garden, Caercreis\nbarn, or among the Castle carns. I'an, enraged, entered his sister's\napartments--she had three rooms at her sole disposal in that portion of\nthe mansion known as Beaton's wing--and, after much upbraiding,\nthreatened to shoot Taskes if he came near the house any more, and both\nof them if he caught them together. Beaton defied her brother, and\nanswered that if she could not see Willy Taskes there she would meet him\nelsewhere, and that it only depended on Willy as to whether she should\nbe his wife or not. Warned of what had taken place, the lover kept\naloof, and I'an, discarding his jovial companions, remained much within\ndoors, moody and discontented, wishing for the company of his former\ncomrade, but pride forbade his making friendly overtures; and his\nill-humour was aggravated all the more because his sister had the policy\nto persuade him that, after all, she didn't care anything for Willy\nTaskes, nor any of his crew, and that his chagrin was all for nought.\nThe dreary winter past, and corn tilled, I'an and his crew prepared for\nan early trip to Roscroff. Their former mate, from his quarrel with the\ncaptain, or rather from the coolness between them, having gone to work\non land, they selected a new one and made sail.\n\nI'an left on good terms with his sister, thinking that, though she might\nhave had an unbecoming affection for Taskes, yet her self-respect and\nregard for the dignity of their family--which he had awakened--had\nenabled her to subdue her misplaced love.\n\nIn a few weeks the _Mur_, as I'an's craft was called, returned with the\nusual goods, which were soon landed and disposed of, as the most\nvaluable liquors, silks, lace, &c., were bespoke by the neighbouring\ngentry. Farmers, and others who assisted to land and secure the cargo\nsoon took off what remained. There was then little or no interference\nfrom any government officials; indeed in more recent times those paid to\ncheck \"fair-trade\" were often the smugglers' friends, because they durst\nnot interrupt their proceedings with anything but well-understood shams\nof activity, and they were always rewarded with a share of the goods if\nthey conducted themselves with discretion. Old smugglers say they often\nwished to fall in with the revenue-cutter that their trip might be the\nmore exciting--they answered her shots by a loud hurrah, and a blaze\nfrom their own swivel-gun. As for the riding-officer they didn't mind\nhim a straw, and of other coast-guards there were none.\n\nAll hands being ready for another trip, the evening before they intended\nto start I'an told his sister he was going to meet his crew at the _Skaw\nTree_--the inn at St. Levan Church-town,--have a carouse, and sail in\nthe morning early. Wishing to become friends with his old mate, I'an had\nrequested one of his crew to tell Taskes that he would be glad of his\ncompany at the public-house and to let all past unpleasantness be\nforgotten. In I'an's happier moods a lingering regard for his former\ncomrade and staunch friend would get the upper hand of his prejudice and\nfamily pride, and then he would even think of Taskes as his\nbrother-in-law with complacency.\n\nFrom jealousy on the part of his new mate and others, his friendly\nmessage was not delivered. I'an not guessing the reason why Taskes\ndidn't join them, and only thinking his offers of renewed friendship\nwere slighted, was in ill-humour, and what was intended to have been a\njovial night, passed unpleasantly. At length some of the fuddled crew,\nvexed because of their captain's preference for his former mate, hinted\nthat he might be in Caercreis barn, in company he better liked, and\nthat, by all accounts, his sister and Willy had always been on very good\nterms. I'an, tipsy as he was, understood their meaning, made imprudent\nthreats of the way he would be revenged on Taskes; and left the company\nmuch earlier than was his wont on such occasions.\n\nVery mixed feelings, and all of an irritating nature, spurred him on his\nway towards an old solitary 'bowjey,' or field barn, where a cottage now\nstands--five minutes' walk from Castle Treen; and he had only gone a few\nyards beyond Pedny-vounder lane, when, by the dim moonlight, he spied\ntwo persons sauntering along a sheep-track that wound among rocks and\ncarns below him. Approaching and seeing they were his sister and her\nlover he assailed them with angry words, which soon came to blows\nbetween the men. Taskes, finding that I'an was the worse for drink,\nmerely defended himself and received his blows that he might expend his\nfury on him, as he had often done when they were the best of friends.\nBut, as bad luck would have it, Taskes, in going back, to avoid what\nmight have been ugly strokes, fell over a shelving rock on to a ledge\n(or shelf, as we say), many feet below.\n\nWhen I'an saw the young man he had once loved as a brother lying\nprostrate and apparently dead, his pride and anger gave place to bitter\nsorrow. He raised the wounded man, who moaned, and gasped for breath for\nsome minutes; then hearing I'an crying like a child, begging him to\nforget and forgive the past and be friends, \"I have nothing to forgive\nthee, my son,\" Taskes replied; \"it was my bad luck, and, whether I die\nor live a cripple, I would rather for it to be my case than thine.\"\n\nOver a while I'an and his sister helped him to stand, and one on either\nside of Taskes, with his arm round the neck of each, they slowly reached\ntheir house and placed him on I'an's bed. The servant-man was summoned,\nand told to ride with all speed for a doctor. Taskes tried to speak, and\nsigned that he might be lifted up in bed. Supported on I'an's breast,\nand holding the brother's and sister's hands, he said \"I know, dear\nJohn, a doctor can do me no good.\" And, looking towards Beaton, he told\nher to bring the man close to the bedside, for he had something to say\nbefore it might be too late.\n\nThe old servant approached. Taskes called him by name, and continued,\n\"I am dying. None but ourselves know how I came by my end. You must bear\nwitness for John, your master, that I declare it was all by my own\nmischance that I fell over a rock, and received my deadly hurt.\" He\nhadn't strength to say more. I'an wiped the bloody froth from the\nsinking man's lips, and tried to cheer him by saying, \"Thou shalt live\nyet, my dear Willy, and be my brother.\"\n\nBeaton, like one in a terrible dream, was unconscious of most that\npassed, till Taskes, awakening from a long swoon, grasped her hand and\nmoaned in sad accents, \"Beaton, dear Beaton; if I could but live till we\nmight be married, I should die more content. And my dear John,\" he\ncontinued, directing his gaze towards I'an, \"promise me, for all the\nyears we have been like brothers, to be ever kind to Beaton and to\nmy--to our\"--he gasped for breath--with a gurgling in his throat, blood\noozed from his lips. Looking wistfully at Beaton, he grasped brother's\nand sister's joined hands with a death-grip; his head sunk on I'an's\nbreast; and thus Willy Taskes passed away in his prime.\n\nBeaton, distracted by sorrow, had to be forcibly taken from her lover's\nbedside, and for weeks she seemed to be on the verge of madness. Her\nbrother scarcely less grieved, tried to find some solace for his anguish\nin ordering that, in all respects, the funeral should be conducted as\nfor one of his kindred. It was a custom with the I'ans, and a few other\nWest Country families, to have their burials at night. So, a week after\nthe fatal encounter, and in the summer evening's twilight, Willy Taskes\nwas borne out of the old mansion, carried by his former comrades,\nfollowed by I'an and by many neighbours to his last resting-place in St.\nLevan Churchyard.\n\n\n THE I'ANS QUIT TREEN.\n\n She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,\n Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,\n A strange sensation which she must partake\n Perforce, since whatsoever met her view,\n Struck not her memory, though a heavy ache\n Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true,\n Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,\n For, for a while, the furies made a pause.\n BYRON.\n\nI'an being reluctant to leave his sister all alone with her sorrow,\nprocured a good seaman to command the _Mur_ for her next run. Fears were\nentertained that Beaton's mind might become permanently deranged from\nexcessive grief. She could seldom be induced to leave the room in which\nher lover died, and I'an, feeling a repugnance to sleep there, she took\nit for a bed-room, saying she intended to keep it because that\napartment, with two or three others adjoining it, were bequeathed to her\n(as indeed they were, with their furniture), for her lifetime. For many\ndays together she was never seen except by the aged servant, who, at the\nusual meal-times, took to the gloomy chamber food that was often removed\nuntasted. Her spinning-wheel was thrown aside; yet she seemed occupied\nin some quiet mysterious way; and I'an, getting alarmed for the probable\nresult of her sad seclusion, consulted a doctor, who, being an old\nfriend of the family, came to visit Beaton without delay, and requested\nto be taken to her room without being announced. I'an entered, followed\nby the doctor, and saw Beaton in a window-recess, busily sewing; at the\nsame time, so absorbed was she in singing a baby's lullaby and rocking a\ncradle--in which there was no child, but a christening-dress with other\narticles of her infantile wardrobe--that she did not perceive her\nvisitors. They noted, too, that the bed was covered with old dresses, in\nvarious beautiful fabrics, and that Beaton had been cutting them up,\nseemingly to waste. I'an annoyed to see this destruction of gay and\ncostly gowns, said, \"Sister dear, art thou going crazy to be cutting up\nthy best clothes?\" \"No, John,\" she replied, without looking up from her\nwork; \"yet methinks you are very rude thus to enter a lady's bedchamber\nwith so little ceremony. But men understand so little of women's\nhearts,\" she continued, as if speaking to herself and taking no further\nnotice of her brother; \"little do they know that, when damsels don their\ngayest robes, they long for the time when they may cut them up for their\nbabies' clothes. But is it to-morrow that is to be my wedding-day?\"\ndemanded she. \"Oh, dear Willy, where art thou? Do tell me. It was to\nhave been some time before brother John came back. The banns called\nthrice, we are to be wedded before he returns; then he will love my\nWilly like he used to, and all will be right well.\"\n\nUnconscious, seeming, of any presence save what her crazed fancy imaged,\nshe looked towards her brother and the doctor, who now advanced and\nnoticed there was no intelligence in her fixed gaze. She appeared to be\nlooking within rather than at anything external, when she went on to\nsay, \"Our child, if a boy, shall be named William, after you, my love;\nbut if a girl, it shall never be called Beatrice for me. I have often\nbeen told that the name, though a favourite one, has always been\nill-starred in our family. Shall we call her Mary for your mother, or\nAgnes for mine? Any names of those we love sound sweet, like a dear\nmother's. That I remember, and how she rocked me singing, 'Lullaby,\nlullaby, littly maid Beatrice; angels protect thee, my darling.'\"\n\nI'an, cut to the heart to see her thus, took her hand and said,\n\"Sister, you are ill, dear, and our good friend, the doctor, is come to\nvisit you.\" \"Oh, how foolish people are,\" she replied, \"I was never\nbetter in my life, yet our old Betty will have it that I don't eat\nenough, what next I wonder? I am glad, however, he is come to visit us;\nour house seems lonely now, and he is a dear man--so kind, true, and\nhearty, I always liked him from a child, and how he enjoys his pipe and\nglass, dear man! I'll leave my work now, and see that he be entertained\nwith the best our house will afford.\"\n\nBeaton folded her work, rose, passed near their friend without\nrecognition, and descended to the kitchen, where she gave orders for a\nsumptuous repast, though there was nothing in her house to furnish it.\nShe then returned to her work, saying that it would be time enough to\ndress for dinner in an hour or more, meanwhile her brother would\nentertain their guest, and the doctor would excuse her; for indeed she\nwas very busy. Then she wailed, rather than sung,\n\n 'Twas down in the garden green, sweetheart,\n Where you and I did walk;\n But the fairest flower that in my garden grew\n Is withered to a stalk.\n\nThe doctor, perceiving her pitiably distracted state, advised I'an to\nremove her to a change of scene--far away if he could--and trust to an\noccurrence that might soon take place to do more to restore her reason\nthan anything in his power. \"Nature,\" he observed, \"beats all doctors,\nand maternal instinct supplies the place of reason, now happily dormant\nfor the assuagement of her bleeding heart, poor dove.\"\n\nThe old servant, being called and questioned, she confirmed what the\ndoctor surmised, and further informed him that she was aware of the\nintention of William and Beaton to be married during her master's\nabsence, trusting to have his forgiveness, when all was done; then\npossible to make amends for the thoughtlessness of youth and love.\n\nThe doctor's advice tallied with I'an's inclination. He had often\nthought, and at length determined, to leave the wreck of his property\nfor his creditors, as it was deeply mortgaged, and the accumulated\ninterest of many years unpaid. He would seek a home for himself and his\nsister in Brittany, where he had formed acquaintances, and where no\nfancied requirements of sham gentility and beggarly state would impede\nhis endeavours to push his fortune by land or sea. Being assured that a\ntrip across the Channel was likely to prove beneficial to Beaton, who\nhad often been to sea and enjoyed life on the waves like the sea-bird\nafter which the smuggler's craft was named; wearing apparel, bedding,\nand a few heirlooms, of no great value, were soon packed so that they\nmight be ready to leave when the _Mur_ next made sail for France. Their\nmoveable furniture was placed in Beaton's portion of the house, where\ntwo old servants were installed to keep possession for her of that, and\nalso of some garden ground and pasture land in which she had a life\ninterest. It was feared there might be some difficulty in persuading the\npoor demented woman to embark; yet, when the vessel was ready, by a\nharmless deception she was led to connect the proposed voyage, somehow,\nwith going to meet her lover and hastening her bridal. So, one day,\nabout a month after Willy was laid beneath the turf, I'an had a stone\nplaced to mark the spot, and--following a very ancient custom in St.\nLevan--planted rosemary, box, lillies, and other garden flowers on the\ngrave, over which he and his crew shed many tears. The following night\nI'an, with his sister, bade farewell to the ancient home of their\nforefathers, now rendered doubly sad to him by the remembrance of\nTaskes's ill-fated death, and his sister's melancholy plight.\n\nLittle more was then heard of either brother or sister. Penberth men,\nbelonging to I'an's crew, purchased his share of their vessel, and\nbefore they left port, Beaton was lodged at a farm house, where she was\nkindly nursed; and it was hoped that, ere long, maternal cares might\ntend to restore her reason and somewhat relieve her anguish for her\nlover's untimely death. I'an was well known at the port, where they had\nlong traded, as an expert seaman and good navigator, and he soon\nobtained the command of a ship. For a long while the old servants lived\nin Beaton's part of the house, hoping for her return, and cultivated the\nsmall quantity of ground that belonged to her. But no tidings ever\nreached them of either sister or brother; and when the two old servants\ndied--it being supposed that their mistress was also dead, and her\nportion fallen in hand--I'an's creditors took possession of it.\n\n\n UNEXPECTED VISITORS.\n\n With fairest flowers,\n Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,\n I'll sweeten thy sad grave.\n _Cymbeline._\n\nA little above Penberth Cove, and near the Green, there is an ancient\ncottage in an orchard. In this dwelling lived an old dame called Joan\nTaskes, who kept a kind of public-house, as liquors and other goods were\nentrusted to her, by smugglers, for sale.\n\nOne afternoon, about nineteen or twenty years after Willy's death--when\nhe and the I'ans were almost forgotten--An' Joan, whilst busy spinning\nflax with a treadle-turn heard a knock at her open door, and, thinking\nit was somebody come to buy liquor, or \"honey-pins\"--a sweet apple for\nwhich her orchard was noted--without rising she called out, \"Come 'e in\ncheeld, and don't 'e stay knacking at the door.\" But An' Joan was rather\nstartled when, on looking round, she saw two ladies standing near her.\nThey were both tall. One appeared about fifty and the other near twenty\nyears of age. Their dresses made her think they must be foreigners. The\nelder was clad in some kind of white woollen stuff, by whatever name one\nmight call her garb: it had loose, hanging sleeves, and its ample folds\nwere confined by a girdle to her waist. Over her head she wore a square\nof black serge; its ends hanging on her shoulders, and shading her face,\ngave it a pallid appearance, which was rendered somewhat ghastly by a\nwhite linen band across her forehead. The younger wore a silver-grey\ndress of more ordinary mode, and for head-dress a lace veil that\ncovered, without concealing, her braided dark brown hair.\n\nAn' Joan, rising, drew out her form and said, \"Pray be seated, ladies,\nand excuse me, as I thought you might have been some neighbours'\nchildren knocking at the door.\"\n\n\"We called,\" the elder lady replied, \"to enquire if there be any small\ndwelling unoccupied in Penberth, or Treen, or in any place near.\"\n\n\"Be pleased to sit, ladies, and leave me think a moment,\" said the dame;\n\"but I havn't heard of any place that would be good enough for you, and\nthe only one I know of, close at hand, is Chynance. Why it seems to me,\"\nshe continued, \"as if I had heard the sound of your voice, years agone,\nsomewhere, but can't call 'e to mind.\"\n\n\"Look at me well, Aunt Joan,\" the lady rejoined, \"and tell me if you can\nthink of anyone you ever saw like me.\"\n\nThe dame having adjusted her barnacles, peered at the lady's face and at\nlength said in tremulous tones, \"You can't be a spirit to come here high\nby day! Yet now I look at 'e again there's the dark brown eyes, straight\nnose, small mouth, and pitted chin of our poor lost Beatie! You can't be\nshe? But with that white band across your forehead one can't see a lock\nof your hair; her's was of the darkest chesnut colour; besides the\nblack kerchief or scarf, over your head, shades your face.\"\n\n\"If you saw my hair, now nearly as white as your own, you wouldn't know\nme by that,\" the lady answered. \"But don't be frightened, dear An'\nJoan,\" continued she, in folding back her veil, \"look again and you will\nsee Beatrice I'an, and this dear girl is my daughter Mary.\"\n\nAn' Joan sprung from her seat, kissed Mary, clasped Beaton to her\nbreast, and wept aloud for joy. She then took from her cupboard a bottle\nof brandy and another of sweet-drink (mead), filled two rummers with a\nmixture of the strong and sweet, saying, \"Here, dears, drink this, and\nhelp yourselves to more while I get something for 'e to eat before I\nhear another word.\"\n\nThe old dame skipped about as if the sight of Beaton and her daughter\nhad made her twenty years younger.\n\nIn a few minutes An' Joan fried fish, boiled eggs, and placed on the\nboard milk, cream, and butter, with bread and honey, apple pasties, a\njug of beer, and more bottles of her choice cordials. When all three had\ndone ample justice to the repast, Beaton, looking round the dwelling,\nsaid, \"Now Aunt Joan, I am again at home and as happy as I can ever hope\nto be, but I always felt like one banished for all the years I dwelt in\nthe land where Mary was born and bred. Everything here looks the same as\nlong ago, when my delight was to run down for some of your choice fruit\nand sweet flowers, and to play with your turns till you learnt me to\nspin just as well as yourself.\" Seeing Mary's gaze fixed on the dresser,\nshe continued, \"You may well admire that, dear, and all its shelves\ncontain; a dresser is the crowning glory of every Cornish cottage. You\nhave never seen such quaint looking old jugs, ornamented with queer\nfigures and wry faces, grinning amidst flowers and fruit, as those on\nthe upper shelf; see on the next there are bright coloured glasses with\nlong threaded or twisted stems, and scores of rare pretty things\nbesides, brought from over sea or saved from wrecks; the dresser-bed is\ncovered with a cloth as white as snow, and many ladies would covet the\nbowls and other vessels of old china that rest on it; and one might take\nthe bright pewter flagons and platters for silver. A brass warming-pan,\nsuch as you see on the other side, is an article for ornament rather\nthan use, but every couple here, however poor, think they must get one\nbefore they be married. And that shelf of wooden trenches,\nbutter-prints, mustard-bowls, and other 'temberan things,' scoured with\n'gard,' have a look of cleanliness not to be surpassed by more costly\nfurniture.\"\n\nOn the chimney-piece they might have noticed an hour-glass between tall\nbrass candlesticks, branches of coral, sea-birds' eggs, sea-urchins, and\nforeign shells. Turning to An' Joan, Beaton remarked as if delighted,\n\"there, too, beside the door is the same sweet-brier; rosemary, thyme,\nand other sweet flowers, blooming all over the garden; and the house\nswarming with bees, as of old, coming and going through the open window,\nand alighting on your cap as if to tell 'e they were going on well, and\nto see how you were looking.\"\n\n\"I hope, dears, you are now come home to live for the rest of your\ndays,\" said Joan. \"Your grand old house is cut to pieces, and three\nfamilies dwelling in it; but most of your furniture is still there,\npacked away in the best chamber, all in that room as you left it, and\nthe door hasn't been unlocked for many years,--scarcely opened, indeed,\nsince you last slept there.\" Beaton replied to the effect that during\nall the time she lived abroad, her greatest desire was to return and end\nher days where she was born, and to be buried beside the one she loved\nabove all the world; and that she intended, after a short rest, to go\nalong the cliff to church-town to see his grave, and that she wished to\ngo alone.\n\n\"Poor dear Willy, the Lord rest with him,\" said An' Joan, \"you will see\nby his grave that he hasn't been forgotten. On his breast there's a\nrosemary, the pride of my heart, grown to a bush that overtops his\ntombstone; a box-tree grows at the foot, and betwixt them sweet-brier,\ntansy, herb-of-grace, and such other long-lived and evergreen plants as\nare good for remembrance, besides a border of pinks and lillies. You'll\nsee that none in the church-hay have been more lovingly tended, for I\nand others have planted on his grave fresh flowers when old ones died.\"\n\nWhen Cribba Head threw its shadow over the water, Beaton started on her\nsad pilgrimage, saying to her daughter, who wished to accompany her,\n\"Remain, dear, with our old friend; tell her all about your uncle John,\nand how we lived in Brittany; she is longing to know but don't like to\nask.\"\n\nThe kind dame took Mary round her garden, well stocked with sweet\nold-fashioned flowers and many hives of bees; then passing through her\norchard from one tree of choice fruit to another, equally good, they\ncame to a clear brook, overhung by branches weighed down by their load\nof apples, pears, and plums that often fell in the stream and floated\nout to sea, unless found on their passage by children who often watched\nthe water, gurgling among reeds and rocks below the orchard, for An'\nJoan's apples and plums.\n\nMilking time being come, Joan took her bucket, and they went up to\nPenberth Green, where the old dame's cow--little and good--was waiting\nto be milked. At that time, and long after, almost every cotter kept a\ncow, which found sufficient pasture in green lanes, and commons. An'\nJoan, having finished her out-door evening work, made a\nmullet-and-parsley pie, as that was a favourite supper dish. When placed\non the hearth to bake, she said, \"I have, for many years, been longing\nto know how it fared with your mother and uncle, and had given up all\nhopes of ever again seeing them, not knowing if they were alive or dead;\nand you, poor lonely flower, have no other relations on your mother's\nside that I know of.\"\n\n\"I have a good many cousins in Brittany,\" replied Mary, \"as my uncle has\na large family.\" She then related what she had heard from her mother,\nand what she remembered, to the effect that when I'an settled in\nBrittany he hired a small farm, and soon after married a person of good\nproperty. For a short time, he cultivated the land acquired by his\nmarriage, but he soon tired of a farmer's life, and went to sea as\ncaptain of a large ship; he was often away for years together. Mary\nseldom saw him, as there appeared to be little desire, on the part of\nbrother or sister, for much intimacy. Yet, on his return from a voyage,\nhe always sent them money and goods, which they didn't require, because\nBeaton, by her spinning, and Mary, by her lace-work and embroidery,\ngained more than sufficed for their needs. Her uncle often took her\nlace-work abroad, where he traded, and brought her more for it than its\nweight in gold.\n\nAlthough they wanted for nothing, and everybody was kind to them, Beaton\nwas always pining to return; and in spite of I'an's wishes for them to\nremain, she made a vow that before Mary became of age, she would go home\nand pass the rest of her life in the practice of some devotion for the\nrepose of Mary's father. About a week ago, Beaton having heard there was\na smuggling craft from Cornwall in a cove near their dwelling, she\npacked up all her household goods that she cared about, and they left,\nbag and baggage, in the boat which landed them in Mousal that morning.\nWhen Mary had just ended her recital, her mother silently glided in,\nkissed her, and placed in her bosom a few flowers, saying, \"Cherish\nthese from a garden I prize above all others, and we will soon plant it\nwith choicest flowers.\" \"And now,\" she continued, \"we must bid dear Aunt\nJoan good-bye, and proceed to Buryan Church-town, where we can remain\nfor the night.\" \"No, my dears,\" An' Joan interposed, \"there's a pie\nbaking for your supper, and a spare bed on the talfat as good as any in\nChurch-town, though I say it; remain with me till you have found a\nbetter place, or hired Chynance for a time, as there may be more delay\nthan you calculate before your house in Treen will be ready for 'e.\"\nBoth ladies gladly accepted the kind dame's hearty welcome, and enjoyed\nher savoury pie and good ale, of her own brewing; no woman then expected\nto get a husband, unless she knew how to make a good barley-brew, and\nthey say that people of that day, who drank good beer as their ordinary\nbeverage, were stronger by far than their descendants, raised on\ntea-wash.\n\nBeaton hired Chynance, procured a few articles of furniture--in\naddition to what she brought from over sea--also a cow and poultry; had\nthe garden planted, the house thatched, and comfortably arranged for\nwinter. Owing to delay in getting possession of Beaton's property in\nTreen they lived here a year or more, and, when all was ready for their\nremoval, Mary would have much preferred to remain in that sunny\nsheltered cot, nestled at the foot of Buryan Hill; but her mother got\ninto a restless fidgetty state that caused An' Joan to look more grave\nthan was her wont. She had heard that as far back as there was any\nrecord, many of the I'an family--particularly the women--when between\nforty-five and fifty years of age, either went mad or died; and she\nfeared that the gloomy grandeur of Beaton's old home, with the sad\nremembrances, likely to be renewed thereby, would tend to bring on this\nfamily infirmity. It was all in vain, however, for Mary to say, \"Dear\nmother let us remain here in this sunny nook, where flowers grow all the\nyear; spotted trout sport in the stream; and our goats, lambs, and\npoultry can range at their own sweet will.\" When all was arranged in\nBeaton's part of the mansion, so as to give it an air of its former\nstate, thither they removed, but still retained Chynance for the sake of\nhaving pasture for their cow, and to please Mary, who took a great fancy\nto it.\n\nBeaton was not in her old habitation many days when she had her 'turn'\nand other spinning utensils taken into the chamber where Taskes breathed\nhis last. There she passed most of her time, and often kept all night at\nher work; the rumble of her spinning-wheel and doleful noises that she\nfrequently made, soon caused those living in parts of the house, not in\nher possession, to quit rather than have their rest nightly disturbed;\nand she rejoiced that the house was cleared of all strangers and\ninterlopers, as she styled its other occupants. Often she would be away\nto St. Levan churchyard at dead of night--unknown to Mary and their\nservant--pass hours, in prayer it was supposed, beside Willy's grave;\nand bring thence flowers, wet with morning dew, to be kept in her\nchamber, and when withered all were laid by in her chest. This penance,\nas much inspired by love as enjoined by her faith, was duly observed, in\nspite of her failing health. On dark, stormy nights, she would often be\nmet wandering along the cliffs between Church-town and Treen; or seen\nkneeling on the rock where her lover received his fatal hurt.\n\nMany persons were startled by encountering, at unexpected times, her\nphantom-like figure, gliding along the cleves or amongst the carns of\nCastle-Treen, in her strange dress of white robe, black veil, and\nghastly linen band across her forehead, that made her look like one\nescaped from a grave in a winding-sheet and shroud. It was evident that\nBeaton was at times insane; yet, sad as such a state seems, it may not\nhave been the most melancholy portion of this poor soul's destiny; for\nwhen her mind was burthened with more grief than it could bear, her\nreason became unsettled, and her memory infolded with clouds that were\noften of roseate hue. Old crones whispered that they had heard of more\nthan one Beatrice I'an, and men of that family as well, who went crazy;\nand that their madness began in melancholy seclusion, and the practice\nof old-fashioned devotions that few cared about since they were declared\nPopish and unlawful. Yet, the same old dames took good care to preserve\nmany charms for the cure of diseases, and to use them as in Catholic\ntimes, and the same are retained and practised by their descendants to\nthis day, with others that are probably transmitted from an age when\nsun-worship was in vogue.\n\nAs Penberth and Mousal fair-traders maintained a constant intercourse\nwith Roscroff, I'an's family often sent Beaton presents of flax,\nclothing, and other goods; they did not require them, however, for Mary,\nlike her mother, was an excellent spinster and skilful in embroidery and\nlace-work. Treen being a noted place for good weavers, they provided\nthem with plenty of spinning-work; and when Mary showed her rare lace to\nAn' Joan, she assured her that ladies, within a short distance, paid\nlarge sums to smugglers for what was no better. The old dame took it\nround to gentlemen's seats, and soon returned with much more money than\nMary expected for her wares; and with orders for more lace-work than she\ncould execute in a long time.\n\nBeaton's lucid intervals became less and less frequent. When crazy fits\nprevailed, she seemed happy, nay joyful; but when reason,--such as it\nwas,--or more sober moods intervened, she would talk regretfully, often\nmoaning to herself, \"The Lord help me, alas it was all my fault, I\nbrought blood on my brother's head, he can never have rest, nor I, no,\nnevermore, not even in the grave.\" One of her strange freaks was to\nsleep by day and to visit the churchyard or spin by night. Sometimes she\nknitted stockings and other things for her Willy; these were to be put\nin her coffin. She would often say, \"Willy, dear, I am working for thee,\nlove, and will soon fetch thee back; we will live here, nobody shall\never put us out of this chamber. Oh! what delight I took in spinning\nyears ago, when thou didst card the wool of winter's nights. I can never\npass the time in singing, for ever singing. I should be weary in a day,\nand would rather spin the time away with thee to card the wool; and as\nof old thou shalt give me a kiss, such a long sweet kiss, with every\nrull I take from the cards.\"\n\nHer last whim was to spin and knit herself a shroud, which she called\nher wedding-dress. This was made of the whitest and finest lamb's-wool\nshe could procure. Mary, to please her, had to give much of her best\nlace for trimming this 'wisht' garment; and at length after much\nalteration, she had it to her mind, and repeated to her daughter and An'\nJoan all her whimsical fancies about her bridal arrangements, as she\ncalled her funeral ceremonies. The following night she walked alone to\nthe churchyard, and returned late.\n\nAbout midnight Mary, as was her custom, looked into her mother's room,\nand saw by the glimmering light of a chill (iron lamp), hanging on the\nwall, her mother sitting in a high-backed chair, apparently in a sweet\nsleep, with a placid smile on her countenance; as she sometimes dosed in\nher chair, Mary, loath to disturb her, stepped quietly back to her own\nroom; but feeling uneasy from her mother's unusual silence she lay awake\ntill daybreak and then returned to her mother. On approaching her, Mary\nnoticed that over a fine white dress she wore her shroud, with its\nface-cloth turned back on her head. Mary took her hand, and feeling it\ncold and stiff, the truth struck her that her mother was dead. Yet she\nhoped that it might only be a trance, as she looked so life-like and\npleasant, as when asleep, in her happiest moods. But a neighbour, who\nwas called in, assured Mary that her mother had been dead some hours.\n\"Yet to behold her thus,\" said the dame, \"sitting in her chair, with\nfresh flowers in her bosom, the hour-glass beside her, and beads in her\nhand, one would think she had only fallen asleep whilst saying her\nprayers; the Lord rest her poor soul.\" On looking round, when the rising\nsun-beams streamed in through an open window, they saw that her best\nquilt was spread on the bed, and on that the clothes Taskes wore on that\nunlucky night when he received his death-wound, and other things that\nbelonged to him. Where, or how, Beaton could have kept them so long no\none knew. An' Joan had these, and withered flowers, with other things\nthat Beaton prized, put into her coffin, in hopes to give her spirit\nrest; and Beatrice I'an, according to her oft-repeated request, was laid\nin St. Levan churchyard, beside the dust of Willy Taskes.\n\n\"And we Treen people,\" said the old man who related her story, \"would\nhave been glad if she had stayed there, but she hadn't been under the\nturf three days when she was back again and spinning, as she always said\nshe would, in the chamber that was locked up with everything in it as it\nstood when she was carried out; and it was supposed that other spirits\ncame back with her, by the capperouse they often made.\" We will leave\nthem, however, and their ghostly doings, for a while, to follow Mary's\ndestiny.\n\n\n THE PROUD PENDARS.\n\n O it is sad! O it is sad\n To think of the joys that once I had:\n To wander lone over land and sea,\n And know that she waits no more for me.\n This tress of her fair, soft, chestnut hair,\n Is all the cruel grave would spare.\n MORTIMER COLLINS.\n\nAt Beaton's death what had been her portion of the property fell in\nhand, and Mary removed to Chynance, taking with her a few such articles\nof the old furniture as were not too cumbersome for her small dwelling;\nbut everything in \"Beaton's chamber\" was left there for the time, as it\nstood when she was carried out. Mary's life had been anything but a\ncheerful one for the past year or two, but after her mother's decease\nshe felt very desolate. Her uncle's family urged her to return and live\nwith them, which she was inclined to do, as she often said that Brittany\nseemed less gloomy to her than this country; because in the Cornuaille\nover the water young and old met, every Sunday at least, at their parish\nchurch, and joined in a dance after service; besides there were yearly\nfeasts, in neighbouring parishes on their patron saints' days, to which\npeople flocked from miles away; they were hospitably entertained,\nwithout regard to rank, at the feasten board; and all regarded it as a\nsort of religious duty to take part in dancing, hurling, wrestling, and\nother games that were continued several days of the feasten week.\n\n\"It seems to me like forsaking my poor mother to leave this place,\" Mary\nwould say to An' Joan, \"but over sea my cousins are always happy\ntogether, and they knew no difference between me and their sisters; but\nhere I feel as desolate as a forsaken bird, though Chynance is a\npleasant sunny spot, and nobody can be kinder to me than you and others\nwho knew my dear mother.\" In such like sad complaints she bemoaned her\nlonely state, till love came to brighten the scene, for a brief space.\n\nMary frequently took her work to Penberth and passed the afternoons or\nevenings with An' Joan. As the dame sold liquor from a noggin to an\n\"anker\" (keg), her dwelling was often pretty well filled with company,\nof an evening. And Mary often said that such gatherings of neighbours,\nto hear news, sing songs, or relate old stories, reminded her of home,\nas she called Brittany.\n\nNow, it so happened, a few months after Mary again settled in Chynance,\nshe was one afternoon on a visit to An' Joan, when a young officer, home\non a furlough from a man-of-war, entered the dwelling, saluted An'\nJoan--who had known him from a child--and called for brandy and cordials\nto treat the dame and himself; by the time they were seated for cosy\nchat, Mary entered with baskets of fruit from the orchard. The young\nsailor rose, saluted her, and seemed surprised to see one--apparently an\ninmate of Joan's--with the dress and demeanour of a lady; her broken\nEnglish, with Breton accent, betokened her to be a foreigner. \"Don't 'e\ndisturb yourself, Mr. Pendar,\" said An' Joan, \"this young lady, poor\ndear, all the same to me as a daughter, is the damsel Mary I'an.\"\n\nMr. Pendar--who is said to have been one of those who then lived in\nPendrea--had heard some gossip, on his first arrival at home, about the\ngood looks, rare accomplishments, and strange history of this waif of\nthe I'an's; and how she had refused many offers of marriage from\nfarmers' sons that were thought good chances for her. Young Pendar took\na liking at first sight to the poor orphan, and his love was not more\nsudden than honest and constant; and her feelings towards the young\nsailor must have been equally favourable, one may suppose, as they often\nmet at Penberth and elsewhere, and purposed to be wedded on his next\nreturn from a short voyage. But the artless sailor and simple maiden\nmade their calculations without his parents' consent. Little thought\nMary, and less cared her lover, about what the old Pendars styled the\nstain on her paternity, or their talk about disowning or disinheriting.\nThe brave heart of oak but little regarded his mother railing in bitter\nterms, of Mary's poverty and base birth, and of Beaton's youthful\nfailing; or his father saying, \"that as he made his bed he might lie on\nit; that if he wedded one of nought, he should be cut off with a\nshilling.\" But more devilry was set to work than the youngster knew of.\n\nAt parting, to join his ship, he told his father to keep his shilling,\nas he cared not for anything he had to withhold or bestow, that he saw\nno reason why the daughter should suffer for her parents' failings; he\nthought they had undergone more than enough themselves, and that he was\ndetermined to win fortune and choose a wife for himself. On taking leave\nof Mary he assured her that when he returned from a short voyage he\nwould make her his bride.\n\nPendar left home to join his ship, which he thought would make but a\nshort voyage.\n\nMany months elapsed, but Mary had no tidings of her affianced lover;\nand, about the time she expected his return a report was circulated that\nhe was killed in a naval engagement. As months rolled on and brought no\nother intelligence, Mary too readily believed the common talk; and, poor\ngrieved soul, for many an hour she would sit, all alone, on a rock\nbeside the shore, look wistfully out to sea, and chant some old Breton\nmelody about meeting her true-love in the fairy orchards of Avalon. And\nher wild song, by the moaning waves, was sad to hear as a funeral dirge.\nLike a blasted flower she pined and died, and was laid beside her\nparents, when the young seaman, her lover, was hastening homeward in\nhopes to make her his bride.\n\nPendar arrived at Penberth with a good store of prize-money, heard, with\nanguish, how Mary had died of a broken heart, all through a vile scheme\nof his parents, who spread the sad rumour, and had no reason to think\nhim dead; because they, unknown to him, contrived to have him drafted to\na cruiser that was sent to protect merchantmen in distant seas. He was\nkept in ignorance of his destination, and had no means to inform Mary\nthat years might elapse before his return. He left home without seeing\nhis father or mother, and never more returned to Buryan; yet 'tis said\nthat he became renowned as a brave naval commander, and died unmarried.\n\nWithin a few days of Mary's death, her uncle made a trip to Fowey, with\na cargo of contraband goods, and on his return voyage, shaped his course\nfor the Land's End, intending to land in Mount's Bay, to visit his\nniece, and persuade her to return with him. His ship approached land off\nPenberth; the sea being smooth, he ran her close in, near the cove, that\nhe might be taken ashore in his ship's boat. It so happened that his old\ncraft was running for the cove in this Autumn evening's twilight with a\nthick fog. The _Mur's_ crew mistook I'an's vessel, beating the same\ncourse, for a revenue cutter, and one of the hands fired a random shot\nbetween \"wind and water\" that killed their former commander, as he was\nabout to step into his boat; some say it was on the very evening of his\nniece's funeral. The Breton crew fired on the _Mur_, and sunk her.\nAlmost all Penberth men were on board, and the greatest part of them\nwere drowned within hail of the cove and their dwellings. I'an was taken\nhome to be buried, in Brittany, and his family dropped all intercourse\nwith their father's native place.\n\nIt was not known here till years after the fatal mishap that I'an was\nkilled by a shot from the _Mur_, or that it was his ship's company who\nsent many of his old crew to a watery grave.\n\n\n THE I'AN'S GHOSTS.\n\n We have no title-deeds to house or lands,\n Owners and occupants of earlier dates\n From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,\n And hold in mortmain still their old estates.\n LONGFELLOW.\n\nNow that ghostly visits are rare, many persons may be sceptical of what\nis said of this haunted house, and we shall only relate a few of the\nmost remarkable stories. Shortly after Beatrice died, noises like the\nrumble of a spinning-wheel and clicking of cards, with unnatural\nshrieks, were often heard in \"Beaton's chamber,\" which remained locked\nup, with its furniture just as it was when she died; persons passing by\nthe house at night, who had courage to cast a glance at its windows, saw\nin that room and others a glimmer of light, and shadowy forms flitting\nto and fro. But almost everybody hurried by without casting an eye\ntowards the house, or took a roundabout way rather than run the risk of\nhaving a fright or their rest disturbed by a remembrance of those\nstrange apparitions.\n\nOver a while it seemed as if more spirits joined those that first\narrived, till at length they made such a 'rattle-cum-stave' throughout\nthe whole house that it was left for years unoccupied,--by mortal\ntenants at least. The turn continued its rumble upstairs, and what had\nformerly been kitchen, hall, and parlour, seemed filled with a revelrout\nall night long, and folks were often dismayed by unnatural appearances\noutside the house. Towards night clouds of fog would roll in from over\nsea, settle around the I'an's premises, and become denser and darker\ntill the place seemed shrouded in thunder-clouds; then lights would\nflash around the house, and such sounds be heard as if made by\ndischarges of small fire-arms, with a roar of cannon now and then; one\nwould, also, hear the surging and splashing of waves, flapping of sails,\ncreaking of blocks and tackle, with other sounds usually heard on\nshipboard, till this apparition rose high above the houses, drifted away\nseaward, and disappeared.\n\nSometimes all lights in the house would go out, at the same instant,\nwithout any visible cause; this was such a common occurrence that the\ninmates would merely say, \"that's Beaton come again; but, never mind, we\nshall soon hear her spinning, then we may light the candles again, and\nhope to be left quiet for a time.\" When people would persist and occupy\nthe house, it was often troubled by day, and all its mortal inmates,\nboth man and beast, would be seized with fear, and run to doors, at\ntimes when nothing unusual was seen or heard. Often in the height of a\nclear summer's day, a blast of chilly air, with a grave-like scent,\nwould pervade the old dwelling; then children would screech, dogs howl,\ncats, with their hair bristled up, rush out of doors, or smash through\nwindows, if doors were closed. The cats never returned, and died of\nfright when they couldn't escape the house. There's no end of stories\nabout the ghostly pranks that were acted here for more than a century,\nand we shall only relate another.\n\nA carpenter, who was working about the place, said he didn't believe\nthat all the I'an's spirits would make him quit the house or Beaton's\nchamber even; and he waged a pint of brandy that he would see, that very\nnight, what made the racket there, and hail the spirits if he saw any.\nThat he might have a sight of them, without more ado, he bored an\nauger-hole in Beaton's chamber door. Having primed himself with drink,\nwhen night came, and the usual noises began, he fixed himself close to\nthe door and peeped in. At first he only beheld a faint light glimmering\nover the bed, and what looked like a dead man stretched thereon, with\nshadowy figures moving about the room; then he saw more distinctly, and\nmade out a woman, dressed in grave clothes, sitting on a chair beside\nthe bed.\n\nThen the chamber became so dark that he could see nothing of the figures\non the bed and in the chair but their eyes, that shone with purple\nlight. The woman's eyes--he could see nothing else but her eyes\nglistening like coals of fire--arose from the bedside and approached the\ndoor, and still the carpenter could only see a pair of flaming orbs when\nthey were within a few inches of his face; and he--terror-struck or\nspell-bound--had neither power to move away, nor to withdraw his gaze.\nThere he stood like one rivetted to the spot for minutes, that seemed\nhours, till a blast of cold air smote his face, and something pierced\nhis eye like a red-hot nail. He fell on the floor, was found insensible\nwhen raised, and he ever remained blind of one eye.\n\nThere was but little rest for anyone dwelling in the I'an's house until\nsome years after Parson Corker came to Buryan; and, at first, he made\nmany fruitless attempts to confine those unresting spirits to their\ngraves. He ordered that the locked-up chamber should be opened, and all\nits furniture burned--as no one would venture to make use of anything\ntherein--and he would try again what could be done.\n\nSo one night the reverend gentleman came over from Tresidder--where he\nlived with his cousins the Tresillians;--a good number assembled; they\nbroke open Beaton's chamber-door, and began to throw out the furniture,\nbut they found it a more difficult job than was expected. Turns, chests,\nchairs, tables, were soon cleared out, and a great hanging-press was\nsmashed to pieces, tossed through a window, and added to the blazing\npile on an open space fronting the house. They found it, however, no\nsuch easy work to break up the grand carved-oak bedstead, which must\nhave been made and put together in the room, because neither its tester\nnor its head would pass through the doorway. In this bed-head were two\ndeep recesses, ornamented at their backs and all around with carved\nfoliage, framing the names and ages of some old I'an or Ivan and his\nwife, who probably had this bedstead made when their house was built.\nHigh up on either side of these recesses, between them and the\ntester--among flowers and creeping plants--were boldly carved faces,\nsupposed to be those of the family; they were all very much alike, with\npeaked beards, wonderful high foreheads, and long noses,--straight as a\nline. Bedding, rich hangings, and old raiment, very grand in their day,\nwere rotten and gone to dust. When all was at length cleared out and\nblazing in the town-place, the parson entered to conclude his work by\nsprinkling salted water all about; at the same time he repeated long\nwords, spells, or incantations in Latin, because that tongue was said to\nbe more respected by devils and restless spirits than any vulgar\ndialect. He also performed other ceremonies, whose use and practice were\nonly known to learned divines.\n\nBut it is doubtful whether the reverend exorcist did any good on that\noccasion. For whilst Treen folks made a bonfire of what had been the\nI'an's furniture, he or the spirits raised an awful tempest; houses were\nunroofed, walls blown down, and other damage done throughout the\nneighbourhood and far away. Meanwhile, ghostly forms were seen and\nunearthly voices heard, high up over flames and smoke, making derisive\nshouts like demons' laughter. They seemed to enjoy the fun, whilst many\npeople cursed the parson for rising such a storm. One can't say how his\nbest endeavours failed to lay these unruly ghosts. But\n\n \"Perchance some form was unobserved,\n Perchance in prayer or faith he swerved;\"\n\nfor on the following night troops of spirits arrived at their accustomed\nhour and made as much disturbance as ever. Then Mr. Corker--determined\nto rout them--sought advice and assistance from the most remarkable\n\"spirit-queller\" of that time, one parson Polkinghorne, who belonged to\nsome parish east of Penzance.\n\nIt was believed, of this Parson Polkinghorne, that no spirits walking\nthe earth could resist his spells, and that, when other exorcists failed\nto obtain a mastery over an obdurate one, this gentleman no sooner\njoined them than the poor ghosts would exclaim--like that of old Squire\nHarris, of Kenegie--\"Now, Polkinghorne, thee art come and I must be\ngone!\" And he at once sent the shadow off to its grave and there\nconfined it for evermore.\n\nOne night, a week or so after the unsuccessful attempt, the two\nparsons--arrayed in their priestly vestments, bearing large books and a\ncoil of new hempen cord--arrived at the haunted house's door, and\nrequested all the inmates to quit it before they entered, and not to\nattempt to hear or see anything that might take place, nor to re-enter\ntheir dwellings for that night. When all the living inhabitants had left\nthe house, the reverend exorcists entered it; but how they worked to get\ncontrol over these troublesome spirits nobody knew but themselves, as\nthey were no more seen till an hour or so after midnight, when they\nissued forth and took their way to Church-town, with the bound spirits\nin their company (it is supposed), and, having finished their work in\nthe graveyard, they, about daybreak, aroused the inmates of the\n\"Scaw-tree\" inn, made a hearty breakfast, and returned to Tresidder.\n\nNow, 'tis said that this Parson Polkinghorne had power, also, over the\nspirits of air, or whatever they be, that usually raise the wind, when\nghosts are laid; for on this night all was so quietly done that the\nweather was not, for a wonder, uncommonly stormy. The I'an's ghosts,\nhowever, were settled, that's certain; they met with their match at\nlast, and quitted their old habitation for good. From that night their\nold house was quiet and remained so for a few years, then part of it was\nagain haunted by the ghost of a crazy spinster called 'Bitha (Tabitha)\nwho also became insane from grief at her sweetheart's untimely end. But\nthis spirit gave little trouble, compared with the former ones, and took\nits departure in a few years, of its own accord; at least we never heard\nof anything having being done to \"lay\" it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAbout sixty years ago these almost forgotten traditions were revived.\nOne Sunday afternoon, in summer time, a carriage arrived in Treen,\nstopped near the I'an's house, and a middle-aged gentleman stepped from\nthe conveyance just as an old man drew near, who saluted the visitor,\nand asked if he would be pleased to accept of his services to show him\nthe Castle? The stranger replied, in but indifferent English, that he\nwould like to know if there were any remains in Treen of an ancient\nmansion, or castle, that once belonged to a family called I'an or Ivan,\nas he spelt it for Uncle George, who was a most intelligent old guide\nand the best chronicler of Treen.\n\n\"Why, there's the dwelling,\" said he, \"that old people always called\nthe I'an's house, though young ones, thinking to improve the name, have\nlately called it the John's house; but no family called Johns were ever\nproprietors of it that I ever heard of.\"\n\nThe gentleman looked at the old house, and said that he expected to find\na much grander one.\n\n\"Yet, in its day, that was considered far above the common,\" Uncle\nGeorge remarked; \"and it must have cost much to build when no\nwheel-carriages were in use, and timber had to be dogged (dragged) many\nmiles through narrow lanes, and stones and other materials were carried\non drays, or on horses' backs. Besides, where you see nothing now but\npigs'-crows and turf-ricks,\" continued he, in conducting the visitor\ntowards the house, \"there was once a large green-court; and at the back\nwhere you will find little else but dung-pits and heaps of rubbish,\nthere were more buildings belonging to the house, with a large walled\ngarden and a rabbit warren beyond.\"\n\nThe gentleman then informed his guide that he was a descendant of an old\nCatholic family who, between two or three centuries ago, owned a Castle\nin Treen and much land in that neighbourhood, if such traditions and\ndocuments as were preserved in his family might be credited--that he\nresided in Brittany, to which place his ancestors had hence removed at a\ntime when Catholics were much persecuted here--that, being in England on\nbusiness and curious to see his family's ancient home, he had come to\nTreen for that purpose--and that he would also like to know if there\nwere any tombstone inscriptions, or other records of them, in St. Levan\nChurch. Besides, he said, that others of his family had long been\ndesirous to know something of a place respecting which they had many\ncurious traditions. Moreover, he informed the old man that the name\nusually spelt I'an was an abbreviation of Ivan and equivalent to Juan or\nplain John; the confusion in, or the various modes of, spelling took\nplace, probably, before J and U replaced I and V, but still the old\npronunciation was retained. [The same applies to many old French names\nhere, that seem to be spelt one way, and pronounced differently. Take\nLanyon as a familiar example, pronounced Lanine.] This Breton gentleman,\nwhom we may call M. Ivan, as he spelt his name in full, when shown\nthrough the old house was much disappointed to find its interior a mere\nwreck, with little to show that it had ever been a gentleman's\nresidence, except a few fragments of carved wainscot and ornamental\nplaster-work in an apartment that had been a portion of hall or parlour\nin olden time. It seems the \"gentil Breton\" had heard much of Castle\nTreyn, and 'Uncle' was much diverted and surprised to find that he\nthought it was a grand building situated in the village, and hinted that\nit might have been his ancestor's residence.\n\n\"Faix! they must have been the giants then,\" said the old man to\nhimself, \"for I never heard of anybody else who ever lived there.\"\n\nAnd, in answer to M. Ivan's enquiries where the Castle was and if any of\nit was still standing, \"still standing, sir,\" he exclaimed. \"I believe\n'e, faith, and stand it will till Doomsday, unless one can get out of a\nrock the Castle-key; but when that is done, as Merlin prophecied, all\nwill sink into the sea, whence it was raised by enchantment, they say,\nwith the giants who dwelt there of yore. But the Castle isn't here in\ntown; it's down to cliff,\" continued he, showing the way; \"and we can\ntravel there across the fields, if you please, while your carriage can\ngo out the lane and await 'e in Pedny-vounder cliff, if so be that you\nwould like to ride to Church-town.\"\n\nAs there were many interesting objects to be seen by the way, the\ngentleman decided to walk to St. Levan Church also, and his conveyance\nremained in Treen. In passing the fields Uncle George said, \"Old folk,\nwho are dead and gone, always held (and I believe it for truth) that\npeople seldom lived in Castle Treen, or in any of our cliff or\nhill-castles, for more than a few days at a time; and that was when they\nhad to seek refuge there for their old people, women, and children, with\ntheir flocks and other property, from the Danes and other northern\nrobbers who used to land at Parcurno, Penberth, and elsewhere, to ravage\nthe country, carry off women, and do worse mischief than that, if the\nhair that crops up every now and then in some families may be taken as\nevidence. But the red-haired pirates were soon put to rout, and then\nnobody remained in our stronghold of Treen Dynas except a man to keep\nwatch from Castle Peak.\"\n\nHe might have remarked, too, that the old proprietors of Treen held to a\ntradition that Kaerkeis bowjey and barn were as old as the Castle, and\nwere built in that out-of-the-way place for the purpose of storing\nfodder for cattle near the stronghold against an invasion. They also\nbelieved that valuables were, at such times, hastily buried in the\nCastles; those who secreted the property being slain, nobody knew where\nto find it. As a proof of the probability of such a belief, within the\nold guide's remembrance, about the quantity of two quarts of ancient\nRoman and other coins were found within or near Castle Maen. The coins\nwere simply placed in a pile, on a flat stone, and enclosed by three\nothers set on edge and capped. The whole was buried in a bank of earth\nand small stones that formed part of an old hedge or gurgo. Probably\nsome of these coins may still be found among old folks of Sennen. The\nwriter had many of them, when too young to know the value of such\ninteresting objects.\n\nHaving passed the fields and ascended the rising ground beyond, M. Ivan\nasked where the Castle was--he could behold nothing like a building\nbetween them and the sea, towards which they had shaped their course.\n\n\"We are already within it,\" replied the venerable guide, \"and have\npassed the outer wall through a breach where it is levelled and the\nditch filled in to make a road. I ought to have pointed it out to 'e.\nThe outer mound is little short of half a mile long. Hundreds of\ncartloads of stones have been carried away from the walls for building\nhouses and hedges. Yet on Kaerkeis side, where it isn't easily reached,\nsome of it is still pretty perfect; except, indeed, where our youngsters\nhave bowled the stones over cliff for their Sunday afternoon's sport;\nand it would be just as well, or better, 'seeman' to me, that they were\nallowed to have their wrestling and hurling-matches at such times, to\nkeep them from doing mischief, like they had in their great-grandfars'\ndays, when folks were quite as good, and to my 'seeman,' better than\nthey are now, for all that constables do and duffans say.\"\n\nWe can't follow the old guide through the long story he used to relate\nof what passed between him and the Armorican gentleman. Having shown the\nCastle and related the legends of giants, small people, &c., connected\nwith this enchanted spot, they passed along the cliff to St. Levan\nChurch. Service was over and the congregation dispersed, but the\nchurch-door key being kept at the inn, they inspected the church to see\nif any memorial of the I'ans was to be found, but nothing connected with\nthem was observed in carved shields or bench-ends, nor elsewhere. Parish\nregisters--if any remained two centuries old--he had no opportunity to\nsee.\n\nThey also visited St. Levan's Well and Chapel. The old man pointed out a\nlong flight of steps that may still be traced best part of the way from\nthe spring to the ancient chapel's site. The gentleman took particular\ninterest in the ancient cliff oratories, with their holy wells, and in\nevery spot along their way hallowed by saintly legend. In returning from\nChapel-Curno, as the little oratory over Parcurno used to be called,\nthey were met at the foot of Carnole hill by a gentleman of Penzance,\nwho used occasionally to preach at the Methodist Chapel in Sowah. This\ngentleman often returned thence to Treen (where he usually remained over\nnight) by way of St. Levan Church and along the cliffs. He knew Uncle\nGeorge very well; for they often disputed about what the old man styled\na new-fashioned religion. Yet they were always great friends.\n\nThe gentlemen were introduced and walked together to Treen. By the way\nM. Ivan related how curiosity had led him to visit Treen, and that he\nwas, on the whole, gratified with his visit, though quite taken down in\nhis exaggerated ideas (as transmitted by family traditions) of their\nformer importance here; and thought the foregoing tragic story, which\nthe old man related in part, just as probable a reason for his\nancestor's departure as that of religious persecution; yet he believed\nthey were always attached to, and held, the old faith. When they arrived\nat Treen he handsomely rewarded the intelligent old guide, and was about\nto leave when the preaching gentleman proposed for M. Ivan to take tea\nwith him at the house where he put up. The invitation was accepted, and\nhe was regaled with bread, cream, and honey--the produce of what was\nonce his family's acres.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMr. Richard Edmonds remarks that \"Treryn Castle, Maen Castle, Ch\u00fbn\nCastle, Castle-an-Dinas, and several other cliff-castles, and\nhill-castles, in the Land's End district, have been in existence\nprobably between two and three thousand years. And Treryn Castle, with\nits high massive vallum, deep ditch, and the foundations of its stone\nwall, twelve feet thick, presents so little temptation either to the\nagriculturist or to the builder, that its existing remains, vast as they\nare, need no Society's protection for their continued duration for\ngenerations yet to come.\n\nAll castles, of course, do, or did once contain dwellings of some kind\nfor their occupants. But the low huts which once stood within the\ncastles near Penzance (although considerable remains of such dwellings\nin Ch\u00fbn Castle were extant in Borlase's time) have now almost everywhere\ndisappeared. It was not, however, from these rude huts, but from the\nfortifications enclosing them, that our very ancient castles derived\ntheir name; and not one of them, at the present day, appears more worthy\nof being thus called than at Treryn Castle.\"\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n CASTLE TREEN AND ITS LEGENDS.\n\n \"I cannot tell how the truth may be,\n I say the tale as 'twas said to me.\"\n SCOTT.\n\n\nOld traditions say that the headlands of Castle Treen, or rather\nTrereen, on which the Logan Rock carn and adjacent crags stand, was\nraised out of the sea by enchantment. This portion of the stronghold,\nenclosed by the inner line of defence, running directly across the\nisthmus, is generally spoken of as _The Castle_, and that between it and\nthe outer or landward embankments is usually called Treen Dynas.\n\n\n THE KEY OF THE CASTLE.\n\nIt is not known what powerful magician raised this giant's hold, though\nit was believed that its security depended on a magic stone called \"the\nkey of the Castle,\" respecting which Merlin had something to say, as\nwell as about many other remarkable stones in the neighbourhood. Castle\nTreen, however, must have stood where it is long before Arthur and his\nmagician visited West Cornwall.\n\nThe key was an egg-shaped stone, between two and three feet long, which\nwas contained in the cavity of a rock with a hole facing the sea,\nthrough which it might be turned round; and the opening appeared large\nenough for it to be passed through. Many attempted to get it out, but\nthey always found it to hitch somewhere; and lucky (according to old\nfolks' faith) that it did, because the sage Merlin prophecied that when\nthe key of the Castle was taken out of the hole, Men Amber (the holy\nrock) would be overthrown, the Castle sink beneath the ocean, and other\ncalamities occur.\n\nThe key was situated near the bottom of a deep chasm called The Gap,\nwhich is passed on approaching the Logan Rock by the usual path. It\nrequired a sure-footed climber, of strong nerve, to reach it, and this\ncould only be done from land, at low water, or nearly so.\n\nSurging waves occasionally changed the position of this magic stone, and\nfrom the direction of its smaller end, as it lay in a trough of water,\nprognostics were drawn with regard to the seasons, &c.\n\nFew persons had sufficient hardihood to descend the precipitous cliff\nand risk being caught in The Gap by a flowing tide; and the key of the\nCastle remained a mysterious and venerated object till Goldsmith's\nmischievous tars, or the dockyard men who were employed in erecting\nmachinery to replace Men Amber (as the stone they overthrew was formerly\ncalled) heard of it and the traditions connected therewith. Then, one\nday, some of these wretches, on farther mischief bent, entered The Gap\nin a boat, and, being provided with crow bars, they broke away the edges\nof the rock that enclosed the key, ripped it out, and tumbled it down\namong the sea-washed pebbles! Some calamity has surely befallen these\nwretches ere this, or Bad Luck is a mere name, and powerless as an\navenging deity.\n\nPart of Merlin's prophecy was fulfilled, however, yet not in the order\npredicted.\n\nThe venerated nodule was what is called, among miners, a \"bull's eye,\"\nor \"pig's egg,\" of large size. It appeared to be a closer-grained and\nharder stone than what surrounded it.\n\n\n GIANTS OF CASTLE TREEN.\n\nThe earliest inhabitants of this stronghold were giants who protected\nthe neighbouring people in return for cattle and other necessaries with\nwhich the last-named provided their powerful friends, as was usual here\nin olden times.\n\nAn aged giant, his childless wife, and their adopted son, are the only\nones of whom connected traditions are handed down by old folks of Treen.\nNot only this giant (how we wish the chroniclers had preserved his name)\nand his wife but all people who depended on his protection, particularly\nthose of Treen and bordering places, were much grieved and disappointed\nwhen they found their giant and giantess were middle-aged and had no\nchildren who would aid them in old age and perpetuate the race.\n\nThe giantess, having no household to think about, grew, as most\nunemployed women do, peevish and troublesome. The giant, having little\nor no work to occupy himself with, grew fat and lazy. Quiet and\ngood-tempered as he was, he was dreadfully tormented by his wife. She\ncalled him a lazy, useless old loon; and said he was too fat, and didn't\ntake exercise enow. When he had nothing else to employ himself about, in\npeaceful times, she told him that he should log the rock, for a few\nhours every day, to stretch his sinews and make his blood circulate\nbrisker, instead of dozing away all day and night in his chair, which\nmay still be seen. \"Go thee way'st,\" said she; \"swim over to the Dollar\nRocks, it's only two miles or so; dive round them and catch me a few\ngood big congers; I want their fat to make a cake. And the pollock and\ncod that feed among the ore-weed thereabouts are excellent eating.\"\n\nThe dissatisfied woman's advice was sometimes taken. He would swim away,\nand, in an hour or two, bring her home a string of fish of a furlong's\nlength.\n\nThen he would log Men Amber for a bit. This he could easily do with the\ntip of his finger, when standing on the grass below it; for the rock is\nonly 30 feet or so from the grass, and Treen giant stood at least 40\nfeet high, without his boots. He was stout in proportion, and his\nstrength of arm was prodigious. Sometimes, with his staff, he kept the\nsacred stone in motion when seated in his chair, just opposite it. But\noften it happened, when getting through his exercise by the latter mode,\nthat he fell asleep, long ere the sand was down in his wife's\nhour-glass. And then she, the faggot, would pelt her quiet husband with\nrocks, heaps of which may still be seen, lying loose, just as they flew\nfrom her hand and dropped at no great distance from the poor giant's\nchair. He would wake up, with a sore head, to hear her say, in a voice\nlike a bellowing bull, \"Stop thy snoring, thou confounded old fool, and\nwork away, west ah? or I'll pommel thy noddle to browse.\"\n\n\"What the deuce shall I do to stop her tongue and cure her temper? Can\n'e tell me, my good people?\" He would often say to Treen folks and\nothers, who visited him of a summer's evening; \"she's the most\ntroublesome woman I ever heard of!\"\n\nAll kinds of employment were suggested. In those days everybody thought\nhe could manage a discontented wife, were he her husband; but actually\nto do it was difficult.\n\n\"Why should she fret and fume for lack of children,\" he used to say to\nhis Treen neighbours, \"and what need have you either, in those peaceful\ntimes, to care whether we have descendants or no?\"\n\nPotent reasons were given both by giantess and people why they desired\nthat their chief's race should be continued. Charms and other means were\nused in order to obtain the desired result.\n\nYet much time passed, and their rock-hewn cradle was still empty, when\na happy thought struck a wise man of Treen. He advised that a baby\nshould be _stolen_ from the giant of Maen, who had a large family, and\nwas, moreover, a very troublesome and aggressive neighbour--if one may\ncredit stories of his hurling the rocks against Treen giant, which are\nstill to be seen at Skewjack Moor, on the bounds of their two domains.\nOne may judge of Maen giant's stature by the size of his bed, bowls,\nspoon, and other utensils, that remained in a lane on Treve, at a short\ndistance from Sennen Church, a few years ago, and some of them may be\nthere still.\n\nOur giant and his wife were delighted with the sage man's advice. To\nsteal a baby from the big man who was proud of his stronghold between\nPen-von-las (Land's End) and Pedn-men-du (Black Stone Headland) would be\ncapital revenge on him and his. \"Then how nice it will be for me,\" said\nthe giant's wife, \"to sit on the Logan stone with the cheeld in my arms,\nof summer afternoons, when the waves sing lullaby, and my old man can\nrock us both till the dear baby falls asleep. Or he may dandle it in his\narms atop of Castle Peak, or jump with it thence, from carn to carn, to\nGamp-an-sees rocks and back again, whilst I skin an ox for our supper,\nand you, my good people, can bring us down plenty of milk to nurse him\non, that he may grow apace.\"\n\nA wise woman, or witch of Treen, who could take any shape, was selected\nas the most likely person to execute their project without causing any\nstir with Maen giant, who was very fierce, and proud of his descent from\nold blustering Bellerus, who was said to have lived thereabouts in days\nof yore.\n\nOne afternoon away went the witch, and, without being noticed on the\nroad, reached Cairn-men-ellas, where she hid herself between rocks to\nwatch. A little before sunset she saw a giant's child, of four years or\nso, coming that way with some common people's children, who wanted to\nshow him how to play _bob_. Now the infant giant, though as big as an\nordinary man, was still a baby in every feature, and he hadn't been long\nweaned; he still wore a bib, though he had out-grown his clothes, and\nhis frock and saveall (pinafore) scarcely reached to his knees. The\ncommon boys and girls, from ten to a dozen years of age--like children\nin size to him--led about the great _slab_, as they termed him, and did\nwith him just as they pleased.\n\nThe woman, seeing them place buttons (and they hadn't many) on the bob,\ntook from her basket a string of large bright ones, shook them before\nthe giant baby, and said, \"Now kiss me, dear, and I will give 'e all\nthese.\" He kissed her again and again, delighted to have the buttons.\nOver awhile she said, \"The tides are low and I am on my way to get\nlempots (limpets) and gweans (winkles) from Cowloe; will 'e go, dears?\"\n\nThe elder ones said it was then too late--they must be all home to\nTreve before sundown, or their mammies would strap them soundly and send\nthem to bed without supper. But the babe-giant said, \"I'll go, for I\nwant some gweans to play _five-stones_, and lempots too, that my da may\nshoe the cats with croggans (limpet-shells) and codgey-wax\n(cobblers'-wax). He do dearly like that fun, and my ma do never beat\nme.\"\n\n\"Come along then, my turtle,\" said the witch, as she took his hand and\nled him off.\n\nOn the way she took from her basket many toys and showed him how to play\nwith them. This pleased him, so that he thought no more of Cowloe, and\nshe led him away over the Green to Brew Moors, where, to divert him she\nchanged herself into the shape of a horse, and he trotted on her a mile\nor more, when she resumed her woman's form, and led him into Castle\nTreen, where he was received with open arms by the mistress.\n\nIt would take long to tell how he was caressed by the childless pair and\nfed by their people.\n\nHe often reposed, during his infancy, in a small chair that may still be\nseen near the large one in which the giant usually rested--the one just\nopposite the Logan Rock; and, until he grew too big, he frequently slept\nin the giant's arms.\n\nAt sunrise in summer the old giant delighted to carry him up to Castle\nPeak, where he placed the infant to stand on the topmost stone, which\nwas much higher then than now, and named to him all the noted places\nwithin ken. After turning him round that he might behold the magnificent\nprospect on either hand of wild, sea-lashed headlands in the distance,\nand noble carns towering near, he would exclaim, \"My dear boy, who\nwouldn't be proud of such a home as this? Believe me, dear son, in all\nthis western land--from the Lizard Point, that you see yonder, to\nPedn-Penwith, which lies under the setting sun--there is not another\ngiant who owns a place equal to Castle Treen; and all shall be thine, my\ndarling, when I am dead and gone.\"\n\nWhen the sun shone warm he took baby down to the Castle Leas, near the\nGap. This was his favourite fishing place, where a deep pit may still be\nseen in which he pounded _browse_, that was cast on the water to entice\nin fish. From these rocks, at the water's edge, the giant, like a\nmonstrous dolphin, stretched on the sea with the boy standing on his\nbroad back, and holding on by the hair of his head like bridle-reins\nwith both hands, would swim out and round to the Sees--the rock that\nstands like an island in Gampar, (Close or Little Cove), just under\nHal-dynas, and at the eastern end of the outer mound of his fortress.\nHaving rested there awhile and given the cheeld a few shags' eggs,\nlimpets, mussels, and such like dainties, back they would steer, but\nfarther out; and, coasting all the seaboard of his Castle, land in Par\nPry.\n\nWhen a few years older the giant taught his big boy to fish from the\nrocks with rod and line, showed him how to make fish-hooks out of bones\nand _croggan_-rims--as boys out there do now, or did not long ago. In\ngiants' times they hadn't a bit of iron, not even so much as a nail. The\ngiantess with her distaff and spindle, spun them yarn that served for\nlines.\n\nIt wasn't much, however, that the giant knew to teach the youngster.\nLike all of great bulk he had more strength than knowledge, for as we\nsay, \"The best goods are bound up in the smallest bundles.\"\n\nMeanwhile the giantess took care that the boy had an unlimited quantity\nof food, that he might eat and drink whenever he choose. Over a few\nyears he was nearly equal in bulk to his new Dadda, as he called the old\ngiant.\n\nWe like to linger over these pleasant times, for the old Titan when he\ntook much delight in his charge. But alas! the sequel must be told in\nsorrow and tears for female frailty.\n\nWe don't like to--and indeed we wont--repeat all the stories handed\ndown, which for the most part are highly unfavourable to the moral\ncharacter of Treen Giantess, for fear of slandering her unwittingly. Yet\nit is no worse than she deserves to say that all traditions agree in\nrepresenting her as a most abandoned female in her latter years.\n\nAll her care and attention were bestowed on the boy and she neglected\nher old husband, so that he had to dive for fish, and skin oxen, (or eat\nthem skin, horns, and all). Sheep he could seldom get; they were\ndainties reserved for the young fellow. The poor old giant was often\ndriven to such extremities that, to appease hunger, which makes brutes\nof the best of men, he was fain to stay his stomach on ore-weed.\n\nTo add insult to injury she often taunted her aged spouse with his\nweakness, which was the consequence of her neglect, and cut him to the\nheart by making unfavourable comparisons between him and the pampered\nyouth who could now log the rock from sitting on the grass; and that was\nmore, as the giantess told her husband, than he could do in the best of\nhis time.\n\nWorst of all, her maternal love then changed into a passion that, all\nthings considered, one might even now, in these times of lax morality\nand free-love, regard as reprehensible.\n\nThe poor old giant was slow to become jealous, till he found himself\nutterly forsaken by his spouse and adopted son, who always stole away to\nsunny glades between the carns to play by themselves. That would have\npassed, however, without notice,--he rather liked to be left alone, to\ndose in his chair of afternoons--had not some Treen women, who were\nsharp in such things, spied what was going on, and, out of envy, told\nthe old giant. He then became very surly and gave the doting pair much\nannoyance by coming on them unawares when they withdrew to enjoy their\namorous diversion. They had seldom much comfort then, except when the\nold fellow left his castle to get provision.\n\nOne winter's day, when he was about to start for this purpose, he told\nhis wife and the youngster that one of them should meet him on his way\nback to assist in taking home whatever he might procure.\n\nThey promised to do so, but time passed so pleasantly with the couple\nthat they thought but little of their good old provider till they heard\nhis footsteps and angry voice, about a quarter of a mile off, as he came\nstamping along Pedn-y-vounder cliff vowing vengeance on his ungrateful\nwife and foster-son.\n\nThey became somewhat frightened, and the \"strollop\" of a giantess,\nknowing that \"the first blow was half the battle,\" prepared for the\nencounter by placing herself on the rocks west of the Gap, a dozen feet\nor so above the narrow path which the giant would have to pass. He came\nstamping along, an ox on his shoulders (its legs were tied together and\npassed over his head,) and on each arm he carried a sheep\nbasket-fashion, their trotters bound with their spans.\n\nHe roared louder than the stormy breakers when he entered his castle's\ninner enclosure and found that no one, even then, came to meet him. In\nhis fury he bounced along without noticing his wicked rib, with her\nbared arm and clenched fist, awaiting his approach, and as he came along\nthe narrow ledge she dealt him a blow in his eyes, as he glanced towards\nher, that sent him, cattle and all, heels over head down the precipice.\n\nWhen she beheld him falling a remembrance of their early loves, or\nsomething else, caused a sudden revulsion of feeling, which made her\nregret her rashness, and, unwilling to witness her husband's dying\nagony, she stepped back westward, about twenty paces, on to a level\nstone between high rocks, where she stood still and cast her apron over\nher head that she might hear less of the giant's awful moans. Though the\ngiant's skull was very thick it was badly smashed on the boulders; yet\nhe didn't die until he called on the Powers whom he served to avenge\nhim, which they did instantly by changing his vile partner into stone,\nwhere she stood and where she may still be seen. The old giant, in his\ndying moments, thought of the young one more in sorrow than in anger--he\ncouldn't in his heart feel very bitter against the simple-innocent\nhobble-de-hoy, and regarded his wife as the seducer.\n\nNothing more is known of the young giant, and but little of any others\nof the Titan race that in mythic ages dwelt in Castle Treen.\n\nOf late the Giant's Lady, as she was formerly called, has been named the\nLogan Rock's Lady by those who are ignorant of our old traditions. When\ntempests rage, or anything else excites her, she rocks to and fro; but\nher movements are languid with age or sorrow. Pitiless storms have so\nbeaten on her head for ages that one can't make out a feature, and her\nfair proportions are so mutilated that one can scarce discern a\nsemblance of her gigantic form in the time-worn granite mass. She\nappears, indeed, of pigmy stature compared with her husband. If,\nhowever, she had never been larger than her stone image now appears the\nstory is none the less credible on that score. For do we not, every day,\nsee mere midges of women united with giants of men, according to our\nreduced scale?\n\n\n DAN DYNAS.\n\nOld folks held--and long tradition made it pass for true--that the outer\nwall of Castle Treen was built by a deaf-and-dumb giant, called Dan\nDynas, or, as some say, Den-an-Dynas, assisted by his wife An' (aunt)\nVenna, who broke up the ditch, filled her leathern towser (large apron)\nwith the soil, and put it for _filling_ behind the rocks, as her husband\nrolled them into their places. When they had thus constructed a\nstronghold, in which people with their tin and cattle were safe from\nmarauding pirates, the giantess and other women collected hundreds of\ncartloads of stones into heaps, near the mound, ready and handy for\nslinging at, or to hurl down on, the heads of besiegers. When an\nincursion happened to be made An' Venna, with the women and old men,\ndefended the fortress, whilst Dan and his fighting men slew the enemy or\ndrove them to sea. The ruins of this good couple's handiwork may still\nbe traced from Par Pry, on the southern side, to the inlet of Gampar, or\nHal-dynas Cove, towards the east.\n\nA descendant of old proprietors of Treen informed me that a great\nquantity of stones remained, in piles, within and near the embankment,\nuntil after wheel carriages came into use. Although this part of the\ncliff was then common few persons cared to remove them, and none durst\ntake a stone from the castle walls for fear Bad Luck would pursue any\none who disturbed the giant's work. But of late years, great portions of\nthis ancient rampart have been demolished and its facing-stones carried\naway for building.\n\nIt is also related--though the story seems somewhat fabulous--that this\ndeaf-and-dumb giant would stand on Carnole and thence sink invading\nships, entering Parcurno, by hurling rocks on them, or he wrecked them,\nwhen at a distance, with huge stones discharged from slings made of\nbulls' hides. When the people couldn't charge his instruments of war as\nquickly as he wanted them, he would roar like thunder, make signs to\nstand clear, kick the rocks up out of the ground, smash them to handy\npieces, and fire away again.\n\nLike all other West Country giants he was very fond of old-fashioned\ngames, and was delighted when youngsters came down to Kaer Keis of an\nafternoon to play cook (quoits) or keals (nine-pins) with him; but he\ncould never understand the weakness of ordinary mortals' frames; for, in\ncaressing his playmates, he now and then broke their ribs or cracked\ntheir sculls--to his great grief and greater surprise. We may remark\nthat, although some Cornish giants have been misrepresented as little\nbetter than savage cannibals--Cormovan of the Mount to wit--all\ntraditional giant stories, in this district, describe them as amiable\nprotectors of the common folks who lived near their castles. They were,\nhowever, almost invariably, stupid and often did mischief unwittingly by\nhaving more strength than sense; therefore, it is shameful to defame\nthose ancient heroes and ascribe to them such vile traits as are not\nwarranted by our popular stories.\n\n\n THE SMALL PEOPLE (FAIRIES).\n\nWhen our giants and other antique people left their human bodies they\ncontinued to dwell in their old homes down almost to our times. As they\nhad no idea of any life but a carnal existence on earth, they were\npermitted to live there as spriggans (elves) and they seemed to have\nenjoyed themselves, in their small way, by imitating mortals' pleasures.\n\nOld folks, only just departed, often witnessed their gambols amongst\nthe carns of Castle Treen.\n\nFishermen, when becalmed near Pedn-y-vounder cliff, of summer's nights,\nfrequently saw thousands of gaily-dressed little people, with lights,\nmoving about in what looked like beautiful gardens that extended, in\nsome places, down almost to high-water mark. At the same time low but\nlively music, and the scents of sweet flowers, would be wafted over the\nwater. The fishers, however, hastily made off whenever such fairy\nmelodies and odours reached their boats. These haunts are screened from\nview, landward, by towering crags. Steep precipices render them\ninaccessible on the sea-side; though they may be seen from the water,\nduring summer months, gay with cliff-pinks and other flowers in places\nthat not even a goat could reach.\n\nTreasure-seekers, when digging in nooks and corners among the Castle\ncarns, have been scared away even by day with ill-favoured looking fays\nof nearly human size; and the same uncouthly-formed elves have often\nbeen seen wrestling, hurling, and playing other games on a level place\nnear Hal-dynas; but there is no special story relating to them that we\never heard.\n\n\n ST. LEVAN WITCHES.\n\nIn days of yore ugly old hags that sold themselves to Satan merely to\nhave their \"spite out\" on their neighbours, or to ride on a broomstick\nand play pranks but little known except among themselves, made the\nCastle crags their resort. When all the neighbouring witches were\nassembled they scampered up to the platform on the top of Castle Peak,\nmounted their ragworts or brooms, and took flight over to Wales to milk\nTaffy's cows and steal his leeks. Those who lived in Roskestal, and\nother places over that way, took their departure from Pedn-pen-with. On\ntheir return each one alighted, with all her plunder, in some convenient\nplace near her dwelling. 'Tis said that, in old times, the people of\nthis neighbourhood were much addicted to sorcery, and, from their skill\nin the black art, they acquired and still retain the name of St. Levan\nWitches.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n TRADITIONS OF PARCURNO.\n\n A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew,\n In tempests she appears;\n And before the gale, or against the gale,\n She sails without a rag of sail;\n Without a helmsman steers.\n LONGFELLOW.\n\n\nNot long since a general belief prevailed in the western parishes that\nin ancient times Parcurno was the principal port of Cornwall, and that,\nuntil the Cove became \"sanded up\" there was sufficient depth of water to\nfloat the largest ships then made, in to the foot of an old caunce\n(paved road) which may still be seen.\n\nOne old story ascribes the choking of Parcurno and Parchapel to the\nmischievous spirit Tregeagle, who was sent to Gwenvor Cove and there\nrequired to remain until he made a truss of sand--to be bound with ropes\nspun of the same--and carried it to a rock above high-water mark. For\nmany years he toiled in vain at his task, and his howling would be heard\nfor many miles away when winds or waves scattered the sand he had piled\nup during low water.\n\nOne very frosty night, however, by pouring water from Velan-Dreath brook\nover his truss he succeeded in making it hold together and bore it to a\nrock above the flow of spring tides.\n\nThen, as some say, that very night, as he took his way over or along the\ncoast towards Helston, to revisit and torment those who raised him from\nthe grave, by way of showing his exultation at having completed his\ntask, or for mere deviltry perhaps, he swept all the sand out of\nNanjisel and around Pedn-pen-with into Parcurno and adjacent coves,\nwithout letting any enter Pargwartha.\n\nAnother tradition says that sweeping the sand from Nanjisel to the east\nof Tol-pedn was assigned to Tregeagle as a separate task.\n\nAfter this exploit the troublesome spirit was again sent to Gwenvor to\nmake a truss of sand. There he remains toiling to this day--unable to\nperform what is required in order to regain his liberty, because he was\nbound not to use Velan-Dreath water or any other.\n\nThere is also a very old belief that spectre ships frequently visited\nParcurno, both before and since its navigable channel became filled with\nsand, and that they were often seen sailing up and down the valley, over\ndry land the same as on the sea.\n\nThese naval apparitions were, in olden times, regarded as \"tokens\" that\nenemies were about to make a descent; the number of phantom vessels\nforeboded the sea-robbers' approaching force.\n\nThis presage of yore was held for truth by many old folks but lately\ndeceased; yet latterly it has somehow changed its character and become\nconnected with the history of a person who, little more than a hundred\nyears ago, lived in a lone house called Chygwidden, about a mile inland\nfrom Parcurno. This comparatively modern story also accounts for the\nsand shifting, and has appropriated old traditions that had no\nconnection therewith.\n\nIt relates that, long ago, Chygwidden was the chief dwelling-place of a\nfamily who flourished in St. Levan for a few generations and then all\nits branches became so reduced, through riotous living, as to be obliged\nto mortgage and sell much of their freehold lands.\n\nThe eldest and only son, by a former wife, of old Martin T----, who\nlived there, took to a seafaring life when about twenty, on account of\ncruel treatment received from his drunken father and a step-dame several\nyears younger than himself. On leaving he vowed that he would never\nreturn whilst one lived who then darkened his father's doors.\n\nMany years passed, and as no tidings had been received of young Martin,\nas he was still called, most persons believed him dead. In the meantime,\nhis father, the step-dame, and her children, having all died within a\nfew years of each other, a distant relative, as heir-at-law, had taken\npossession of what little property remained, and lived in Chygwidden.\n\nSome ten years after the decease of all who had lived under old Martin's\nroof when his eldest son was driven thence, a large ship hove-to within\na mile of Parcurno on a fine afternoon in harvest time.\n\nPeople working in fields near the cliff noticed the unusual circumstance\nand saw a boat leave the ship with two men, who landed in Parcurno with\nseveral chests and other goods, and the ship proceeded on her course.\n\nIt was evident that one of those who came on shore was well acquainted\nwith the place, as he struck at once into a pathway over the cliff which\nled, by a short cut, to Rospeltha, where he made himself known as young\nMartin T---- and procured horses and other help to take several heavy\nchests and bales to Chygwidden.\n\nThere was great rejoicing when it was known that the wanderer had at\nlength returned to claim his own. His kinsfolks--a young man and his\nsister Eleanor, a damsel in her teens--were ready to resign possession,\nbut Martin then cared little for house or land, and told them to keep\nthe place and welcome, for all he desired was to have a home there for\nhimself and his comrade whilst they remained, which he thought would\nonly be for a short spell. His tastes had changed with change of scene.\nThe place that he had once deemed the fairest on earth--but then he had\nseen no more of it than was visible from the nearest high hill--now\nappeared dreary; and the people whom--those of his own family\nexcepted--he once thought the best in the world now seemed a forlorn set\nof consequential, grimly-religious nobodies to him, and above all to his\nmate, who, by-the-bye, requires more particular notice than we have yet\nbestowed on him.\n\nMartin found the people, also, much altered from what they were in his\nyouthful days, for about the time of his return a new sect had sprung up\nwhose members, professing uncommon godliness, decried our ancient games\nand merry-makings, which were wont on holidays to unite all ages and\nclasses. Their condemnation caused them to fall into disuse; and, on\naccount of the censorious and intolerant spirit which then prevailed,\nthere was much less heartiness and cordial intercourse amongst\nneighbours than formerly.\n\nIn a short time, however, Martin, now called by most persons \"The\nCaptain,\" became reconciled--one can't say attached--to his native place\nand the \"humdrum West Country folks,\" as he styled them, who marvelled\nat his riches and the change which had taken place in his outward mien\nand manner. Yet the homely people's surprise at the alteration in Martin\nwas nothing to their wonder, allied to fear, excited by his dusky\ncompanion or slave, for no one knew in what relation they stood to each\nother.\n\nThis stranger was seen to be a robust man, about thirty years of age\napparently, with a swarthy complexion, many shades darker than the\nCaptain's Spanish-mahogany tinted skin. Martin called this man Jos\u00e9 or\nmate, and he rarely spoke a word of English (though he could when he\npleased) or addressed anyone but Martin, with whom he always conversed\nin some outlandish lingo which seemed more natural to the Captain than\nhis mother tongue. A tantalizing mystery shrouded the dark \"outlander;\"\nfor his master or friend would never answer any queries respecting him.\nHe was almost equally silent with regard to buccaneering or other\nadventures, and rarely spoke of anything that occurred either at home or\nabroad during his absence. The two strange beings often came to high\nwords and even to blows, but they would never allow anyone to meddle in\ntheir quarrels. When Martin was drunk and off his guard he would now and\nthen ease his mind by swearing at his mate in plain English, or grumble\nat him in the same, to the effect that he had risked his life and spent\na fortune to save him from being hanged at the yard-arm. \"Discontented\ndevil of a blackamoor,\" he would say, \"why canst thou not be satisfied\nto live here? Thou art bound to me body and soul; and do I not indulge\nthee with everything gold can purchase?\"\n\nJos\u00e9 would sometimes murmur \"Avast there; all our gold and diamonds\ncan't procure us here the bright sunshine and joyous people, nor the\nrich fruits and wine, of my native clime.\"\n\nHe seldom, however, made other reply than by gloomy looks or fiery\nglances which soon recalled Martin to his senses. It was remarked that\nafter these outbursts of passion he was for a long while like the humble\nslave of his mate.\n\nThe boat in which they landed was kept at Parcurno, except for short\nspells during stormy times of the year, when she was put into Penberth\nor Pargwartha for greater safety; and, weeks together, they would remain\nout at sea night and day till their provisions were used; then they\nwould come in, their craft laden with fish, and this cargo was free to\nall-comers. Stormy weather seldom drove them to land; they seemed to\ndelight in a tempest.\n\nBefore winter came they procured a good number of hounds, and great part\nof the hunting season was passed by them in coursing over all parts of\nthe West Country. Often of winter's nights, people far away would be\nfrightened by hearing or seeing these two wild-looking hunters and their\ndogs chasing over some lone moor, and they gave rise to many a story of\nOld Nick and his headless hounds.\n\nWhen tired of the chase, weeks were often passed at a public-house in\nBuryan Church-town. Martin treated one and all and scattered gold around\nhim like chaff. The tawny mate, however, at times restrained Martin's\nlavish expenditure, took charge of his money-chests, and refused him the\nkeys.\n\nJos\u00e9 would occasionally condescend to express his wishes to Eleanor, who\nwas mistress of the rare establishment. She understood and humoured the\npair, who took pleasure in decking her in the richest stuffs and jewels\nthat their chests contained or that money could procure, and she\nfrequently stayed up alone best part of the night to await their return.\n\nAfter being at home a year or so the Captain had a large half-decked\nboat built, and several rocks removed in Parcurno to make a safer place\nin which to moor her. They then took longer trips, and were not seen in\nChygwidden for months running. The two eccentric beings passed many\nyears in this way, and held but little intercourse with their\nneighbours.\n\nAt length Martin perceived tokens of death, or what he took for such,\nand made his man swear that when he saw signs of near dissolution he\nwould take him off to sea, let him die there, and send him to rest at\nthe ocean's bottom. He also bound his kinsman by oath not to oppose his\nwishes, and invoked a curse on any one who would lay his dust beside the\nremains of those who had driven him to range the wide world like a\nvagabond.\n\nThey might have complied with his strange desires, but ere they could be\ncarried out he died in a hammock, suspended in his bed-room.\n\nNow there comes a mystery, that is not likely to be cleared up.\n\nIt was known that a coffin,--followed by the cousins, Jos\u00e9, and the\ndogs, was taken to St. Levan Churchyard and buried near the ground in\nwhich Martin's family lie. But it was rumoured that the coffin merely\ncontained earth to make weight.\n\nThe following night, however, the dark \"outlander\" had two chests\nconveyed to Parcurno, the largest of which was said to contain the\nremains of his friend, and the other money and valuables which belonged\nto himself. The chests placed on board the half-decked vessel, Jos\u00e9 and\nhis favourite dog embarked, waited for the tide to rise, and put to sea;\nbut no one remained at the cove to behold their departure, and no more\nwas seen in the West of man, dog, or boat.\n\nEleanor disappeared on the funeral night and it was believed that she\nleft with the stranger, who was scarcely a league to sea ere a tempest\narose and continued with great fury for nearly a week; and, although it\nwas in winter, the sky of nights was all ablaze with lightning and the\ndays as dark as nights. During this storm Parcurno was choked with sand,\nand no boat could be kept there since.\n\nThe tempest had scarcely lulled when an apparition of Martin's craft\nwould drive into Parcurno against wind and tide; oft-times she came in\nthe dusk of evening, and, without stopping at the Cove, took her course\nup over the old caunce towards Chapel-Curno; thence she sailed away, her\nkeel just skimming the ground, or many yards above it, as she passed\nover hill and dale till she arrived at Chygwidden.\n\nThe barque was generally shrouded in mist, and one could rarely get a\nglimpse of her deck on which the shadowy figures of two men, a woman,\nand a dog, were beheld now and then. This ship of the dead, with her\nghostly crew, hovered over the town-place a moment, then bore away to a\ncroft on the farm, and vanished near a rock where a large sum of foreign\ncoins was disinterred many years ago, so it is said. Of late the ghostly\nship has not been known to have entered Parcurno, and on account of\ninnovations recently effected there she may nevermore be seen in that\nancient port.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt may be observed that traditions of phantom-ships sailing overland\nwere common to many places near the Land's End with which no stories are\nconnected; these appearances were merely supposed to forebode tempests\nand wrecks.\n\nThe few incidents which form the groundwork of the above legend occurred\nbut little more than a century before it was related to me by an aged\nfarm labourer of St. Levan; yet in that short space it has assumed such\na mystic garb that the simple and true story can scarcely be perceived\nunder its embellishments.\n\n\n\n\n LEGENDS OF ST. LEVAN.\n\n They had their lodges in the wilderness,\n Or built them cells beside the shadowy sea,\n And there they dwelt with angels, like a dream!\n REV. R. S. HAWKER.\n\n\n ST. LEVAN AND HIS SISTER.\n\nAn old habitation, in which, according to tradition, St. Levan dwelt, is\nstill standing. This humble dwelling, situated in Bodellan, is on the\neastern side of Parcurno Bottom, near its upper part within a hundred\nyards of the road, towards which stands the end that contains its sole\nfire-place. The hearth-stone may still be there, much as it was when St.\nLevan's sister, the good midwife, St. Breage, cooked on it the fatal\nchads which choked her children.\n\nThe story says that good old St. Levan was one evening down fishing\nfrom his accustomed place in Rospeltha cliff--still called Old St.\nLevan's Rocks. He cast in his hook-and-line, intending to take one fish\nonly for his supper, from the multitude that always came around the rock\non which he stood as soon as he cast in \"browse\" (garbage to attract\nfish). Contrary to St. Levan's wish, two chads, or young breams,\nfastened on his hook at the same time, and not to show favour to either\nhe threw both of them into the sea again. And no sooner was his\nhook-and-line in the waves a second time than the same chads, or two\nothers, hooked themselves together again, and were again restored to the\nsea. For the third time he cast in his line; and, seeing two fishes on\nhis hook again, he regarded this occurrence as a providential intimation\nthat he was to take them both home, and acted accordingly. When he came\nto Bodellan he found that his sister, St. Breage, had just arrived with\ntwo children. The chads were boiled for supper, and St. Breage's hungry\nchildren, being careless of bones, got choked, and remembrance of this\nevent is handed down in St. Levan's parish by chads being there called\n\"chuck-cheeld\" to this day.\n\nSome thirty-five years ago the writer often noticed, on a bench-end in\nSt. Levan church, near the belfry door, a panel, or shield, on which two\nfishes, with their heads touching each other, were carved in bold\nrelief. The fishes were much like chads, or young breams, in outline,\nand the foregoing legend might have suggested this design, or the device\nhave originated the story. It is to be feared that this bench-end, and\nmuch more tastefully-designed and boldly-wrought carving, disappeared\nbefore the Rev. C. C. Anstey came to preserve and restore the\ninteresting remains of this once beautiful church. Loads of as fine\ncarved work, and no more decayed than what remains, were, from thirty or\nforty years since, carried off by the carpenters, who were, every now\nand then, employed to demolish the curious old oak benches, and to\nreplace them with painted deal boxes, in many variations of ugliness.\n\nIt is said that the path which St. Levan took across Rospeltha fields to\nhis accustomed fishing-place, may still be traced by the ground his holy\nfootsteps trod bearing finer grain when in corn, and by the grass being\ngreener when in pasture than in other parts of the fields.\n\n\n JOHANNA'S GARDEN.\n\nSt. Levan road passed by a small enclosure in Rospeltha, called\nJohanna's Garden, (at least it retained that name a few years ago when\nthe writer knew it well).\n\nOne Sunday morning the holy hermit, going down to cliff to get a fish\nfor his dinner, in passing by this garden saw a woman called Johanna\ngathering pot-herbs. St. Levan rested the end of his rocking-rod on the\nground, stopped, and gave her a kindly greeting. But she, looking over\nthe hedge, exclaimed, \"Oh sinful man that you are, for going a fishing\nof a Sunday! Whatever can 'e think will become of 'e?\"\n\n\"Self-righteous hypocrite that thou art,\" answered the saint, \"in\nlooking for other people's faults thou canst not behold thine own. Think\nnot that thou--with thy fingers spread out and thy eyes turned up--art\nbetter than others, for a more strict or a more lazy observance of\nSunday. And tell me,\" he continued, \"sharp as thou art to mark others'\nfaults, and blind as thou art to thine own, wherefore should it be a sin\nfor me to take my daily fish from the sea any more than for thee to\ngather herbs from thy garden?\"\n\nSt. Levan said much more, but all in vain were his endeavours to bring\nthe woman to reason, for, in spite of all he could say, she would still\nhave the last word and contend that there was more sin in catching fish\nthan in picking greens of a Sunday.\n\nAt last the good man being provoked by her obstinacy, pretended piety,\nand conceited clack, raised his hand and cursed her, saying, \"From this\ntime, for ever, thou shalt be known, if known at all, as the Foolish\nJohanna! And thy garden shall ever continue, as now, to bear more\nhemlock and nettles than leeks and lentils. Moreover,\" he continued,\n\"mark this--To make thy remembrance the more accursed for all time to\ncome, if any child by thy name be baptised in the waters of Parchapel\nWell it shall become a fool like thyself and bad luck follow it.\"\n\nDown to very recent times, so great was the fear of old St. Levan's\ncurse that anyone in this parish desirous of having a child named\nJohanna took it to Sennen to be christened.\n\nIt may be remarked that, until the roof fell into St. Levan's Well, and\nit became choked up, the sexton always kept it clean and fetched water\nthence for the baptismal office.\n\nWe don't know what state \"Johanna's Garden\" is now in, but some thirty\nyears ago it always bore more weeds than pot-herbs.\n\nThese simple traditions--thus handed down and kept alive by St. Levan\npeople, who believed them to be literally true--mark a lingering\nveneration for the holy fisherman who, in this secluded place, led his\ntranquil life.\n\n\n THE ST. LEVAN STONE.\n\nIn St. Levan Churchyard is a cloven rock called St. Levan's stone. For\nsome reason, now unknown, this must have been a venerated object when\nthe church was built, or it would have been used in the building. The\ncommon notion, however, is that long before St. Levan's time this rock\nwas regarded as sacred, because Merlin prophecied--\n\n \"When, with panniers astride,\n A pack-horse one can ride\n Through St. Levan stone,\n The world will be done.\"\n\nIt is stated that Merlin came here with King Arthur, when he slaughtered\nthe Danes at the battle of Velan-druchar. The separation of this\nprophetic stone is so slow that there appears to be no danger of the\nworld's ending just yet.\n\n\n PARCHAPEL WELL.\n\nTo find the Saint's Well one should take a pathway bearing westward,\nfrom a little below the church, and which leads over Roskestal cliff to\nPargwarra (we spell all names as the inhabitants pronounce them). After\ncrossing the brook and mounting a hedge keep straight towards the sea,\nand on a pretty level spot the ruined walls of St. Levan's baptistry\nwill be found, as also some traces of rude steps on a pathway that\nconnected this holy fount with an ancient chapel and burying-ground\nwhich stood on ground so near the precipice that little, if any, of its\nsite now remains. We have heard old folks of St. Levan (who were born\nthere more than a century ago) say that in their younger days Parchapel\nWell, as they always called it, was, twice a year, regularly cleaned out\nand repaired, and the ground, for a good space around, as well as the\nsteps, cleared of weeds, swept, and sanded. The first week of May being\na time of general well-dressing, Parchapel Well was never neglected\nthen, and it was also cleaned up against the feasten tide, when many\nchristenings usually took place.\n\nOld folks also spoke of another time-honoured observance in which the\nSaint's Well was shown due respect. Until within half a century or so,\nit was a custom on Christmas-eve for carol singers belonging to the\nhigher side hamlets to assemble in Sowah town-place round a large flat\ntable-like rock called the Garrack Zans (holy rock). Here they would\ncommence singing, and proceed to Roskestal, where at another Garrack\nZans in that town-place they would be joined by others, and all would\nthence go singing down to Parchapel Well, where they would meet with\nmany singers from Treen and other lower-side places. At the Well many an\nold carol would be chanted. One was never forgotten, in which, according\nto our West Country version, Holy Mary says to her dear child:--\n\n \"Go thee wayst out, child Jesus;\n Go thee wayst out to play\n Down by God's holy well.\n I see three pretty chelderen\n As ever tongue can tell.\"\n\nThis, for its sweet simplicity, is still a favourite in the west.\n\nThe rude steps, which may yet be traced (though almost overgrown by\nrushes and other water-plants) will be regarded with interest, as we\nlearn from St. Levan traditions that great sinners did penance by\ncrawling over these rough stones on their bare knees, and that the\ndevout who desired or aspired to acquire extraordinary grace, or\nindulgence, scrambled up all the way on bare knees from chapel-door to\nholy fount.\n\n\n\n\n A LEGEND OF PARGWARRA.\n\n My William's love was heaven on earth,\n Without it earth is hell.\n SCOTT.\n\n\nProceeding westward from St. Levan's Well we pass the next inlet, called\nParleddan (Wide Cove), and arrive at Pargwarra or Pargwartha (Higher\nCove), which is one of the most secluded and picturesque nooks that may\nanywhere be found.\n\nOld folks also called this place the Sweethearts' Cove, from a tradition\nof its having been the scene of a tragical love-story, which is best\nknown to me from fragments of a quaint old 'copy of verses,' entitled--\n\n\n THE TRAGEDY OF SWEET WILLIAM AND FAIR NANCY.\n\nThis composition of a forgotten western bard related that, far back in\nold times, the son of a fisherman, who dwelt at Pargwarra, lived many\nyears--off and on from a boy--in service with a rich farmer in\nRoskestal, and courted his master's only daughter, who, almost from her\nchildhood, loved the young serving-man with a strength of affection\nbeyond her control.\n\nThe youngster, being of a roving turn, often went to sea for many\nmonths in summer, and although he was then most wanted on the farm, his\nmaster always took him back again when sailors were paid off and\nmerchant ships laid up during the stormy winter season. It was his old\nmaster's and Nancy's great delight of winter's nights, to be seated with\nneighbours around the fire and hear Willy tell of strange things he had\nbeheld on the ocean and in foreign lands; they wondered at what he\nrelated of waterspouts, icebergs, and northern lights, of whales, seals,\nand Laplanders. And they listened with awe and surprise to what he told\nthem of burning-mountains, where he said he had seen, from a distance,\nthe very mouths of hell vomiting clouds of sulphurous smoke, flames, and\nrivers of fire. And when sailing as near these dreadful regions as\nanyone dared venture for the heat, and for fear of having their vessel\ndrawn ashore, where all the nails would be pulled from her planks by the\nload-stone rocks that bordered these lands; of nights, he had heard high\nover-head, devils shouting, \"the time is come but such and such a one\nisn't come;\" soon after, one would hear doleful cries and behold black\nclouds of doomed spirits driven to the burning-mountains by troops of\ndemons. He had seen the wreck of Pharaoh's chariots on the beach of the\nRed Sea, which, he assured them, had retained the hue from which it took\nits name ever since the Egyptian hosts were slain and overwhelmed, where\ntheir bones are still bleaching on the sands.\n\nBut all that was easily believed by his simple hearers, and mere nothing\nto the marvels he related from shipmates' stories when he told them of\nthose bold mariners who had been farther east and seen the Dead Sea\nacross which no bird could fly--how they had plucked from trees that\nbordered its black waters apples full of ashes that were tempting to the\neye; they had touched Lot's wife turned to salt, and brought home some\nof her fingers; that was often done, he said, for with the next tide's\nflow they sprouted out again.\n\nThe neighbours liked above all to hear him tell about the dusky men and\nstrange women of Levantine lands, and how the latter would shoot loving\nglances at British tars through peepholes cut in their thick black cloth\nveils.\n\nNow William himself was a wonder of perfection, past compare in Nancy's\neyes. She admired him for his stalwart form, for his strange adventures\non sea and land, and for the rare presents he brought her home. The\nfarmer, too, liked him just as if he had been his own son, yet it never\nentered his head that his daughter and only child would ever think of\nthe dashing and careless young seaman as her lover.\n\nYet her mother, more sharp sighted, soon discovered that her fair Nancy\nwas much in love with their serving-man. When William was gone to sea\nthe dame upbraided her with want of proper pride and self-respect till\nshe had fretted her almost to death's door. \"What a fool thou must be,\"\nsaid she, \"to throw thyself away, or to hanker after one so much beneath\nthy degree, when thy good looks and dower make thee a match for the\nrichest farmer's son in the West Country; think if you wed a poor sailor\nhow you will be scorned by all your kith and kin.\" Nancy replied, \"but\nlittle care I for relations' reproach or good will, and sink or swim if\never I marry it shall be the man I love who is able to work and win.\"\nThe dame prevailed on her husband, much against his will, however, not\nto take the sailor to live there when he returned home again; and\nshe--watching her opportunity--slammed the door in his face and told him\nhe should nevermore harbour beneath her roof.\n\nBut the father fearing his only child would pine to death, told her and\nher lover that if he would try his fortune by a voyage to the Indies or\nelsewhere for three years, when he returned, poor or rich, if he and\nNancy were in the same mind, they might be wedded for all he cared.\n\nThat being agreed on, William got a berth in a merchant-man bound for a\nlong voyage, took friendly leave of his old master, and the night before\nhis ship was ready to sail he and Nancy met, and he assured the\nsorrowing damsel that in three years or less she might expect him to\nland in Pargwarra with plenty of riches, and he would marry at home or\nfetch her away and make her his bride. According to the old verses he\nsaid--\n\n \"Down in a valley, love, where three streams unite,\n I'll build thee a castle of ivory and diamonds so bright,\n That shall be a guide for poor sailors of a dark stormy night.\"\n\nThey vowed again and again to be constant and true; with their hands\njoined in a living spring or stream they broke a gold ring in two\nbetween them, each one keeping a part. And to make their vows more\nbinding they kindled, at dead of night, a fire on the Garrack Zans (holy\nrock), which then stood in Roskestal town-place, and joining their hands\nover the flame, called on all the powers of heaven and earth to witness\ntheir solemn oaths to have each other living or dead. Having plighted\ntheir troth with these and other ancient rites--that romantic lovers of\nold regarded as more sacred than a marriage ceremony--they said\nfarewell, and William went on his way and joined his ship.\n\nThree years passed during which the old dame had done her utmost to\npersuade her daughter to become the wife of some rich farmer--for true\nit was, as she said, Nancy might have had her choice of the best--yet\ncoaxing and reproaches were powerless to shake the maid's constancy.\nWhen three years and many months were gone without any tidings of\nWilliam, she became very melancholy--perhaps crazy--from hope deferred,\nand took to wandering about the cleves in all weathers, by day and by\nnight.\n\nOn the headland, called Hella Point, which stretches far out west of\nthe cove, there is a high over-hanging rock almost on the verge of the\ncliff, which shelters, on its southern side, a patch of green sward,\nmostly composed of cliff-pinks; this spot used to be known as Fair\nNancy's bed. There she would pass hours by day and often whole nights\nwatching vessels that came within her ken, hoping to see her lover land\nfrom every one that hove in sight, and to be the first to hail him with\njoyful greetings in the cove. Her father and the old fisherman--anxious\nfor William's return--treated her as tenderly as a shorn lamb, and often\npassed long nights with her there; at length the poor maiden had to be\nwatched and followed for fear that in her night wanderings she might\nfall over the cliff or drown herself in a fit of despair.\n\nOne moonlight winter's night, when in her chamber indulging her grief,\nshe heard William's voice just under her window, saying, \"Sleepest thou,\nsweetheart, awaken and come hither, love; my boat awaits us at the cove,\nthou must come this night or never be my bride.\"\n\n\"My sweet William come at last, I'll be with thee in an instant,\" she\nreplied.\n\nNancy's aunt Prudence, who lodged in the same room, heard Willy's\nrequest and his sweetheart's answer; looking out of the window she saw\nthe sailor, just under, dripping wet and deathly pale. An instant\nafter--glancing round into the chamber, and seeing Nancy leave it--she\ndressed, in all haste, and followed her. Aunt Prudence, running down the\ncliff lane at her utmost speed, kept the lovers in sight some time, but\ncouldn't overtake them, for they seemed to glide down the rocky pathway\nleading to Pargwarra as if borne on the wind, till they disappeared in\nthe glen.\n\nAt the fisherman's door, however, she again caught a glimpse of them\npassing over the rocks towards a boat which floated off in the cove. She\nthen ran out upon the How--as the high ground projecting into the cove\nis called--just in time to see them on a large flat rock beside the\nboat, when a fog rolling in over sea, shrouded them from her view. She\nhailed them but heard no reply.\n\nIn a few minutes the mist cleared away, bright moonlight again shone on\nthe water, but the boat and lovers had disappeared.\n\nThen she heard mermaids singing a low sweet melody, and saw many of them\nsporting on the water under Hella; that was nothing new, however, for\nthe rocks and sawns (caverns) bordering this headland were always noted\nas favourite resorts of these death-boding syrens, whose wild unearthly\nstrains were wont, before tempests, to be heard resounding along\nPedn-Penwith shores.\n\nBy daybreak the old fisherman came to Roskestal and told the farmer\nthat he hoped to find his son there, for, about midnight, he saw him at\nhis bedside, looking ghastly pale; he stayed but a moment, and merely\nsaid, \"Farewell father and mother, I am come for my bride and must\nhasten away,\" when he vanished like a spirit. It all seemed to the old\nman uncertain as a dream; he didn't know if it were his own son in the\nbody or a token of his death.\n\nIn the afternoon, ere they had ceased wondering and making search for\nNancy, a young mariner came to the fisherman's dwelling, and told him\nthat he was chief officer of his son's ship, then at the Mount with a\nrich cargo from the Indies, bound for another port; but put in there\nbecause his son--her captain--when off Pargwarra, where he intended to\nland last night, eager to see his native place, went aloft, and the ship\nrolling he missed his holdfast of the shrouds, fell overboard and sunk\nbefore she could be brought-to or any assistance rendered.\n\nAll knew then that William's ghost had taken Nancy to a phantom boat,\nand a watery grave was the lovers' bridal-bed. Thus their rash vows of\nconstancy, even in death, were fulfilled, and their sad story, for a\ntime, caused Pargwartha to be known as the Sweethearts' Cove, and some\nwill have it that the old Cornish name has that meaning.\n\nThere are other versions of this story, that only vary from the above in\ndetails of little interest.\n\nI have recently tried in vain to find anyone who knows the old 'copy of\nverses,' the argument of which I have for the most part followed.\n\nThe fragments I recited, however, recalled to a few old folks a newer\npiece called the \"Strains of Lovely Nancy,\" that used to be printed in a\nbroad sheet and sung and sold by wandering ballad singers of the west,\nforty or fifty years ago; and from what I heard of the latter one might\nconclude it to have been a modernised and an imperfect version of the\nancient tragedy.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTraditions connected with places in the southern parishes of West\nPenwith having brought us within a short distance of the Land's End, we\nnow return to St. Just and purpose to relate such as are found in that\nparish and Sennen.\n\nAnd singular enough, almost all old stories handed down in St. Just are\nfairy-tales.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n AN' PEE TREGEER'S TRIP TO MARKET ON HALLAN EVE.\n\n Faery elves,\n Whose midnight revels by a forest side\n Or fountain some belated peasant sees.\n MILTON.\n\n\nOne St. Just Feasten Monday, about thirty years since, we heard the\nfollowing story told by the kitchen fireside in the \"North Inn.\" An aged\nmine-captain related the principal part, others of the company helping\nhim out when his memory or invention failed.\n\n\"I have heard the old folks tell,\" said Captain Peter, \"how long ago--it\nmay be hundreds of years past, for what we know--the Squire, who then\nlived in Pendeen, had for his housekeeper an elderly dame called Pee\nTregeer, who came to a sad mishap one Hallan Eve. Some spices and other\nsmall things were wanted from Penzance for the Feasten tide, and the\ncareful old creature wouldn't trust anyone to go for them but herself.\nNow, An' Pee dearly loved company on the road, and, not knowing of\nanybody more likely to take the jaunt with her than Jenny Trayer, who\nlived at Pendeen Cove, she took her basket and stick and went down to\nsee if Jenny would go.\n\n\"This woman was the wife of one Tom Trayer. The hut in which they lived\nwas the only dwelling then in the cove. The pair were but little seen\nout of the place. Tom passed great part of his time a fishing, when he\nwasn't smuggling; and his wife seldom left home except when she took\nround liquor and fish together, in her cowal, for sale. Jenny, however,\nwas frequently visited, for she professed to be, and passed for, a White\nWitch, charmer, or wise-woman. On this account many resorted to her that\nthey might be benefitted by her charms and spells. Yet, there were\nothers that regarded her as a witch of deeper dye, and who believed\nthat, by her strange dealings with the Old One, her husband had always a\nfavourable wind, so as to make a quicker passage to France and back than\nanyone else in \"the fair trade.\" Besides, fish, they said, always came\nto his hook and net when other fishermen had none. If anyone happened to\noffend either of the pair some strange run of bad luck was sure to\nfollow; and nothing proved their compact with Old Nick so much as the\nrich wrecks which were constantly floating into Pendeen Cove when the\npair lived there. Yet, as they lived on the Squire's estate, few cared\nto openly accuse them of practising the black art; and An' Pee didn't\ntrouble herself about their sorcery or witchcraft, so that they\nfurnished her with a good supply of choice liquors.\n\n\"When she arrived at Tom's door, contrary to custom she found it shut,\nand, hearing voices within, her curiosity made her peep through the\nfinger-hole (latch-hole). Then she saw Tom sitting on the chimney-stool,\nand his wife taking on the tip of her finger from a croggan\n(limpet-shell) what appeared to be salve, which she rubbed over her\nhusband's eyes.\n\n\"The anointing finished, Jenny placed the croggan in the mouth of the\noven and covered it up with rags. An' Pee, seeing Tom put on his hat,\nand come towards the door, lifted the latch and entered. Tom didn't seem\npleased at the old dame's abrupt entrance, as he went out with a very\nblack look, but his wife made much of her, that she might speak a good\nword for them to the Squire whenever they wanted any favour, which she\nwas ready enow to do for the sake of good liquor.\n\n\"'I am very glad to see 'e, An' Pee,' said Jenny, 'I have this moment\nbeen thinking about 'e and wishing you would come down to taste the\nchoice cordials Tom and the boys brought home by their last trip.'\n\n\"Whilst Jenny was in the spence after the liquor, An' Pee took from the\ncroggan the least bit of a greenish salve and touched one eye with it.\nBefore she had time to anoint the other, out came Jenny with her hands\nfull of jars and bottles. 'Now, what will 'e take, An' Pee?' said she,\nin placing the liquor and drinking-horns on the board, 'Will 'e first of\nall help yourself to some brandy from this jar, or some rum out of that,\nbefore you try the Hollands in the case-bottle, and take some of the\nsweet cordials afterwards? We have wine, too, in the spence if you would\nlike that better to begin with.'\n\n\"An' Pee took a drink of all the various kinds of liquors, just to\nsample them. Jenny excused herself from going to town, because, being\nFeasten eve, she had many churs (odd jobs) to do that the place might be\ntidy against the morrow. Besides, she expected many customers that\nevening, for a supply of drink to pass the tide. She didn't choose to\nleave the selling of the liquor to Tom, she said; he was too easily\ntaken in.\n\n\"It was about three o'clock when, An' Pee having filled with brandy a\nbottle, which she always carried in her pocket, left the cove and\nstarted for Penzance. Coming out of the dark dwelling she was surprised\nto find how well she could see, and the good liquor put such life into\nher heels that she tripped along the lanes without feeling the ground\nunder her feet. Yet, it was almost candlelighting when she got to town.\nAfter purchasing what she wanted for the house she went down among the\nstandings on a three-cornered plot, where the market-house is now, to\nbuy a pair of shoes for herself. Whilst she was trying their size with a\npiece of stick the length of her foot, to her great surprise she saw Tom\nTrayer going from standing to standing as brisk as a bee, picking off\neverything that suited his fancy. Yet, nobody but herself appeared to\nsee him taking rolls of leather, knives, forks, pewter-plates, wooden\nspoons, thread and yarn, and many other things, which he stuffed into\nhis pockets and the knapsack he carried on his back. An' Pee, vexed to\nsee his tricks on the tradespeople, went up to him and said, 'Tom! arn't\nthee ashamed to be here in the dark carrying on such a game?' 'Ah, es\nthat you Aunt Pee,' Tom replied, 'now tell me which eye can 'e see me\nupon?' 'Why with both, I should think,' said she. But when she winked\nthe eye that had been anointed, and found she only saw him on that, she\nsaid, 'I can see thee, and thy thievery, plain enow on my right eye, but\nthe other es rather cloudy by night.' When she said this, Tom held up\nhis finger and, pointing towards her anointed eye, said,--\n\n \"'Cursed old spy,\n Thou shalt no more peep nor pry,\n With thy anointed eye.'\n\n\"Then he blew on it and, laughing in her face, said, 'Take that for\npoking your nose where you arn't wanted, and meddling with other\npeople's business. You shall neither see me, nor anyone else, any more\nwith that game eye.' The old woman felt as if a needle had pierced it.\nShe fell to the ground, and rolled about under the standings. Such was\nher agony she couldn't keep on her legs.\n\n\"She called on the market people to seize Tom Trayer, telling them he\nhad put out her eye by witchcraft, and that he was going about in the\ndark, stealing goods from their standings and stalls. But no one, except\nherself, had seen him. Some said that An' Pee was drunk or dreaming, and\nthey led her to Alverton-lane, tied her basket on her arm, wished her\ngood night, and a pleasant journey home to Pendeen, and a merry feasten\ntide.\n\n\"Now An' Pee didn't return by the way of Polteggan Bottom and\nBoswednan, though it's the nearest, because there are so many stiles on\nthat road and bogs near it. She took her course through Castle Horneck\nfields. When she came out into the high road, she drank a little from\nher bottle (which she had refilled in town) and went on for three or\nfour miles, as she thought, being so distracted she couldn't tell\nwhether she was going up hill or down dale half the time, and fancied\nherself much more advanced on her journey than she really was, when she\nbeheld, a little before her, a man on horseback. By the proud way he was\nstuck up on his high horse, she took him for a gentleman who lived in\nthe south of the parish.\n\n\"An' Pee was very glad to see him, and he was going so slowly that she\nsoon overtook him, and when the old woman came up he stood stock still.\n'My dear, maister,' said she, 'how glad I am to see 'e; don't 'e know\nme? I'm Pee Tregeer, and you can't think how I've been served out\nto-day.' Then she told him how she went down to the cove and anointed\nher eye with witch's salve--how that made her to see Tom Trayer stealing\nfrom the standings--how he put out her eye, because she let him know,\nand other people too, that she was up to his tricks, and had found out\nwhich way he managed to live so easy without working like an honest man.\nThe gentleman made no reply, and An' Pee continued to say 'In spite of\nbeing blind, foot sore, and leg weary, I'm got as far as here you see,\nand we can't be far from Ballaswidden I should think, and oh! my eye is\nstill burning like fire; so, for goodness, do take pity on a poor\nunfortunate oman and take her up behind 'e. I can ride well enow on the\nflat 'cheens' of your horse without pillion or pad; it won't be much out\nof your way to give one a lift down to Pendeen gate, or if you will only\ntake me over Dry Carn I won't forget your kindness all my born days. I\nwell remember the time when you went much farther out of your way to\nmeet me. Then, to be sure, I was young and much better looking than I am\nnow; though you are years older than I am, yet you are still a\nfine-looking man, strong and lusty; all your family are good-looking\nboys; and how upright you sit on your horse! You have still a colt's\ntooth in your head, if all they say be true, but why don't 'e speak to\nme, are 'e gone to sleep? One would think you were takean a nap, and\nyour horse too, it's standing so quiet.'\n\n\"Not having a word in reply to the fine speech she made to please the\nold gentleman, who didn't so much as turn his head, An' Pee called out\nas loud as she could, 'Ef you are the lord of Bosavern you needn't be\nstuck up there so proud that you won't speak to a poor body afoot, as ef\nI didn't know 'e and all belonging to 'e!' Still he never spoke. Yet she\nthought he winked on her, just as he used to do in his younger days.\nThis vexed her the more, and she screamed out, 'The time was when the\nTregeers were among the first in the parish, and were buried in the\nchurch as well as the old Bosvarguses, Usticks, Borlases, Milletts, and\nothers of the quality! Ef you won't believe me, ask maister; he can tell\neverything from his books.' Still no speech with the horseman. 'Art ah\ndead drunk then? Wake up and speak to me, west ah?' screamed the old\nwoman with increasing anger, as she took up a stone and threw it at the\nsleeping steed. The stone rolled back to her feet, and the horse didn't\nas much as whisk his tail.\n\n\"Pee now got nearer, and saw that the rider had neither hat nor wig on;\nnor was there a hair to be seen on his bare head, and, putting out her\nhand to touch the horse, she felt nothing but a bush of furze. She\nrubbed her eyes, and saw at once, to her great surprise, that what a\nmoment before appeared (and she would have sworn it was) a gentleman on\nhorseback, was nothing else but a tall cross that stands on a high bank,\nby the road-side, about half a mile from Santust lane's end. The old\nwoman thought she was miles farther on, and must be so bewitched that\nshe couldn't believe her senses.\n\n\"Fearing that Tom Trayer was still dogging her steps, she went on for\ndear life, and, not staying to look for the stepping stones in the\nstream below Cardew Mill, she splashed through with the water above her\nknees.\n\n\"On she went and, seeing a light on her right hand side, she thought it\nshone through the window of a dwelling, where she might rest awhile and\ndry herself, so she made for it, straight across the moors, but went on\nfor miles, it seemed to her, without coming to it. Then the light went\nout and left her floundering in the bogs; yet, getting out and steering\nfor the place from which it vanished, she at last found herself amidst\nthe furze-ricks and pigs'-crows in Boslow. Not seeing any light in the\nonly dwelling of this lonely place, An' Pee opened the door of an\nout-house and entered it, hoping she might take a few hours' rest.\n\n\"In the crow that the old dame entered she was glad to find a good\nquantity of straw, on which she lay down and fell asleep, but her\nslumbers were soon disturbed by a bosom of vears (litter of sucking\npigs) which had just been severed from their dam and placed there to be\nweaned. The young sucklings, taking An' Pee for their dam, continued\nrooting round her with their snouts. All her endeavours to get a\ncomfortable rest being in vain, she came out and, hearing the sound of a\nthreshal (flail) going, and seeing a glimmer of light in the barn on the\nother side of the town-place, she thought that the old man of Boslow was\nup late threshing that he might have straw to serve his cattle over\nSunday. 'Now,' said the old woman to herself, as she crossed the\ntown-place, 'I shall get a spell of rest in the barn, for I feel so\nsleepy that no noise of threshing will hinder me from having a nap.' She\nmade for a window, which stood open and through which the light\nglimmered, that she might have a peep at what was going on before she\nwent in.\n\n\"Looking in she could only see, at first, an old iron chill (lamp) with\ntwo porvans (rush wicks) burning in it. The chill hung from a stake,\ndriven into the wall opposite, at the head of the barn-boards. Then, in\nthe faint light, she noticed a slash-staff (beating part of the flail)\ngoing up and down, but couldn't see anybody working it. That she might\nbe able to reach her head farther in, to see better, she rolled close\nunder the window a big stone, and, standing on that, on her tip-toes,\nshe saw that the threshal was worked by a little old man, no more than\nthree feet high, covered only with a few rags, and his long hair that\nhung over his shoulders like a bunch of rushes, (a bunch beaten for\nmaking sheep's spans). His face was broader than it was long; she\ncouldn't make out the colour of his great round owl's-eyes, they were so\nshaded by his shaggy eyebrows, from between which his long nose, like a\nsnout, poked out. His mouth reached from ear to ear, and they were set\nfar back to make room for it. Pee noticed, too, that his teeth were very\nlong and jagged, for he was so eager about his work that, with each\nstroke of the threshal, he kept moving his thin lips round and up and\ndown, and his tongue in and out. He had nothing of a chin or neck to\nspeak of, but shoulders broad enow for a man twice his height. His naked\narms and legs were out of all proportion, and too long for his squat\nbody; and his splayed feet were more like a quilkan's (frog's) than a\nman's.\n\n\"'Well,' thought An' Pee, 'this es luck, to see Piskey threshan; for,\never since I can remember, I have heard it said that Piskey threshed the\ncorn in Boslow of winter's nights, and did other odd jobs all the year\nround for the old couple who lived here, but I wouldn't believe it. Yet\nhere he es!' As she reached farther in and looked round she beheld\nscores of small people, no more than two feet high, attending on the\nthresher; some of them lugged down sheaves and placed them handy for\nhim; others shook the straw and bore it off to the end of the barn. An'\nPee couldn't help admiring how, when one side of a sheaf was threshed\nclean, Piskey, by a few quick, smart blows, would rise the sheaf on its\nbutt-end, then knock it over quite cute like with the unthreshed side\nuppermost. When the corn was all out of that side, with a few sharp\nblows on the tongue of the bind, it was laid open and the straw sent to\nthe lower end of the boards with the tip of his slash-staff. An' Pee\ndeclared that she never saw a smarter thresher in all her born days.\n\n\"When a heap of corn had gathered on the boards, he raked it off with\nthe barn-rake and kicked the bruss-straw (short straw) out of it,\nleaving the corn just as clean as if it had been winded. In doing this\njob, he raised such a dust that it set him and the small folks sneezing,\nand the old woman, according to custom, said 'God bless 'e little men!'\nShe had no sooner spoken the words than the light went out and all\nvanished; but she felt a handful of dust thrown into her eyes that\nnearly blinded the only peeper that she could see anything on, and she\nheard Piskey squeak out,\n\n 'I spy thy snout, old Peepan Pee;\n And I'll serve thee out, or es much to me.'\n\n\"An' Pee felt rather uneasy when she remembered that the 'small people'\nhave great spite against anyone who watches them or tries to pry into\ntheir doings.\n\n\"The night being clear she found her way out of the scrambly lane,\nleading up from Boslow to the highroad, scampered on as fast as she\ncould, and never stopped till she reached the top of Dry Carn. There she\nsat down a minute, that she might recover her breath, to pass quickly\nover the road near Carn Kenidzek and down the Gump, as everybody then\n(as now) dreaded that haunted track; indeed, few go near that wisht\nplace, about the turn of night, without hearing, if not seeing, the Old\nOne and his hounds, hunting among the rocks for any restless spirits\nthat might have strayed so far away from the churchyard--their only\nplace of safety--or some other frightful apparitions, fighting and\nhowling round the carn, or fleeing over the downs.\n\n\"She 'jailed' away--down the hill, as fast as she could lay foot to\nground, thinking to be home by the kitchen fire in a quarter of an hour,\nand went far enough, as she thought, to have reached Pendeen gate twice\nover. Then she feared that she might have got into a wrong bridle-path\nover the downs, or that Piskey was playing her a trick, because, turn\nwhichever way she would, the road appeared to be before her. After going\non for a long while, she saw light and heard music, at no great\ndistance. Thinking then that she must have kept too much on her left and\nbe near some house on the road to Church-town, where they were getting\nin tune for the dancing on Feasten Monday night, she went over the\ndowns, straight towards the light, feeling ready for a jig, and stopped\nmore than once to 'try her steps,' as the lively old dancing tunes kept\nsounding in her ears. But, instead of arriving at a house, as she\nexpected to, in passing round some high rocks, which hid the light a\nmoment, she came, all at once, on a level green, surrounded by furze and\nrocks, and there, a few yards before her, saw troops of 'small people'\nholding a fair, or belike it might be their feasten market.\n\n\"Scores of little standings all in a row, were covered with trinkets,\nsuch as knee and shoe buckles of silver and gold, glistening with\nCornish diamonds; pins, with jewelled heads; brooches, rings, bracelets,\nand strings of crystal beads, figured with green and red, or blue and\ngold; and scores of other pretty things quite new to An' Pee; who, not\nto disturb the small folks till she had seen all that was doing, crept\nalong softly in the rear of the standings, till she stood opposite a\ncompany of dancers; hundreds of them linked hand in hand, after the old\nbonfire-dance fashion, were whirling round so fast that it made her head\nlight to look at them.\n\n\"Small as they were--none more than two feet high, and rather slender in\nmake--they were all decked out like old-fashioned gentry--the little men\nin three-cocked hats and feathers; full, square-skirted, blue coats,\nstiff with buckram and gay with lace and buttons; vest, breeches, and\nstockings of a lighter hue; and their dainty little shoes fastened with\ndiamond clasps. Some few, who were rigged more like soldiers or\nhuntsmen, wore either jet-black or russet-coloured riding boots.\n\n\"An' Pee said that she couldn't name the colours of the little ladies'\ndresses, which were of all the hues of summer's blossoms. The vain\nlittle things, to make themselves look the taller, had their powdered\nhair turned up on pads and dressed with flowers, lace, and ribbons to an\nextraordinary height for such dolls of things. Their gay gowns were very\nlong-waisted, and their skirts so distended by hoops that they looked\njust as broad as they were long. Their shoes of velvet or satin, were\nhigh-heeled and pointed at the toes. The men were much darker\ncomplexioned than the women, yet they were all very good looking, with\nsparkling dark eyes, well-shaped noses, sweet little mouths, and dimpled\ncheeks and chins. Not one among them, that she saw, had a spotty face or\npurple-top nose, because they drink nothing stronger than honey-dew.\nSome, to be sure, appeared to be rather aged, yet, all were sprightly,\nmerry, and gay.\n\n\"In the dancers' ring stood a May-pole about three yards high, all\nwreathed with flowers. Where they got them, that time of the year, to\nmake their garlands, was a wonder. The pipers, standing in their midst,\nplayed lively old dance tunes that are now but seldom heard, and An' Pee\nnever felt more inclined for a dance in her life than when she heard\ntheir cheery music; but how could she reel round among such little\nbeings and have a jig without kicking them down?\n\n\"'The women,' she always said, 'were the sauciest little creatures that\none ever seed; she was most ashamed to look at them--tossing up their\nheels, forwards and backwards, higher than their heads, and kicking off\nthe men's hats, as they capered round and round.' Every now and then,\none would unlock her hands and, breaking out of the ring, take a leap\nright over the men's heads, perch on the May-pole, and there spin round,\non her toe, like a whirligig.\n\n\"There were lights about in all directions--lanthorns no bigger than\ngun-pop (fox-glove) flowers, hanging in rows along the standings, and\nrushlights, in paper cups like tulips, shone among the gingerbread-nuts,\ncomfits, candied angelica, peppermint-drops, and more enticing things\nthat are seen in any other fair. She thought, too, that all the\nglow-worms in creation had gathered together near the fair-ground, to\nhelp to light it up. Yet, with all these lights, there was such a\nshimmer over everything that the old dame got bewildered at times and\ncould never see anything so plainly as she wished.\n\n\"At no great distance from the dancers there was a wrestling ring, where\nmany little ladies were looking on, betting on their favourites and\nhelping them with their good wishes and applause. Farther on, some were\nshooting with bows and arrows at a target. Others were playing at keals\n(bowls). Every here and there the lilly-bangers (raffle-keepers) with\ntheir tables and dice kept a great noise calling out, 'Come hither,\nsweet ladies and gentlemen, and try your luck! One in, two in, three in;\nwho will make four in for this nice cake?' Farther off, nearly out of\nsight, a great number were 'hurling to the gold' (goal). She knew what\nwas going on from hearing the old cry of 'Well done, Santusters, one and\nall, comrades; fair play is good play' and, every now and then she saw\nthe little hurling-ball, as it was cast from side to side, shine like a\nshooting star. By that means they contrived to hurl by night.\n\n\"All games, which used to be played at fairs and merry-makings, were\nthere carried on. Still, great part of the small folks diverted\nthemselves in parading up and down, on the green, between the standings\nand dancing-ground, examining the pretty things displayed. They didn't\nseem to have any money amongst them to buy anything, yet they often\nbartered their trinkets and changed them from stall to stall.\n\n\"The old woman determined to have some of the pretty things glistening\nbefore her, but, among so much that was beautiful, she couldn't make up\nher mind what to take. Whilst An' Pee was considering, she saw approach\nthe standing a little lady, tired with dancing, leaning her head on her\npartner, who with his arm round her waist supported her steps. The\ngentleman taking from the hands of a little dame who kept the stall a\ngolden goblet of the size and shape of a poppy head (capsule) held it to\nthe faint lady's lips. Sipping the contents she recovered in an instant,\nand, choosing a fan, made of a few goldfinch feathers stuck into a pearl\nhandle, her partner took a pair of diamond buckles from his knees and\nplaced them on the standing by way of pledge. The little couple having\ntripped off again to the dance, An' Pee thought how well the bright\nlittle buckles would look, fixed as brooches, on her Sunday's cap-ribbon\nor in her neckatee, and determined to secure them at once, fearing they\nmight be gone with the next small body that saw them.\n\n\"As there was nothing that she could so readily turn inside-out, and\ndrop on them, as one of her gloves, which reached to her elbows, she\ndrew off one, inside-out, and dropped it, as it seemed to her, right on\nthe buckles. Her hand nearly touched them; but, in trying to grasp them\nunder her glove, a palm of pins or needles, so small that she didn't\nnotice them, stuck into her fingers, and she cried out, 'Oh! Cuss 'e!\nYou little buccas.' That instant all the lights went out, and all the\nfair, and most of the small people, vanished like shadows among the\nrocks or sunk into the earth, like muryans (ants) into their holes.\n\n\"Yet many of the frolicsome sprights were still about her, as she soon\nfound to her cost.\n\n\"Whilst she was still stooping, and groping for her glove and the\nbuckles, she felt a great number of the small tribe--a score or\nmore--leap on her back, neck, and head. At the same time others,\ntripping up her heels, laid her flat on the ground and rolled her over\nand over. More than once, when her face was uppermost, she caught a\nglimpse of Piskey, all in rags as usual, mounted on a year-old colt, his\ntoes stuck in the mane, holding a rush in his hand to guide it. There he\nsat, putting on the smaller sprights to torment her, making a\ntee-hee-hee and haw-haw-haw, with his mouth open from ear to ear.\n\n\"When she spread out her arms and squeezed herself down, that they\nshouldn't turn her over, they would squeak and grunt in trying to lift\nher; but all her endeavours to hinder their game were of no use. Somehow\nor other over she went, and every time they turned her face downwards\nsome of the small fry would jump on her back and there jig away with\n'heel-and-toe' from her head to her feet. In the pitch and pass of their\nthree-handed reels, it was who and who should get on her stays; the\nsteel and whalebone in that, she supposed, served them as a\nspringing-board. In the finishing off of their double shuffles they\nwould leap more than three times their height, turn a summersault over\neach others' heads, and so make the pass. An' Pee twisted her head on\none side, saw what they were at, and tried to beat them off with her\nstick, but they got it from her hand, laid it across her waist, and\nmounting on it astride, as many as could, bobbed up and down, singing,\n\n 'See-saw-see,\n Lie still, old Peepan Pee.\n See-saw-see,\n Upon old Peepan Pee,\n Who should better ride than we?\n See-saw-see.'\n\n\"The old woman, not to be beaten with such imps, tossed back her feet to\nkick them off; then they held her legs doubled back and pulled off her\nshoes; some jumped up and balanced themselves on her upturned toes,\nwhilst others pricked at, and tickled, the soles of her feet till she\nfell into fits of crying and laughing by turns.\n\n\"Pee was almost mad with their torment, when, by good luck, she\nremembered to have heard that the adder-charm was powerful to drive away\nall mischievous sprights. She had no sooner pronounced the words than\nthey all fled screeching down the hill, Piskey galloping after; they\nleft her lying on a bed of furze, near a large rock.\n\n\"She got on her feet, and, looking round, saw, by the starlight of a\nclear frosty morning, that the place to which she had been piskey-led\nwas near the bottom of the Gump; that the level spot of green on which\nthe small people held their fair, and carried on their games, was almost\nsurrounded by high rocks, and was no larger over than the Green-court or\nwalled garden in front of Pendeen house; yet, when the fair was on it,\nthrough the sprights' illusions, this green spot seemed like a\nthree-acre field.\n\n\"An' Pee only found her stick. The basket, tied to her arm, was empty\nand broken to pieces. She paced the ground over and round, in hope of\nfinding her hat and shoes, and above all her glove, and the precious\nbuckles under it. Giving over at length her fruitless search, with the\nhelp of her stick she hobbled, barefooted and bare-headed, down the hill\nand reached Pendeen gate.\n\n\"'Now thank the powers,' said she, as she passed through it and slammed\nit behind her, 'I shall be a-bed and sleepan in a few minutes.'\n\n\"Though An' Pee knew that Piskey had played her many tricks that night,\nand she thought he might be still dogging her footsteps, yet she was so\nbewildered that, until too late, it never came into her head to turn\nsome of her clothing inside out, and now, so near home, she defied him\nto lead her astray.\n\n\"Inside Pendeen gate there is one road leading to the mansion and\nanother which goes down to the mill. Between them there were two or\nthree acres of ground, which had probably never been cleared or\ncultivated, as there were several large rocks remaining on it and brakes\nof furze, seldom cut, because the old Squire, or his family, had stocked\nthis piece of rough ground with fancy breeds of tame rabbits, and the\nwild ones which came among them from not being chased or shot at, became\nso tame that they continued their frisky gambols, without showing any\nsigns of fear when persons passed near them; and, for the pleasure of\nseeing the bunnies sport, furze was allowed to grow here and there over\ngreat part of this ground.\n\n\"In passing to the house An' Pee avoided the stony road and walked on\nthe green, because her poor bare feet were cut and sore.\n\n\"Now hundreds of times--drunk and sober--on the darkest nights she had\ngone along the grass beside the bridle-paths, without once missing her\nway to the Green-court gate. Yet, that Hallan Eve she, somehow, went too\nfar from the road, got in on the grassy patches between the furze, and,\nbefore she knew that she had missed her way, found herself down by the\nmill-road. She followed up that track, and in making a new attempt to\nreach the house, she again got among the furze and wandered about on the\npatches of green between them for hours without coming to either road.\nYet, as usual, with piskey-led persons the path appeared either before\nor close beside her, until, tired out, she lay down to wait for day and\nfell asleep.\n\n\"The Squire and all his household were very much concerned because of\nthe old woman's absence, well knowing that no ordinary matter would keep\nher from home on the feasten tide. During the night the servants had\nbeen sent to the villages round, to inquire if anyone had seen her in\nPenzance or on the road, but no tidings were obtained of her. The Squire\nrose by break of day and called up his servants to hunt for her. In\npassing along the road towards the gate, only a few yards from the\nhouse, he heard somebody snoring in a brake of furze bordering on the\npath, and there he found his housekeeper very ragged and torn. Some say\nhe discovered her by finding on the road her knitting-work, with the\nyarn hanging to it, and, by taking up the yarn, he went by it till he\nfound the dame with some of the ball in her pocket. However that may be,\nhe roused her with great difficulty, and, without opening her eyes, she\nsaid,\n\n\"'I wan't turn out to please anybody till I've had my morning nap; so go\naway, go, and shut my chamber door!'\n\n\"At length her master, having brought her to her senses, helped her up\nand asked what made her take up her lodgings on the cold ground?\n\n\"In passing slowly along, and stopping awhile at the Green-court gate,\nshe told him of her mishaps.\n\n\"The Squire didn't think one half of what she said could be true; indeed\nhe questioned whether she had been to Penzance at all, and thought it\nquite as likely that she had stayed tippling at the cove till near dark,\nstarting for town, had missed her way, and, wandering over the Gump, had\nthere, or where he found her, fallen asleep and dreamt great part of\nwhat she told him.\n\n\"'Belike Pee,' said the Squire, as she was about to go down the\nGreen-court steps, 'what you took at the cove had something to do with\nrising the spirits you saw.'\n\n\"'Oh! you misbelieving man,' cried she, turning round, and holding\ntowards him her uplifted hands, 'if I like a drop of good liquor to\ncheer my heart, now and then, I never took so much as to do me harm in\nall my born days; and, leave me tell 'e, that with all your learning,\nand doubting, you know but little about the 'small people.' There es\nmore taking place in the region of spirits, as I've heard the parson\nsay, than you can learn from your books, and for want of faith, I fear\nme you will never be enlightened. Yet as sure as my name is Penelope\nTregeer, I seed, heard, and what is more I felt, all that I now tell\n'e.'\n\n\"'Go in and sleep the spirits out of thy noddle, that thou mayest be in\ntime to see about the feasten dinner,' said the Squire, as he turned\naway, and took his favourite morning's walk to the cove.\n\n\"When he came in, after a turn round the cliff and up by the mill, he\nfound the old woman, never the worse for her journey, busy preparing the\nfeasten fare, and the ladies and gentlemen of his family, and numerous\nvisitors, at an early breakfast that they might have time to proceed to\nchurch in grand state on the feasten day.\"\n\n\n PENDEEN OF OLD.\n\nCapt. Peter, having taken a pull from the pewter pot, continued\nwith--\"Believe me, comrades, Pendeen didn't then look wisht at feasten\ntides nor at any other time, when one saw, (and smelt, too), the sweet\nscent of turf-smoke that curled up from chimney stacks, which now look\ndown sorrowfully on cold hearths; and one saw fair faces peering through\nthe casements, numbers of ladies and gentlemen walking about the garden\nalleys and courts of the old mansion, or when the cry of hounds and the\nwinding of the horn echoeing through the house, called one and all to\nthe hunt at early morn. And, I can but think,\" he continued, \"how\nstrangers visiting Pendeen for the first time, after riding over miles\nof open downs with scarce a dwelling in sight, must have been surprised\nwhen they caught the first glimpse of the noble old seat, which is only\nseen when close at hand, and the track of rich cultivated land between\nit and the sea; it must have appeared to them like a place raised by\nenchantment, as we hear of in old stories. And the old masons, who took\npride in their art and did their work truly, were right to bestow such\nlabour on the beautiful chimney stacks of the old mansion, because they\nare there first seen, and from parts where little else of the house is\nvisible; and the first sight, like first love, is never forgotten,\nmates.\"\n\nCapt. Peter paused, drained the pewter pot, which had stood foaming\nbefore him, handed it to the cheerful old landlady to be replenished,\nand took a smoke. A tinner, who sat by the fire knocking the ashes out\nof his pipe, said, whilst he cut up his roll-tobacco, rubbed it in the\npalm of his hand, and refilled:--\n\n\"I don't understand very well Capen what is meant by enchantment, only\nthat it's something strange and wonderful. Now, to my mind, the greatest\nwonder about the place is the Vow. One end of it we know is within a few\nyards of the mansion, but no one knows where the other is to be found.\nEf there be any truth in old traditions about that cavern, adit, fougou,\nor whatever it may be called, it runs for a great distance (some say\nmiles), yet most people believe that the eastern end was once open at\nthe cove. Others will have it that old tinners, who lived before part of\nthe roof had fallen in, travelled in it for ten times the distance from\nthe house to the cove, and burned more than a pound of candles without\nfinding the end. They always returned frightened, and what they saw to\nscare them they could never be got to tell.\n\n\"Perhaps the Spirit of the Vow, that many have seen at the entrance, in\nthe appearance of a tall lady, dressed in white, with a red rose in her\nmouth, at all seasons of the year, may take a more fearful form within\nthe cavern.\n\n\"Who can tell,\" he continued, \"but that money and treasures may have\nbeen secreted there in troublesome times of old, and I wonder why the\nSquire don't have the mystery about the Vow cleared up; there can't be\nmuch of the roof fallen in, and, for my part, I'd willingly give all my\ntime, out of core for a month to help clear away the rubbish and take\nthe venture upon shares.\"\n\n\"I am very much of thy mind, my dear,\" Capt. Peter replied, \"Ef the\nSquire would give us leave we'd pitch cost as soon as the feast is over,\nand I don't think we should find there many spirits to frighten us away.\nI believe that many of the fearful stories about the Vow were invented\nby smugglers. When the fair trade was in its glory the Vow was a\nconvenient place for storage, and I think that the smugglers, who didn't\nwant any faint hearts, with weak heads and long tongues, to come near\nthem, invented many fearful stories to scare such away. One never finds\nany so fond of prying into other people's business as the foolish ones,\nor 'Grammer's weak children,' as we say.\"\n\n\n HOW PISKEY LEFT BOSLOW.\n\n Tells how the drudging goblin sweat\n To earn his cream bowl duly set,\n When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,\n His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn.\n MILTON.\n\n\"No doubt,\" said the tinner after a pause, \"Piskey threshed the corn and\ndid other odd jobs for the old man of Boslow, as long as he lived, and\nthey said that after his death he worked some time for the old widow,\ntill he took his departure from the place about three score years ago.\nSome say\"--\n\n\"Stop a minute, my son, I can tell 'e a story about that,\" said Capt.\nPeter, taking the pipe from his mouth, and holding up his finger:--\"One\nnight, when the hills were covered with snow and winter had come\nseverely, the old widow of Boslow left in the barn for Piskey a larger\nbowl than usual of gerty milk (boiled milk, thickened with pillas, or\noatmeal). Being clear moonlight she took a turn round the town-place,\nstopped at the barn-door, and looked in to see if Piskey were come to\neat his supper while it was hot. The moonlight shone through a little\nwindow right on the barn-boards, and there, sitting on a sheaf of oats,\nshe saw Piskey eating his gerty milk very hearty. He soon emptied his\nwooden bowl, and scraped it with the wooden spoon as clean as if it had\nbeen washed out. Having placed the 'temberan dish and spoon' in a\ncorner, he stood up and patted and stroked his stomach, and smacked his\nlips in a way that was as much as to say, 'that's good of 'e old dear;\nsee ef I don't thresh well for 'e to-night.' But when Piskey turned\nround, the old woman was sorry to see that he had nothing on but rags\nand a very little of them.\n\n\"'How poor Piskey must suffer with the cold,' she thought and said to\nherself, 'to pass great part of his time out among the rushes in the\nboggy moors or on the downs with this weather--his legs all naked, and a\nvery holey breeches. I'll pitch about it at once, and make the poor\nfellow a good warm suit of home-spun. We all know ragged as Piskey es,\nhe's so proud that he won't wear cast-off clothes, or else he should\nhave some of my dear old man's--the Lord rest him.'\n\n\"No sooner thought than she begun; and, in a day or two, made a coat and\nbreeches, knitted a pair of long sheep's-black stockings, with garters,\nand a nightcap, knitted too.\n\n\"When night came the old woman placed Piskey's new clothes, and a bowl\nof gerty milk on the barn-boards, where the moonlight would shine on\nthem to show them best. A few minutes after leaving the barn she came\nback to the door, opened its upper part a little, and, looking in, saw\nPiskey standing up, eating his milk, and squinting at the clothes at the\nsame time. Laying down his empty bowl he took the new breeches on the\ntip of his hand-staff, carried it to the window, and seeing what it was,\nput it on over his rags, dragged on the stockings, and gartered them,\ndonned coat and cap, then jumped over the barn-boards, and capered round\nthe barn, like a fellow light in the head, singing,\n\n \"'Piskey fine and Piskey gay,\n Piskey now will run away.'\n\n\"And, sure enow, run away he did; for when he came round to the door\nopening into the mowhay he bolted out and took himself off without as\nmuch as saying, 'I wish 'e well 'till I see again' to the old woman, who\nstood outside the other door looking at am. Piskey never came back and\nthe old woman of Boslow died that winter.\"\n\n\n\n\n AN OVERSEER AND A PARISH CLERK OF ST. JUST\n ABOUT SIXTY YEARS AGO.\n\n\n\"It was no wonder if persons coming from Penzance to Pendeen of a dark\nnight should miss their way and think themselves piskey-led,\" said the\ntinner.\n\n\"There was neither bridge nor house in the place called New Bridge\nbefore wheel carriages were in use, and the only St. Just road from\nPenzance this side of Cardew Water was a mere bridle-path or rather a\ngreat number of horse tracks, often crossing each other and twisting\nabout far and wide round rocks and intervening patches of furze, over\nmiles of open downs and boggy moors, with no hedges near the road to\nkeep it within bounds. When one track was worn too deep it was never\nrepaired, as there was plenty of room to make a new one. Bridges then\nwere few, and for the most part made by placing flat slabs to rest on\nthe stepping-stones in some of the deepest streams, for the convenience\nof foot passengers. These old foot-bridges were ugly things to cross by\nnight and the stepping-stones were worse.\"\n\n\"We have all heard about the old stepping-stones in Nancherrow Water,\"\nsaid the tinner, who finished the foregoing story, \"how, after day-down,\nno one could pass over them in going to Church-town without some mishap,\nand no person would venture to return that way until daybreak. Shortly\nbefore the first bridge was built there, one of the overseers was a\nfarmer who lived in the North of St. Just. Few persons then could either\nwrite or read, except one here and there, who passed for a great scholar\nif he could sign his name and read a chapter in the Psalter without much\nspelling. The overseer not knowing how to write or cipher, kept the\naccounts of his monthly disbursements on the dairy-door, in round o's\nfor shillings and long chalks for pence. The last Saturday of each month\nhe took the dairy-door on his back and carried it to Church-town, that\nthe clerk might enter his accounts in the parish book.\n\n\"One Saturday, in the season when days are short and streams high, the\noverseer couldn't make out his accounts and reach Nancherrow Water\nbefore dark; and, in passing, with the door on his back, over the wet\nand slippery stones, he lost his balance, and fell into the stream. By\ngood luck the door was under, and floated him down to a place where the\nwater spread out shallow and there he landed, but all the accounts were\nwashed out. 'Tis said that the overseer's mishap was the reason why the\nfirst bridge was built over Nancherrow Water.\"\n\n\"I can tell 'e another sad case,\" said the Capt. \"We elderly folks have\nall heard of Uncle Will Ben, who was the parish clerk and the best\nfiddler in the parish, a little before I was born, and everybody says he\nwas what we call a 'peathy old fellow, with plenty of gumption.'\n\n\"One Feasten Monday Uncle Will was rather late in going to Church-town\nwith his fiddle, in a case, under his arm, to play during the night in a\npublic house. Being Feasten Monday, like enough he had stopped to take a\ndrop at neighbours' houses on the road; however, in crossing Nancherrow\nWater, his foot slipped from the stepping-stones and his fiddle fell\nfrom under his arm into the water, floated down the stream and in under\na high bank where it was caught in some brambles. A gentleman riding\nthrough the water, saw Uncle Will a little below trying to get at\nsomething with his stick, and asked what was the matter. Uncle Will told\nhim of his mishap. 'I pity your case,' the horseman replied, and rode\non.\n\n\"'I don't care a cuss for the case if I'd only got my fiddle,' replied\nUncle Will.\n\n\"This gave rise to the saying which is still often heard, 'I don't care\na cuss for the case, if I'd only got the fiddle,' as Uncle Will Ben\nsaid.\n\n\"This old jewel of a parish clerk and fiddler said many other things\nwhich are still remembered and used as every-day sayings.\n\n\"It was the custom then for the great farmers to invite the parson and\nclerk to supper on goolthise (harvest-home) day, and the sexton usually\ncame to work and see his reverend master safe home. Often all three came\nin time to lend a hand about the corn carrying. If two farmers had their\ngoolthise on the same day the parson and sexton favoured one and the\nclerk the other. It happened, one day, when Uncle Will came alone early\nin the morning to help, and to enjoy the feast, that the weather was\nvery lowering, and such was the fear of rain coming before the corn was\nin ricks, and thatched, that the carrying was continued all day for dear\nlife, without stopping to take any other breakfast or dinner than such\nsnacks as the corn carriers could catch, when there were more trusses\nround the ricks than the builders could put away for some time. The corn\nwas then, except on a few large farms where ox-wains were just coming\ninto use, all carried on the horses' backs, and the chasers, as they\ncalled the leaders who kept the trusses steady on the horses, were fond\nof coming in together that they might have a race back to the field,\nmade the mowers work very irregular; it was gallop and stop half the\ntime. That day, however, all worked with such a will that the corn was\nin and thatched in good time before the rain came.\n\n\"The supper being served, the clerk, in the absence of the parson, was\nasked to say grace. Uncle Will hesitated a moment; then, rising, he\nsaid, 'Thank God we have carried all the corn and had very fine weather;\nso here's grace for breakfast, dinner, and supper together.'\n\n\"Yet what is usually known as Uncle Will Ben's grace, is, 'God bless the\nmeat and now let's eat!'\n\n\"Another saying accredited to Uncle Will--that 'Job had patience, but\nJob never had such a splat of black petates in his life'--is owing to\nAn' Mary, his wife, having been a parson's daughter from upwards, and\n'brought up like a lady' as he was fond of saying sometimes. When Will\nwas a young and smart militia man, and An' Mary a girl in her teens, he\nfell in love with her and she fell in love with him, and came with him\nto St. Just. In their time potatoes were just coming into use; gentlemen\nand some farmers planted a few in their gardens as a curious vegetable\nto be used on extraordinary occasions. Will Ben, not to be behind the\nfashion, had a small spot planted in his garden. When his potatoes were\nhigh enough for hoeing Will told his wife Mary, who kept the garden in\norder, to hoe the 'splat of petates,' and be sure to hoe them clean.\nWhen William came in from his work in the fields, he said, 'Well Mary,\nhast a hoed the petates?' 'Yes, William dear, and hoed them nice and\nclean; just go out and look at them whilst I take up the supper.'\n'William dear' went into the garden, but he saw no potatoe-plants, for\nMary had cut them all out of the ground, not knowing them from weeds.\n'Dear William' came in swearing on his wife for hoeing up all the\nprecious petates, telling her that it had been ten times better for him\nif he had wedded the sexton's dafter, as she would have made a better\nfarmer's wife. An' Mary (who, as I have heard say, was always a dear\ngentle soul) only replied, 'Sweet William, have patience and they will\ngrow again. Remember Job, William dear, and think, cheeld vean, how he\nhad patience.'\n\n\"'Oh! d----n Job,' replied sweet William, 'don't tell me about Job. Job\nnever had such a splat of black petates in his life!'\n\n\"And now, my dears,\" said Capt. Peter, holding up a pot of foaming ale,\n\"here's health and luck to 'e all, my hearties, and a merry Feasten-tide\nto 'one and all.' There's no sense in being miserable, and, for my part,\nold as I am, I'd go ten miles this night to dance to the music of as\ngood a fiddler and as honest a man as Uncle Will Ben.\"\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n THE FAIRY MASTER, OR BOB O' THE CARN.\n\n Out steps some Faery, with quick motion,\n And tells him wonders of some flowrie vale.\n MARSTON.\n\n\nJust fifty years ago, one Tom Treva lived on a small lone tenement near\nthe foot of Carn Kenidjack hill. He had a large family and disliked for\nany of them to go in service. The boys, as they grew up, worked in the\nmines, and helped about the tillage of their few acres of crofts 'out of\ncore.' The eldest daughter, Grace, remained at home to assist her\nmother, who took pride in making her handy in doing all such simple work\nas was required in their humble household. But as it was hard for them\nto make both ends meet, the poor girl had no best clothes except such as\nwere made out of old gowns which had belonged to her grandmother. These\nwere very gay, to be sure, yet so old-fashioned that other maidens, who\nworked at the mines and procured more modish dresses, wouldn't be seen\nanywhere from home with Grace and her grammer's old gowns. She didn't\nmuch mind their company, however. Her mother and 'the boys' (her\nbrothers) promised her, year after year, that against the next\nFeasten-tide, if they could only lay by a few shillings, they would buy\nher as smart a rig-out as any of the proud hussies could show. But, with\nso many mouths to be fed, it was hard for them to save a farthing. So\ntides came and went, and Grace \"had nothing for bettermost wear that was\nfit to be seen in Church-town or anywhere else from home,\" so the\nbal-maidens said, and they \"wouldn't be seen going to preaching or to\ngames with her;\" yet she didn't mind it much, and seemed contented\nenough to stay at home, in the evenings listening to old stories related\nby her father and others who gathered round his hearth, because they,\ntoo, were not rich or smart enow to follow the fashions then upsetting\nall old customs among such Santusters as 'got a sturt to bal.' Grace\nwould go about her work, indoors and out, singing like a lark. She was\nnearly sixteen, when a cousin of about her own age, who had been away\nonly a year in farmer's service, a few miles off, came to see them the\nnext Feast, dressed out quite like a lady, to Grace's seeming; for she\nwore a blue shining dress and earrings, and necklaces of red, green, and\nyellow beads that she changed more than once a day, or wore them\naltogether, while the flowers in her bonnet were the admiration of all\nbeholders.\n\n\"I should be glad, cousin Grace,\" said she, \"to put thee up to\nChurch-town to the fiddler a Monday night, and wish I had only brought\nhome one of my frocks for thee to wear; but really, cheeld, grammer's\nold gowns would make thee a laughing-stock to the youngsters, and not\none of them would dance with us. Go thee way'st in service, cheeld, that\nthee may'st get a stock of clothes fit to be seen in, and a sweetheart\nthat thee west soon want to have as well as other maidens! But the Lord\nhelp thee and the young fellow who would come a courting and take thee\nto Morvah Fair even in that old rorey-torey gown, with red and blue\nflowers so large that the birds are nesting in them.\"\n\nGrace became very dissatisfied after this vision of grandeur, and never\ngave her mother any peace till she consented for her to go in service\nnext summer. She was the more ready to let Grace try her fortune away,\nas other daughters were growing up to help her. So, during winter, she\nand her mother spun and knitted for dear life that they might earn a few\nextra shillings to provide changes of under clothing against she set out\nto look for service.\n\nFor weeks Grace had been going round saying good-bye to the neighbours,\nand she rose one fine morning and gave the last kiss, and said, \"I wish\n'e well, for the last time,\" to all the family round. Her father, on\nparting, charged her not to go more than a day's journey from home, and\nbe sure to keep far away from Penzance or any town, for fear she should\nbe kidnapped, and they should nevermore see her. He told her how strange\nsailors, that frequented such places, often prowled about for miles, and\nno maiden was safe within their reach. Grace promised to be on her\nguard, took her fardel, and started on her journey towards the southern\nparishes where gentlemen farmers lived.\n\nOn her way she thought upon what her smart cousin had told her to go\nover to the other side of the country, get into good farmer's service,\nwhere she might soon qualify herself to live in a gentleman's house and\nget higher wages. She had advised her not to pay much heed to what old\nfolks said in their fears, about conjurors, witches, small people, and\nsuch like, that are seldom met with now-a-days. \"Up here amongst the\nhills you know but little of the world,\" said the cousin, \"and your old\ndrolls arn't altogether to be believed.\" Grace couldn't help going out\nof her way a little to take a last look of Carn Kenidjack, where she had\npassed many happy hours, for youngsters were accustomed to meet there of\nSunday afternoons to play about amongst the rocks or listen to old\nfolks' stories. Then she went on with a pretty good heart till she\nreached high ground, from which she could only just see the smoke\ncurling over the house-tops below. She turned round, took a farewell\nlook, her eyes blinded with tears; then she went a little farther and\nsat down on a rock by the road-side, to have a good cry and ease her\nheart.\n\nShe wept aloud to think she was going to an unknown country to live\namongst strangers--that she might nevermore behold her parents and old\nplaymates. But still, determined to go on, even if she went as far as\ndaylight would take her, she dried her eyes with her apron; and, looking\nup, she saw standing close beside her a very nice-looking gentleman. He\nwished her good morrow and asked why she wept.\n\n\"Oh, sir, I have left home,\" she replied, \"and am on the road to a\nstrange country to look for service.\"\n\n\"Well now, good luck has directed me,\" said he, \"for, hearing there were\ntidy girls up this way, I started early this morning and am come so far\nto seek one that might take care of my house and little son, and a nicer\nmaid than you one needn't wish to find. Indeed you look as fresh as a\nrose in morning dew.\"\n\nHe then sat on the rock beside Grace and told her that he was left a\nwidower with one little boy, who had nobody but an old great-aunt to\nlook after him; there was little else to do but the dairy-work after one\ncow, and a few poultry to take care of. \"Come along home with me,\nGrace,\" said he, rising and taking up her bundle, \"you can but try, and\nshall stay with me, if you don't like it, till you hear of some other\nplace that may suit 'e better.\"\n\nGrace wondered how he came there, for she hadn't seen him coming over\nthe downs; and was surprised that he knew her name. Yet she said\nnothing, because her mother had often told her not to ask questions but\nto use her ears and eyes to learn.\n\nThe gentleman looked so handsome and spoke so kind, that, without\nhesitation, she went on with him and related how her parents had a large\nfamily, that her mother had taught her dairy-work, to cook in a plain\nway, and to spin and knit. \"You will do, I'm sure,\" said he, \"and if you\nhad time to spare I suppose you wouldn't mind helping me weed the garden\nor pick fruit in the orchard.\"\n\n\"There's nothing I should like better,\" she replied, \"for the work\nabout one cow and a child can't be much.\"\n\nHe told her that his name was Robin, though most of his acquaintance\ncalled him Bob o' the Carn, or Bobby Carn.\n\nIn such like talk they went on, down hill, towards the Low Countries;\nand Grace, with her eyes fixed on her companion, didn't notice their\nroad, and that for some time they had been walking through green lanes,\nhedged with trees; honey-suckles, and such sweet flowers as she had\nnever seen hung over head. The gentleman remarking her surprise, said,\n\"These trees and flowers are nothing to what you will see, ere long,\nwhere I dwell; but up in your high country no trees and but few flowers\ngrow; that's how you think these so wonderful.\"\n\nOver a while they came in sight of a large house; \"Oh, sir, es that a\nking's palace?\" demanded she, \"and see, the trees around it are higher\nthan church towers!\"\n\n\"No, my child, there's many such dwellings down this way, and even\nlarger ones, but no kings reside here,\" answered he.\n\nGrace hadn't ceased wondering at the grand building when they came to\nwhere four roads met, and kept straight on, still going down hill, all\namidst spreading trees which shaded the road by the side of which were\nrills of clear water, that every here and there sunk into the grass and\nre-appeared. Where streams crossed their road Grace's companion lifted\nher over them that she mightn't even wet her foot.\n\nShe had no notion of the distance they had gone, for he gave her cake\nand cordials ever so often, and talked so pleasantly that the time\nseemed as nothing, and she would have gone on with him to the world's\nend.\n\nAt length they came out of the wood near a river and she saw it was\nnearly sunset. \"We are now all but come to my dwelling,\" said her\nmaster. (We may as well call him so since she had made up her mind to\nlive with him).\n\nHe bore her over the stepping-stones that crossed the river near the\nfoot of a towering carn of grey rocks that rose amidst a wood close by\nthe water side. They passed up by the river a little way and entered an\norchard. Grace wondered at the trees, bending down with loads of red and\nyellow apples and many kinds of fruit that she had never before seen. By\na winding alley they came to a green, all surrounded with blossoming\ntrees and dotted over with curious beds of sweet flowers, most of them\nunknown to Grace, who, without perceiving that they left the garden,\nentered what looked like an arbour and found herself in her master's\ndwelling before she noticed it, hidden as it was by roses and flowering\nplants which spread over its walls and roof.\n\nYet the kitchen was light enough for her to see rows of pewter that\nshone like silver. A wood fire blazed on the hearth, though it was high\nsummer time; and beside it, on a chimney-stool, sat a prim sour-looking\nold woman, knitting. She looked at Grace as if her eyes would bore holes\nthrough her, when the master said, \"I'm come, Aunt Prudence, with a tidy\nmaid that I had the good luck to meet on her way to look out for a\nplace.\"\n\n\"I see thee art come, Robin,\" she replied, still keeping her eyes on\nGrace; \"and it seems to me thee hast brought hither a young giglet that\nwill use her tongue more than her hands! We shall see.\"\n\n\"So we shall,\" remarked he, rather affronted with Prue's remarks, \"and\nwhen you have shown her what is to be done, you needn't take the trouble\nto come here often. And where's the boy?\" he asked.\n\n\"Here I am, dadda!\" exclaimed a little fellow, bounding in to kiss his\nfather, who took him on his knee; and An' Prue, as was her wont, mumbled\nto herself \"we shall see.\"\n\nThe boy from his size appeared no more than six or seven years old, but\nhis face looked like a cunning old man's, and his eyes were uncommon\nsharp.\n\nGrace looked from one to the other rather confused, when her master\nsaid, \"My little Bob, here's a nurse for 'e, who will give ye your milk,\nwash your face, and anoint your eyes, just like your mother used to; I\nhope you will like her.\" \"That I can't tell yet,\" said the urchin,\neyeing Grace for all the world just like An' Prue, and he looked then\nalmost as old. The master, however, without more palaver, placed on the\nboard, bread, cheese, apples, honey, and other things, sat down, told\nGrace to do the same, and eat what she liked; and, that after\nmilking-time she could cook a good savoury supper. She had never before\ntasted such nice white bread and other things; after making a hearty\nmeal, she said, \"I may as well pitch to.\" \"Rest thee till milking-time,\"\nsaid An' Prue, \"a new broom sweeps clean, faix,\" mumbled she, in taking\nanother survey through her spectacles.\n\nOver an hour or so Robin told Grace that she had only to take the pail,\npass through the orchard into a meadow by the waterside, call \"Pruit,\nPruit,\" and the cow would come to her; she did as directed, and from\namidst the trees came a beautiful white cow, which stood with her udder\nright over the bucket and showered down her milk, so that in a minute it\nwas full and running over. Grace rose to fetch another vessel that the\nmilk mightn't go to waste; but when she lifted the bucket, the cow\nlowed, and, before the maiden left the meadow, disappeared in the wood.\nGrace told her master how the cow was gone off with the best milk. \"That\npailful will do for the night,\" said he; \"the cow is far away by this,\nbut if at any time you wish to have more you may take two or three\npails, and 'Daisy'--that's her name--will fill them all, but she won't\nwait for 'e to fetch more things.\" \"She must be a jewel of a cow, for\nsure, and I'll have all the pans full to-morrow,\" thought Grace, as she\nstrained the milk, and washed the strainer and bucket, and did other\njobs so handy, that even the old dame looked less sour on her. The\nmaster went out to feed his horse--he had a beauty in the stable close\nat hand--and that while Prudence said, \"Now mind, Grace, you must always\nput the child to bed by daylight, and as you sleep in the same room go\n'e to bed then too; if your master be home, he can do without you; and\nshould he be away, you need not wait up for his return; you are not to\ngo into the spare rooms, nor to meddle with what don't concern 'e; nor\nask any questions, except about your work, and then I'll tell 'e as much\nas you are required to know. And let me warn 'e, that if you enter your\nmaster's private room, you will rue the day as long as you live. In the\nmornings rise with the sun; take the child to a spring, that he can show\n'e, wash him well and then anoint his eyes with this ointment,\"\ncontinued she, in showing Grace a small ivory box of a greenish unguent,\nthat she took from the cupboard; \"a bit, the size of a pin's head or\nless, is enow to be put in the corner of each eye. Then milk 'Daisy,'\nand give the child this bowlfull and no more,\" said she, showing Grace a\nchina-basin that would contain a pint or so; \"make flowery-milk for\nbreakfast, and when the breakfast things are washed away, scald the\nevening's milk, and clean up the house.\"\n\nJust as the precise dame had finished her instructions, the master came\nin and said, \"I think it's high time for 'e to go home, An' Prue, whilst\nthere's daylight for 'e to find your way across the water.\" \"My room is\nmore welcome than my company,\" mumbled she, in hobbling out; \"but we\nshall see how they will get on without me to keep them to stays.\"\n\nGrace told her master that she wasn't used to go to bed so early; he\nanswered, \"please yourself on that score, and stay up as long as you\nmind to.\" He then brought her a basket of fruit, and told her to eat\nwhat she pleased of them; afterwards, he gave her a cup of cordial that\nshe found delicious; and by the time she had drunk it to the last drop,\nshe forgot her home and playmates among the hills; her brothers and\nsisters, her father and mother even; she no more remembered her former\nstate, and only thought of her kind master and the delightful place in\nwhich he lived; and she dreamt that night of nothing else.\n\nIn the morning Grace was up betimes; finished her work in a hour or so,\nand 'looked over her shoulder for more,' when An' Prue came in, examined\nthe house, and seeing nothing to find fault with, she merely said, \"A\nnew broom sweeps clean, but an old one es good for the corners,\" and\ntold Grace she might work in the garden for an hour or so, till time to\nget dinner, if she had a mind to, that her master was there and he would\nshow her what to do.\n\nPrudence returned to her dwelling, where she kept a school; and Grace,\nglad to escape the old dame's piercing eyes, went into the garden to\nlook upon the more pleasing countenance of her master, who said, \"You\nhave made a good beginning, cheeld, only hold to it, and we shall get on\nvery well; come now and help me weed a flower-bed, that I may show 'e\nwhat to pull up and what to let grow.\" She weeded so handy and minded\nher master's instructions so well, that he, to show his satisfaction,\nwhen a bed was finished, clasped her in his arms and kissed her, saying,\n\"I can't tell 'e any other way how well pleased I am at your handy\nwork.\" She redoubled her efforts to please him that he might again show\nhis satisfaction.\n\nTime passed so pleasantly in the beautiful garden--which Grace thought\nmust be like Paradise--that they forgot the dinner hour, till the boy\ncame home from school and ran out into the garden, shouting, \"Dadda!\nDadda! I want my dinner; An' Prue always had it ready in time.\" \"Run in\nmy good girl,\" said his father; \"give him bread and honey with milk to\ndrink, or anything to stop his squalling, we can have apple-pie; pick a\nfew of the ripest from yonder tree.\"\n\nHaving given Bob his dinner, Grace gathered such golden apples as she\nnever beheld till then, indeed, she thought them too rich to cook, and\nthat their perfume was enough to satisfy one, for roses and\ngilly-flowers were less sweet to her seeming.\n\nDinner over and Bob sent to school, master and maid passed a pleasant\nafternoon in the garden gathering fruit. Prudence, having sent her\nscholars home, took a nap, for she had talked herself sleepy over the\nhorn-book. She soon waked up, however, and hurried over to find that\nGrace had gone a milking, and Robin was in a quillet (paddock), near by,\ngrooming his horse. Seeing all about the house in apple-pie order, she\nlooked rather sour, for the crabbed dame dearly liked to spy faults;\nthat's how she was so much disliked by Grace; so without a word to\nanyone in the garden-dwelling, she tucked up her skirts and picked her\nway back to her own house, mumbling, \"It seems my room es more welcome\nthan my company, but we shall see how long they will get on without my\nadvice.\"\n\nGrace found her new life so pleasant that she took no count of time;\nmonths passed like a summer's day; she never thought of her old home or\npeople, for all her care was to please her agreeable master. Of a\nmorning he frequently rode away through the wood dressed like a\ngentleman going a hunting; and Grace took delight to keep his boots\npolished, and to buckle on his silver spurs that she might see him mount\nand ride away in gallant style. Grace always wondered where her master\ngot out of the wood; she had gone a long way on the road he took, but\nsaw no end of the winding, shady, alleys.\n\nHe always told her to be sure not to leave his grounds; on no account to\nventure outside the orchard gate during his absence; and, for her life,\nnot to go near the high rock, for at its foot--hidden by thickets--there\nwas a low hole, from which Bucca-dhus often issued, and carried away\npeople who were nevermore seen here. One afternoon, however, when Robin\nwas away and the boy at school, Grace felt weary of being so long alone\nor with only the poultry--that followed her everywhere about the\nplace,--and went to the outer gate. On seeing a pleasant walk winding\nalong by the waterside, where all was shady and quiet, she passed out\nand down the road till near the high rocks; she wondered whither the\nbowery path led; thought she heard the sea murmuring, and had a mind to\ngo farther on, when all her thoughts were put to flight by hearing a\nvoice say, \"Stop there, my sweet pretty maid; I'll soon be down by the\nriver-side and give thee a diamond ring.\" Looking up towards the place\nwhence the voice came, she saw, on the topmost stone, a dark man dressed\nlike a sailor, who then made signs for her to pass farther down the\nroad. Grace hastened in, followed by the screaming hens, which roused\nthe dogs, and their barking alarmed An' Prudence, who hurried over, gave\nher a good scolding, threatened to tell Robin how, by her gadding about,\nshe had narrowly escaped being carried away. As Grace was still uneasy\nfrom fear, she waited up for her master and made a pie; he seemed well\npleased to have a hot one for his supper, and the girl to pull off his\nboots; seeing her disturbed, he asked what was the matter; she confessed\nher fault with tears, and promised never to disobey him again. \"I'll let\nit pass,\" said he, \"as it's the first time you have disobeyed;\" and, to\nassure her of his forgiveness, he treated her to a cordial that produced\nsweet sleep and pleasant dreams.\n\nGrace finding her master well pleased that she had waited up for him,\ncontinued to do so in spite of all An' Prudence told her. \"Now since\nthou hast again scorned my counsel, I'll leave thee to thy devices,\"\nsaid she, one day; \"as if Robin wanted thee, forsooth, to unbuckle his\nspurs or pull off his riding boots, and to cook him a supper that he is\nbetter without.\"\n\nContrary to the austere dame's advice, Grace continued to take her own\nway, and her master seemed pleased; she wanted for nothing, yet she was\nalways saying to herself, \"Whatever can be in that locked-up parlour and\nthe chambers that I am forbidden to enter?\" At last, from always\nthinking about what didn't at all concern her, the fool--she couldn't\nrest by night or by day. One afternoon whilst An' Prue was cleaning up\nthe parlour,--not thinking Grace was near,--she suddenly went out and\nleft the door ajar; that instant the curious maiden peeped in, and\nspying lots of rare pretty things, she stepped over the drussel, and saw\nwhat she took to be conjuring implements, and trembled to behold--on\nshelves, in cupboards, and elsewhere about the room--men's heads, and\nheads and shoulders without arms; over the fire-place there were even\nwhole bodies of small ones, all turned to stone; they were whiter than\ncorpses and quite naked, like what she had heard of in old folks'\nstories as being done by enchantment; she didn't stay to notice much\nmore and was leaving the room backwards when the old dame, coming\nbehind, thumped her head and exclaimed, \"Now thou perverse strollop\nsince thou hast entered the forbidden room to thy cost, thou shalt work\nin it for a punishment; so take the waxed cloth and rub up that piece of\nfurniture,\" continued she, in pointing to a long dark chest, that looked\nto Grace like a coffin resting on a table-frame, \"Rub, rub away, rub\nharder and quicker till thou canst see thy poking nose in it, and stop\nthy whimperan or I'll crack thy numbscull.\" Grace burst out crying but\nstill rubbed away so hard that she lifted the article off its legs or\nits frame, and, falling back with a jerk, something within it gave out a\ndoleful sound so like a dying groan that she,--thinking it must be the\nvoice of a spirit or of an enchanted body confined therein--was overcome\nwith fright and fell down in a fit.\n\nPrudence fearing for the consequences, pulled her out by the heels in\ngreat haste but not before Robin was informed, by a wailing from the\nchest or coffin, that something had gone wrong in his private apartment.\nWhen Grace came to her senses he said to her, \"Ignorant chit thou art\nbecome so froward as not to regard Aunt Prudence in anything; this is\nthy second act of disobedience, for the third there's no forgiveness,\nand if thou any more seekest to gratify thy troublesome curiosity\nagainst my desire thou wilt have to get a new place, so beware.\"\n\nAfter this it was many days ere Grace's master sang to her or played\nwith her again, as was his wont, and she redoubled her efforts to please\nhim and show her regret till he again kissed her to prove that the past\nwas forgiven.\n\nA sight of the forbidden appartment, however, only served to make Grace\nmore dissatisfied because she couldn't understand all the mysteries of\nthe place and its inmates. She noticed that the boy looked very knowing\nfor one of his age, and thinking that by means of the ointment he saw\nthings invisible to her, she resolved to try its effects; and, one\nmorning, when her master had gone away, she took double the quantity\nused daily for Bob's eyes and rubbed them on her own; it made them smart\nso much that she thought them to be turning inside out or bursting from\nher head.\n\nTo ease their burning pain she ran down and washed them in the pool.\nLooking into the water--a minute after--when her eyes ceased smarting a\nlittle, she saw there, deep down, what looked like another world with\ntrees, birds, and people in great numbers; the people were so small that\nmany of them perched themselves on branches amongst the birds. Yet what\nsurprised her most was to see her master below moving from place to\nplace among them; he was here, there, and everywhere. Being somewhat\nfrightened she left the pool and soon after, on looking around the\norchard, there, too, she saw small people and amongst them her master\ndressed in his hunting-suit. \"Now I know for sure that this is an\nenchanted place,\" said she to herself, \"my handsome master must be a\nconjuror, and in spite of their fern-seed I shall soon discover more.\"\n\nGrace passed that day very uneasy and in the evening Robin came home\nwith several strange people bearing baskets of cakes and other dainties\nsuch as she had never before seen; these being placed away Robin told\nher to put the boy to bed and that she wasn't wanted below stairs any\nmore for that night.\n\nThe dissatisfied maid went to bed but not to sleep, for in a few hours\nshe heard the ringing of cups and glasses with other sounds which made\nit known to her that a banquet was being held in the stone-people's\napartment.\n\nOver a while she heard singing and music there; the entry and staircase\nbeing dark she crept down, and peeping through the partly open door, saw\ntwo smart gentlemen, besides her master, and three ladies dressed in\nwhite trimmed with green. In their ears, round their necks, and on their\narms, the ladies wore diamonds that shone like stars; but most of her\nattention was drawn to a fair haired one who sat beside the long box or\ncoffin, and, by thumping on it with both hands for dear life she made\nthe body or spirit within it give out finer music than a dozen fiddlers\nall in a row could make with their fiddles playing altogether, so she\nsaid.\n\nFrom her dark corner she listened and watched till the music ceased and\nthe company rose to depart; then, from her chamber window, she spied\nRobin in the garden kiss the ladies all round, on taking leave.\n\nGrace cried herself asleep, but for why she couldn't tell.\n\nIn the morning she found the parlour door locked, and seeing glasses,\nchina, and other things, on the kitchen table, she washed and placed\nthem on their shelves, and did her morning work; when her master came in\nand, seeing all in order, said she was a good girl, put his arm around\nher and was going to show his satisfaction in his usual way. But she\nrepulsed him saying, \"Go and kiss your little white and green ladies;\nyou shall touch me no more; for you arn't of common human kind, but a\nchangeling small-body that for nine years at a time can appear as such;\nyet with all your fern-seed none of 'e can deceive me any longer by your\nenchantment and what not.\"\n\n\"Hold thy foolish clack thou silly girl,\" said he, \"thy head is turned\nwith old folks' drolls; there's nothing uncommon here, 'tis only thy\nignorance that makes thee think so. But I see,\" he continued with a\nstern air, \"that thou hast rubbed thy eyes with the green ointment, and\nnow as I find that nothing can lay thy impertinent curiosity, or check\nthy prying into what don't concern thee, we must part. Thy last year\nwill be ended to-morrow, so prepare at once to leave early in the\nmorning, and I will take thee behind me on horseback over the hills to\nthe place in which I found thee, for thou wilt never be able to find the\nway back alone.\"\n\nSeeing that all her promises of amendment were of no avail, and that\nRobin and Prudence--who was now reinstated--determined on her departure,\nGrace with much grief packed up her fardel, and from what her master and\nold sour Prudence had given her, from time to time, she had a good stock\nof clothing. She didn't know what wages was due to her, poor fool, nor\nhow long she had lived there, for years had passed like a summer's day,\nuntil she longed to know too much. She was almost heart broken to leave\nthe flowers that she loved like living things, the poultry she had\nreared, the pigeons that nested over the wood-corner ate from her hand\nand followed her over the place; the rabbits and hares that played about\nthe garden and in the house; above all she grieved to part with a tame\nrobin that kept in the dwelling and sang whenever she entered it.\n\nBesides it fretted her to find that old sour Prudence was brought back\nto be mistress of Robin's garden-dwelling.\n\nThe discreet dame, however, not knowing what might turn up, took care to\nkeep Chypons--as the place in which she resided was called. She was very\nproud of her snug habitation, because, a little below the carn, a\nfoot-bridge crossed the stream close by her house and nobody lived so\nnear it as to interfere with her wise management.\n\nAt daybreak she crossed the river and went on as her master had\ndirected her; he soon overtook her, and placing her on a pillion behind\nhim, they cantered away through dark lanes for miles, going up hill all\nthe time, and Robin spoke not a word. Grace, blinded with tears, saw\nnothing of the road till they came up into broad daylight and an open\ncountry. Still the horse went like the wind, and in a few minutes she\nsaw Carn Kenidjack.\n\nRobin stopped his horse, sprung from his saddle, lifted Grace down and\nplaced her on the rock from which he had fetched her. In answer to her\nentreaties to be taken home with him again, he only said, \"Prudence and\nI shall try to get on without other help, yet if we can't I may come for\n'e again.\" Grace mounted the rock and looked after him as he rode away,\nbut in a few minutes he was out of sight. She lay on the heath and wept\ntill near night ere she arose, slowly descended the downs, and reached\nher parents' dwelling.\n\nThe old folks were much surprised to behold her as they had given her up\nfor lost or dead long ago. Her mother, however, in welcoming her home,\nlost no time before she opened her bundle, and found enough good clothes\nto last a lifetime, and amongst them a bag containing more money than\nthey had ever seen before.\n\nGrace's story seemed strange to all the neighbours, but most of the\nelderly ones concluded from all she told them that one of the changeling\nsmall people had taken her away to his underground dwelling or into his\nhabitation in a wood--as such places used to be their common haunts--and\nthere she had lived with him nine years that seemed less than one to\nher.\n\nShe could no more endure her old home--and, showing but little regard\nfor its inmates, loathed their homely fare and old fashioned ways.\nNeither could she make up her mind to work steadily as of old, but like\none distraught wandered away almost every day to the rock where she had\nfirst and last seen Robin of the Carn. She took but little pride in her\nfine clothes and money, and people thought she would go mad or fret\nherself to death. Yet, in a little less than two years, which seemed\neternal to Grace, a neighbour's wife died leaving several small\nchildren; the widower came a courting to the distracted maiden, and,\npushed his suit so vigorously, that at length she married him, and, as\nit happened, her husband had no cause to regret his venture, for the\ncare of his children and plenty of work so far cured her vagaries, that\nin a few years she almost forgot and little regretted her life with\nRobin of the Carn.\n\nGrace may be still living; it is only a few years since we were told her\nstory, and then she was a hale old woman with a numerous brood of\ngrandchildren.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a similar story told in Zennor of one Cherry who left home to\nseek service in the low country parishes, and was met on Lady Downs by a\nfairy gentleman, a widower, who took her to live with him; all went\nwell, till, from curiosity, she disobeyed his orders and was discharged,\nbut not until she had become so much attached to her fairy master that\nshe died with grief on being taken back to her old home.\n\nThough 'modern instances' make up these stories, we have many old\nfragmentary fairy tales that contain the same fancies; the loss of\nhappiness through inordinate curiosity.\n\n\n\n\n A TINNER'S FIRESIDE STORIES.\n\n\n THE KNOCKERS OF BALLOWAL.\n\n Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire,\n To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire.\n GOLDSMITH.\n\nA few years ago, in talking with a Lelant miner about the sprites that\nhaunt many old mines, he told us the following story, which we give in\nhis own words, as an example of West Country dialect.\n\nWe wish to correct an error that many persons, not Cornish, entertain\nwith regard to the language of Cornish working people. Their mistake\noriginates, in many instances, from seeing in stories--misnamed Cornish,\nand for the most part written by strangers to the country--such an\nuncouth jargon, put into the mouths of West Country folks, which is no\nmore the common dialect of Cornwall than it is of Jericho. Our English\nwill bear comparison with that of any rural district, and, in most\ncases, be found more correct, though somewhat antiquated. Many of our\npeculiar words, such as agricultural or mining terms, a few names of\nplants, &c., are genuine old Cornish.\n\n\"I know that strangers,\" said Uncle Bill, \"and grand learned folks like\nour passen, don't believe in the sperats we cale knackers workan in the\nbals, and say that the noise, made by these old ghosts of tinners, is\ncaused by water oazan out of a lode and drippen into a pit; as ef the\nwater fallan from ever so high, could sound like hammer and boryer, or\npick and showl (shovel) workan away. But, bless us, comrade, what can\nthese strangers that come here--to instruct us, forsooth!--know about\nsuch things? Yet how they will talk about what they never heard of\nbefore they came among us, and say it es all su-per-sti-tion! Now that's\na fine word, my dear, and I mean to use et on all occasions; like An'\nBetty Brea, up your way, who es twenty times a day askan 'Do 'e knaw the\nsig-ni-fi-ca-tion' of some fiddle-stick's end, or other, that she may\nuse her one grand word, lately picked up from a local preacher.\n\n\"I've been minded lately of a story that was told me by an old\ncomrade--Uncle Tom Trevorrow, who's many years older than I am. When I\nwas a boy, workan at Trink Stamps, he was married; and he was then as\nfine a man as one would meet of a long summer's day. If you'll have\npatience enow I'll tell 'e the story of\n\n\n TOM AND THE KNACKERS.\n\n\"Do let's have the droll, Uncle Bill,\" said I, and he related as\nfollows,--\n\n\"From the time Tom was old enow to handle a pick and showl he had lived\nin Trecroben, and worked in Wheal Reath, till twenty years or so ago,\nwhen work fell slack here, and some bals were knacked (stopped). Then he\nwent to Santust (St. Just) to look for a job and found work in Ballowal.\nMost people have heard of that queer old bal, that was worked before The\nFlood, they say. There the old men's works, weth their deep open coffans\n(pits) may still be seen, jest as they left them, only wash'd and run'd\nin a good deal one may suppose. That old bal, everybody in Santust will\ntell 'e, have always been haunted with knackers. And the burrows, in\ncrofts and cleves around, are swarman with them, and weth spriggans,\nwherever anything belongan to the old bal was burred. There these\nsprites keep everlastan watch, though all the old men's tools or\ntreasures may be gone to rust, earth, and dust. One don't often see\nthem, 'tis true, but only break ground near them and they'll show their\nugly faces, as many have known to their cost.\n\nTom and his eldest boy went over and worked a few weeks, to see how\nthey liked the place and people before removing his wife and family.\nThey liked the Santusters fust rate. They're a capital set of red-tailed\ndrones--only give them their own way; but you will soon find out that\none must either fight or be thorough friends with them 'one and all.'\nTom took a house in Letcha--handy by the bal. When his family were\nmoved, he and the boy worked together on tribute, and worked hard makan\ndouble cores. When it came near pay-day, the boy, for want of rest, gave\nout, and his father worked on alone.\n\nTom had heard the knackers workan, away at a distance, all the time he\nhad been there, and took no notice of their noise, but now that the boy\nstopped home, they came nearer and nearer every day, till he cud hardly\nhear the sound of his own tools with the din and clatter of theirs. As\nfar as he could judge by the sound they were only two or three yards\noff, in the level close behind him, carryen on all sorts of underground\nwork. Some appear'd to be wheelan, some showlan, others boran; he could\neven hear them swab out their holes, put in the tampan, and shut (blast)\nlike a pare (company) of regular tinners. Shuttan wasn't in vogue in\ntheir time, but they've learnt et.\n\nOne night--I think et was only two or three before servey-day--Tom got\nquite savage to hear their confoundan clatter, with their squeakan and\ntee-hee-an in a mockan way, if he made false strokes, or a clumsy blow;\nand, being a devil-may-care sort of fellow, he, without thinkan of\nanything, throwed back a handful of small stones, towards the spot where\nthey seemed to be workan, and called out at the same time without stopan\nor lookan up, 'Go to blazes, you cussed old Jews' sperrats; or I'll scat\n(knock) your brains out, I will, ef you arn't gone from here.' The words\nwere no sooner out of his mouth than a shower of stones fell upon and\naround him, and frightened him most out of his senses. Still, Tom\nresolved to work on till mornan, and, in about an hour, when his candle\nwas burnt down and he stopped to light another, he sat down to eat the\nrest of his fuggan and touch pipe a few minutes. Tom had all but\nfinished his supper, and bean hungry, could have eat more, when he heard\never so many squeakan voices sing out, from away some fathoms back in\nthe level,--\n\n \"Tom Trevorrow! Tom Trevorrow!\n Leave some of thy fuggan for Bucca,\n Or bad luck to thee, to-morrow!\"\n\nFust of all he cudn't well make out any words, but his own name. He\nthought of the old sayan, 'What the fool thinketh, that the bell\nclinketh.' He knew that sounds heard underground often seemed to be\nwords, like Buryan bells of a weddan day ringan, 'Poor man, undone!' or\n'Go thee ways't home with ragget-tail Jone!' Then he tried again if they\nwern't as much like some old rhymes that children sing, such as,--\n\n \"Billy Pengelley,\n Got pain in his belly,\n Eatan green slones for supper!\"\n\nBut no, the devil a bit; for the more and closer he listened the\nplainer he heard the knackers, or some other sprites among them singing\nthe same. Only when he had eaten all there was a slight change and they\nsung,--\n\n \"Tommy Trevorrow, Tommy Trevorrow!\n We'll send thee bad luck to-morrow,\n Thou old curmudgeon, to eat all thy fuggan,\n And not leave a didjan for Bucca!\"\n\nAnd so they kept on singan, squeakan, and tee-hee-an, in going back in\nthe end till they were out of hearan. Tom was somewhat scared; yet he\nfelt so tired and drowsey that he could sleep in a pullan (shallow\npool). The poor fellow had worked hard and been at it nearly all day and\nall night for the last week. When he had smoked out his pipe he leant\nback, thinking to take a doze for only a few minutes. But when he waked\nup all was quiet. He rubbed his eyes, and, lookan away in an end, where\nit was nearly dark, he seed scores of knackers restan on their tools.\nThey were miserable, little, old, withered, dried-up creatures--the\ntallest of them no more than three foot six, or there away, with shanks\nlike drum-sticks, and their arms as long or longer than their legs. They\nhad big ugly heads, with grey or red locks, squintan eyes, hook noses,\nand mouths from ear to ear. The faces of many were very much like the\ngrim visages on old cloman jugs, so Tom said, and more like those of\nbrutes than Christians. One older and uglier than the rest--if\npossible--seemed to take the lead in makan wry faces, and all sorts of\nmockan tricks. When he put his thumb to his nose and squinted at Tom,\nall those behind him did the same. Then all turned their backs, stooped\ndown, lolled out their tongues, and grinned at him from between their\nspindle shanks. Tom was now much scared. He noticed that his candle was\nburnt down to the clay, and knew that he must have slept nearly two\nhours.\n\n\"Good Lord, deliver me,\" said he, risan to light another candle; and\nall the knackers vanished by the time he was well on his legs. They\nseemed to melt away, one into another, changan shapes like curlan smoke.\nTom, feelan hisself very stiff, tired, and cold, from havan slept so\nlong, dressed and mounted the ladders. He was hardly able to crawl to\ngrass. In the blacksmith's shop, where he had stopped a few minutes to\nchange and warm hisself, he told other men who were there, putten on\ntheir underground clothes, what he had seen and heard. The old tinners\ntold am that they warn't at all surprised, because the levels he worked\nin were more infested with knackers than any other part of the bal.\n'Many a night,' said they, 'these troublesome sperats have ben sen\nwhiskan round the blacksmith's shop and gwean (going) down the\nBuckshaft, near by, and that do enter the level thee'st work in. This\nshaft es so called, because a black buck-goat, or a bucca in shape of\nan, was seen to go down there, but never found below.'\n\nThe tinners, one and all, blamed Tom for havan anything to do or say\nwith the knackers in an unfriendly way, and told him that as et was an\nold custom he might as well have left a bit of bread on the ground for\ngood luck.\n\nWhen Tom got home he went to bed at once, that he might have a good\nrest. His wife fed and nussed him well, with the best she cud get for am\nto eat or drink, in high hopes that, before many days were passed, they\nwould take up more an twenty pound for tin.\n\nTom dedn't say a word about the knackers to his wife nor boy, for fear\nto scare them, nor dedn't think much more of the buccas.\n\nNext mornan Tom got up like a new one, fresh as a rose. After a hearty\nbreakfast, he and his son started for bal. Now it happened to be Corpus\nChris, and the boy was loath to go--he wanted to be off to Penzance,\nwith other youngsters, to see the fun of the fair. \"Come thee way'st\nalong, my son,\" said Tom, \"I know thee art still tired, but cheer up a\nbit; Midsummer's day will soon be here; then thee shust (shalt) have a\nshellan and, ef we get a good sturt (start), two or three, to go to the\ngames, and, dash my buttons; ef I too don't go down to Priest Cove, and\ntry a hitch at the wrestlan! I could used to show as good play, and\nthrow as fair a fall, as any man of my size.\" And so Tom ded--he would\noften show me and others how to give the hugg, play with the back crook,\nand so furth.\n\nI don't see for my part why wrestlan, hurlan, and other old manlike\ngames should be allowed to die out for a set of sports more suitable for\nwomen than men, and I hold that wrestlan es as good as boxen, and every\nman should know how to defend hisself. One don't know what may turn up.\n'Tes all stuff and nonsense what old women say about the wickedness of\nsuch sports. I'd rather see a boy of mine with black eyes and bloody\nnose every day, than for am to run from one of his size.\n\nArrivan at the bal, first thing on entering the level, Tom noticed that\nsome of the temberan was bulged a great deal and ready to give way. They\nput in new planks, and, as Tom thought, made that all secure for the\ntime. Whilst they were at it he again heard the knackers workan away in\nthe end, but dedn't mind them. Then to get up some tin-stuff from below,\nthey went to work in the adit level, on the Buck lode, to secure around\nand repair a winze (a small shaft with windlass) that was nearly all\nrun'd in. Whilst he put in new tembar, the boy was kept at the\nwinze-brace (windlass and tackle). When drivan the lafts or boards, Tom\nplainly heard the knackers workan against him; he had to put in new\ntembar in the manner of spillan. The ground seemed somewhat dangerous.\nThe longer he was workan the nearer the knackers were coman towards him,\nuntil he saw the ground move before the lafts where the sperats worked;\nhe then called to the boy, 'Pull me up, quick, wind away for dear life,\nmy son!' By the time he was got up to the winze-braces, the ground began\nto tumble in. He had the rope tied around his body. Runnan back in the\nadit-level, he unwound it from the winze tree, and untied it from his\nwaist.\n\nYet he came very near bean killed, for he hadn't got clear of the rope\nfive seconds before winze, rope, and all, went down with the run. Tom,\npoor fellow, looked around dismayed, to find that all his tin-stuff,\nwhich was put on the winze plat, with tools and all, had gone down with\nthe rest; so he lost his tin there and below. All his labour and time\nwas gone for nothan.\n\nHe had to live many weeks on subsist (money advanced) and went to\nanother lode to work in an end to tut-work (piece-work), and there, too,\nhe was most put mad with the knackers--they wed come into the level\nclose behind, and go on with all kinds of work, and nobody could have\nwes (worst) luck than followed am. He went to look so wisht and felt so\nbad that he had to leave Ballowal; for, go wherever he might about that\nold bal, the knackers were for ever tormenting am, till they fairly\ndrove 'n away, and he came back to Lelant no better off than when he\nleft.\n\nAnd here he had still bad luck doggan am for years. He had to work to\nthe farmers for a long spell, and, as we all know, every tinner would\njust as soon go to the workhouse, or union; and for my part I'd rather\nbe tied to a bull's tail, and suffer the rest, than do either one.\"\n\nHaving refilled his pipe, my old neighbour continued:--\n\n\"As many bals were then stopped, and a number of hands discharged from\nothers, all the time going from bad to worse, Tom had to live, as he\ncud, by farm-work for three or four years. He got all out of heart, to\nbe all the time dung-dabban, and to see his children as ragged as colts;\nbesides he had bad speed many ways; some said he was bewitched, and\nadvised him to see the pellar, who came round once a fortnight. Tom\nthought that no use, because the conjuror won't 'good 'e,' as he do call\nit, unless he's well paid. Tom's wife made a good bit of money by\nspinnan and knittan. Unknown to her husband, she took her knittan-work,\nand went over to the high road, one day, when the pellar, in going his\nrounds, visited St. Ives. She hadn't ben long in the lane before he came\nby.\n\n\"I'm waitan to speak wh'y,\" said she; \"but I'm afeard et wan't be any\nuse, because we'r very poor.\"\n\n\"I know,\" replied he, \"that you have had a long run of bad luck, and it\nwill be all the harder now to turn it, but don't be out of hopes; I'll\nsee Tom and do what I can for 'e. I see you're a good knitster; so you\ncan make me a few pairs of warm stockans for winter's wear.\"\n\nThe conjuror remained alone with Tom a good while, each time he came\nround. What he did to 'good 'e' esn't known, because whatever's done to\nhinder a run of bad luck, or to break a spell of ill wishan, must be\nkept secret or no cure can be effected. In two or three months, however,\nTom's fortune had a turn. Several youngsters left for America and made\nroom for other hands. Then Tom, to his great content, went to minan-work\nagain. In a short time, instead of looking as wisht, ragged, and dirty\nas 'Billy-be-damned,' or 'Old Jy,' who lived in a hole in a hedge, he\nand his family once more got decent meat and clothan. The pellar had the\ncredit of doing them good, whether he deserved it or no; at any rate his\npromises put them in better heart, and that was some help. Tom's wife\nwas overjoyed when he went to minan again; because she always took\ndelight when her good man came home from bal to hear him tell her and\nthe boys what he had done that core, and about his prospect of havan\nlots of tin agen next pay-day. The lads were most interested when Tom\nworked to tut-work, drivan an end, as you'll see.\n\nAn old boryer, hammer, gads, and other tools were kept under the\nchimney-stool, that Tom might show them the plainer what he'd ben doan.\nNow you must understand that Tom believed hisself to be as good a miner\nas was to be found in Cornwall. He would often brag that he cud break\nmore ground at the same cost than any other man in the bal. His mind was\nalways so occupied about his underground work that the form of his end\nwas always before him. And most every night, after supper and whilst\nsmokan his pipe, he wed work his core over again with Betty, and she, to\nhumour him, would begin with, \"Well, Tom, my son; and what hast a ben\ndoan to-day?\"\n\n\"What use for me to tell 'e; I can never make thee understand anything,\"\nhe'd say; \"but look here boys!\" At the same time he wud take the\nfire-hook, stick, or anything, and, quite pleased, draw out the form of\nhis end in the back of their old-fashioned, open chimney, and all would\nbe told to look on, say nothan, and learn. When he had marked out, to\nhis mind, how his end stood, he would say to his wife,\n\n\"Now thee cust see the end es about square as a was this mornan, take\nthe boryer and show me where thee west go for a hole.\"\n\n\"Well, I shud put down a hole there,\" she wed say, pointan with the\nboryer in the most seemly place to her.\n\n\"Now gos't away, thou great Paddy! I tell thee, Betty, thee dosen't knaw\nany more about such work than a Buryan man! Thee west never larn\nanything! Give me the tools,\" he'd say, and show them all, with pride\nsure nuf, how he'd stand and strike the boryer in the different\npositions ground es subject to, and so he wed keep on for hours.\n\nOne day above all, whan they lived in Santust, Tom came home highly\npleased, and told his people he had done a wonderful core. After supper\nhe lighted his pipe, as usual, took up the fire-hook, and drawed the\nform of his end as he found it in the mornan.\n\n\"Now, I bored a hole there,\" said he, pointan with his hook, \"and gauv\nen plenty of powder, and a ripped am forth and back like a boat-cove,\nand tore great rocks out of am as big as housen.\"\n\n\"Lor, Tom, hold thy tongue cheeld; I can hardly believe thee,\" said\nBetty.\n\n\"Well, a es truth what I do tell thee. Then--now look at this, Betty--I\nwent there, for another hole,\" said he pointan, \"and it tord'n like mad,\nand left am as square as a chest, all but a piece in the bottom. Then I\nwent down there for a side-hole, and that end now es as square as a\ndoor, I tell thee. And now, Betty, the end es squared, where west thee\ngo for the next hole? Here, take the tools to thee; es thy turn to show\none a bit now; a es hard ground, mind, none of your farmers' men can\nbreak that.\"\n\n\"Well, I shud put down a hole there,\" said she, placan the hook in the\nmost likly place. Then Tom, with a look and voice of great contempt wed\nsay, \"I told thee there was no wale (seam) there; thee may'st shut\n(blast) away a ton of powder in that hole and then a wedn't heav'n, a\nwed make a rouse (report) hard enow to frighten away all the chalks\n(choughs) in Carn Glase, and then a wedn't heav'n. I tell thee again,\nall of the powder that went down in the Royal George wed be no good in\nthat hole. Thee must lev'n look down more--just so, or else a wed only\nbe a stand to waste powder in.\"\n\nAnd so the simple contented household wed pass night after night till\nbed-time.\n\nBut one evenan they nearly came to grief by Tom shuttan his holes over\nagain. He came home late in a terrible splutter, sayan he had done a\nvery bad core--he had shut a hole three times, and a blowed away in a\nvug (crevice) each time.\n\n\"Et was a hole near the bottom, Jan,\" said he, takan the hook as usual\nand havan drawn the position to his own satisfaction.\n\n\"But I shud think,\" said the boy, \"that a was a hawful bad place to\ncome to strike et, faather.\"\n\n\"Thou great noddy! Doesna know that a good man can bore a hole anywhere?\nHold the hook there,\" said he, puttan it into his hands, \"and I'll show\nthee how to strike 'n.\"\n\nTom turned round, snatched up the hammer in a great hurry, threw it back\nin order to make a stroke, knocked down Betty, missed the hook, and\nnearly broke Jan's arm.\n\nBetty, though on the floor, screamed to see the boy's white face, and\nwhen she saw the blood running from his arm and felt it on her own face\nshe fainted. And Tom, seeing them both on the floor, paced up and down\ncalling out, when he tried to rise them, \"Oh my dear Betty and Jan; I'd\nrather shut the hole twenty times over again than kill thee and the boy;\nrise up do 'e, my dears.\"\n\nThey soon got round. The fright was worse than their hurt.\n\nThe way in which Tom and his wife amused themselves is not singular\namong tinners, who, as a rule, take great pride in their work, and pass\nhours showing their family or comrades how they worked the last cores,\nand what they purpose to do next.\"\n\n\"Well, did Tom's good luck continue?\" I asked.\n\n\"Pretty steadfast; he and his sons had neighbours' fare,\" the old tinner\nreplied. \"When his elder boys became men they had pretty good sturts\n(start from a paying tribute), saved money, and went to America, and\nthey did so well over at Mineral Point, Galena, or somewhere that way,\nthat they sent home enough to keep the old couple in comfort, and to\nbring the younger boys out to them, where they, with hundreds more from\nhere about, are making another Cornwall for \"one and all.\"\"\n\n\n OLD SONGS AND NICKNAMES.\n\n\"One would like to know,\" said I to the old tinner, \"whether Tom heard\nthe knackers sing what he believed he did; or if there were any old\nrhymes, somewhat similar, that he might, long before, have learnt and\nforgotten till something brought them to mind.\" \"Never heard of any\nsuch,\" Bill replied. But An' Mary--who knew a rare lot of queer sayings,\nodds and ends of old songs and the like,--said, \"In a story relating to\nsmall people (fairies), that I often heard when a child, there are some\nlines about leaving the buryans (crumbs) for Bucca.\" And one would think\nthe tribe of small folks always made their speeches in rhymes. When I\nwas young, it was a custom in the harvest-field, at croust (afternoon's\nrefreshment), observed by most old folks, to pour a few drops of their\nliquor on the ground for good luck; and to cast a fragment of bread over\ntheir right shoulder for the same reason. Fishermen, too, were in the\nhabit of leaving on the sand, at night, a fish for Bucca; and they were\nalso very careful to feed and make much of their cats, to insure them\ngood luck in their fishing. If tinners in going to bal met with a\n'bulhorn' (shell-snail) in their path, they always took care to drop\nbefore it a crum from their dinner, or a bit of grease from their candle\nfor good luck.\n\nOur talk about old rhymes reminds me that I have known many people who\nbecome little better than fools, because of childish verses and tunes\nconstantly running in their numskulls; one would think that their seven\nsenses were all stuck in their ears. \"Before I was tormented with Bill\nthere,\" said she nodding to her husband, \"when I was sweet and twenty,\"\nas the old song goes, I lived with farmers down westward; in one place,\nmy fellow-servant was known by the nickname of Jenny Tweedles, because\nshe would be all day croanan over the song,--\n\n \"There was an old couple and they were poor,\n Tweedle, Tweedle, go twee.\"\n\nIt was enough to make one crazy to hear her croanan, over and over, a\nline here and there, with the burden brought in after every one. I can\nsee her old grim visage now as she maundered about the kitchen, singing\nin doleful tones,--\n\n \"Oh! I have been sick since you have been gone;\n If you'd been in the garden, you'd heard me groan.\n Tweedle, tweedle, go twee.\"\n\nYou may fancy I would rather hear thunder by night than be kept awake\nwith her droaning in my ear,--\n\n \"Now I have a request to make unto thee,\n Do pluck me an apple from the russet tree.\n Tweedle, tweedle, go twee.\"\n\nWorst of all she could never be trusted to do any work that required\nattention,--if scalding milk, for instance, whilst she was tweedlean, it\nwould boil over, and the cream be in the ashes; if cooking, for the same\nreason, all the fat would be in the fire.\"\n\nAn' Mary paused, drew from her pocket a few lengths of yarn, when her\nhusband said, \"Come, Mary, keep the kibbal gwean, there's plenty of the\nsame sort of stuff in thy bal.\" She continued her knitting and said,\n\"There was a good mate for old Jenny Tweedles that used to live in the\nsame parish, who was known by the name of Ky-me or Rigdom, because, when\na boy, he was just another such fool, and would neglect, or badly do,\nany work he was set about whilst whistling the tune, or singing the\nwords, of another old song,--\n\n \"There did a frog live in a well,\n Close by a merry mouse in a mill,\n To my rigdom, bomminare, ky-me,\n Kyme-nare, gil-de-ka-re,\n Kyme-nare, Ky-me.\" &c., &c.\"\n\n\"I can match these nicknames,\" said I, \"with another instance of a grand\none acquired from a song. But we must go back more than a hundred years\nto the time when potatoes were only grown as curious garden vegetables;\npeas supplied their place, and turnips, or other green crops, were\nunknown as winter's provision for cattle. Farmers then held, for the\nmost part, freehold or leasehold tenements of from twenty to fifty acres\nof arable and pasture ground, with, in many places, twice that extent of\nuncultivated land or \"outs\" as we call it, which furnished fuel and\nwinter's run for cattle.\n\nBetween tilling-season and harvest there was little farm work but to cut\nand carry furze and turf, and to save a little hay; and from the time\nthat all was secure in the mowhay till seed-time there were long\nintervals of leisure. The corn was threshed as straw was wanted to be\ntaken out to the downs or croft to keep the half-starved cattle alive.\nHorses, even, were seldom housed, and as there were no stall-fed beasts,\nlittle manure but ashes was made which was carefully housed to keep it\ndry till wanted for dressing; then it was carried in dung-pots to the\nground, ploughed in, and the crop quickly sown. After rough weather\neverybody was on the alert watching for oarweed, which with sand\nconstituted almost the only other substances used for manure. Everything\nhad to be conveyed on horseback,--furze, hay, and corn in trusses, sand\nin sacks, oarweed in panniers or on crooks, slung over pack-saddles.\n\nThe only wheel-carriages in use were wherries, and these were drawn by\nhorses in traces. A wherry was a square box, containing about four\nwheelbarrows, mounted on three solid wheels, such as we call druckshars.\nTo empty this machine it was overturned, druckshars and all. Though\nthere was little out-door work to be done for long spells, our old folks\nwere seldom idle. Hares, rabbits, and wild-fowl were plentiful on moors\nand the great extent of uncultivated land, and hunting was pursued--less\nas a pastime than a matter of necessity--to procure a little change of\ndiet, now and then, from the almost constant peas-porridge, fish, and\nother salt provisions.\n\nWomen, old and young, passed much time in spinning, and in almost every\nfarm-house one found weaving-machines, as we call hand-looms, so that\nwhen there was little else to do, farmers, or some of their men, worked\nthe treadles, and wove the yarn into blanketing, or other household\ncloth. The surplus of this serviceable material met with a ready sale in\nmarkets far eastward. The home-made clothing was almost everlasting. I\nknew a notable old farmer's wife who used, when bragging of her\nhusband's stock of clothes, to say, \"Our Honey (Hanibal) have got twelve\ncoats, and only two of them \"biden clath\" (bought cloth). Sennen people\nwere famous for being good weavers, and those of Escols, in that parish,\nregarded themselves as the best in the West Country. In this village\nthere might have been threescore inhabitants, including all ages, who\nwere so connected by inter-marriages, that few of them knew where or how\ntheir relationship began or ended. The descendants of one family who\nformerly lived there still retain the nickname of \"Triddles,\" from their\nforefathers having worked the treadles as their chief employment.\n\nWeavers were much given to singing at their work, to relieve its\ntediousness; and an old weaving farmer, belonging to the primitive\ncommunity of Escols, acquired the nickname of uncle Plato, because,\nwhenever he was overtaken by a lazy stitch in working his treadles, he\nwould sing a rather solemn piece,--one couldn't call it a song,--which\nthus began,--\n\n \"Said Plato, why should man be vain,\n Since bounteous heaven has made him great?\"\n\nThe rest I don't remember; it's something about sceptred king's and\nbeggar's dust coming to the same pass. But he seldom finished his\nfavourite ditty; for if his wife happened to be within hearing, she\nwould exclaim, \"Peter! Peter! may the devil take thee and Plato too. I\ncan hear thee droanan that dreary thing again, and the treadles gwean\n(going) lazier than with Billy, the weaver, croanan over Aaron's beard\nand the ointment. Come Peter vean, strike up--\n\n \"Thinking to lead a sober life,\n One Monday morning I took a wife,\"\n\nor some other lively catch. I'll join in, and thee west make three\nthrows of the shuttle for one.\" Uncle Plato's family continued to be\nweavers of more than ordinary ability. Some of them left Sennen, and\nestablished the first looms worked by machinery in the old factory at\nAlverton, and acquired considerable property in Penzance. Many of this\nfamily were also much given to study; one of them, a lady who lived in\nSt. Levan--I don't know her exact relationship to Plato--was remarkable\nfor her acquaintance with Greek and Latin authors, which she read in\ntheir originals, and for her proficiency in astronomy and other\nsciences.\n\nDuring this lady's lifetime, however, her acquirements were not\nregarded as anything so very extraordinary as they have been recently;\nfor in those old times, and in that remote part, there were many who\nwould even now be considered good scholars. The old folks of our\ngreat-grandfathers' days were neither so ignorant nor so immoral as it\nis now the fashion to represent them; true, there were few sleek\nsmoothies among them, and they would be too rude and outspoken for our\ntaste perhaps.\n\nBooks, from their dearness, were comparatively scarce; but the few they\nhad were read over and discussed around the winter's hearth, where\nneighbours assembled in a social way that is now not found in country\nvillages.\n\nThe \"Story of Troy-town,\"--as they called some old translation of the\n\"Iliad,\"--almost everybody knew by heart. Hector was such a favourite,\nthat the best horse was called after him; and Penelope had, in most\nfamilies, a namesake (Pee) to commemorate her constancy.\n\nThey had also the \"Seven Wise Masters of Greece,\" \"Moore's Almanack,\"\n\"Robinson Crusoe,\"--which everyone knew by heart, and believed a true\nhistory,--and two or three herbals, besides religious books, of which\nthey made little account on the whole. Culpepper was an especial\nfavourite with elderly dames; stills being common, they experimented\nwith his recipes, and often compounded precious balsams that would\noperate famously as evacuants. Many West Country gentlemen were\npractised astrologers; and in order to understand works that treated of\ntheir favourite science, they must have acquired a knowledge of Latin\nand mathematics.\n\nWe revert to our old country folks to remark that, for an acquaintance\nwith classic fables, and much other secular knowledge, they were\nbeholden to the plain Welsh, or native, parsons--then appointed to the\nwestern parishes who lived amongst, and associated with, their flocks in\nan easy, comfortable way. Yet the reverend gentlemen's familiarity and\nsympathy with their parishioners' joys and griefs caused no diminution\nof respect for their sacred office. For example the Rev. James Bevan,\nfrom Glamorganshire, who was more than forty years curate of Sennen and\nSt. Levan, was always spoken of, by the few old people who remembered\nhim, with affection and respect. This gentleman resided in Trengothal;\nand so far was he from discountenancing wrestling, throwing quoits, and\nother manly recreations of the time, that he and his family, with many\nprincipal persons of the neighbourhood, always attended at holiday\ngames, on Penberth Green, where they danced with rich and poor, and\ntheir presence enforced decorum, and made our rural sports respectable.\n\nAnother usage--probably handed down from Catholic times--was then\ncommon. Prizes won at wrestling, or any other manly games, were either\nworn to church or suspended within it to a pillar near the door, on the\nfollowing Sunday. This custom was particularly observed when the victory\nwas obtained in another parish. I have often heard one who when young\nwas a noted wrestler, and for many years champion of his parish, speak\nof the satisfaction with which he used to hang up a pair of spurs,\ngloves, yards of ribbon, lace, or whatever it might be, as a trophy in\nhonour of old St. Levan.\n\nA short time ago, it was usual for the winners of gold-laced hats to\ndisplay them at Church, though the wearers--often gentlemen farmers'\nsons--looked for all the world like livery servants. \"Many customs of no\nmore than fifty years ago,\" said the old tinner, \"would be regarded as\nstrange now. One thing that I have just thought of, that stories which\nhave been related by romancers, and are still repeated by others in\nbooks, about the savagery of old Cornish wreckers and smugglers, is vile\nslander. Who, I wonder, would have more right to dead wreck than the\nsalvers; and success say I to the fair trade.\"\n\nThe old tinner was now mounted on his favourite hobby, and as his\nstories about smuggling were interminable, I wished him good-night.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n AN EXCURSION TO CHAPEL UNY WELL,\n WITH A LEGEND OF THE CHANGELING OF BREA VEAN.\n\n These, when a child haps to be got,\n That after proves an idiot,\n When folks perceive it thriveth not,\n The fault therein to smother,\n Some silly, doating, brainless calf,\n That understands things by the half,\n Says that the fairy left this aulfe,\n And took away the other.\n DRAYTON.\n\nThough the numerous visitors who resort to Penzance in autumn are rarely\nsatiated with our fine cliff scenery, they might, with pleasure, vary\ntheir excursions by a ramble inland, where various objects of interest\nare found on moorlands and hills, but seldom visited.\n\nA pleasant day, for example, might be passed by first going to Sancreed;\nwhere, in the quiet, neat, little, embowerd Church some curiously carved\nportions of an ancient rood-screen are worthy of notice. In the\nchurchyard there is one of the finest crosses in the county; it is about\neight feet high and ornamented with various emblematic devices, among\nothers, the lilly of the Blessed Virgin. The old Inn, with its quaint\nsign \"The Bird in Hand,\" suggestive of ready payment, was worthy of a\nglance, a few years ago, when some nondescript fowl of the air, trying\nto escape from a hand that grasped its legs, was pourtrayed on the\nsign-board in flaming colours by a local artist, and, underneath the\ncaptive bird, were the lines,--\n\n \"A bird in hand is better fare\n Than two that in the bushes are.\"\n\nFrom the south-eastern side of \"Sancras Bickan\" (Beacon) a delightful\nview of Mount's Bay is obtained, and on Caer Brane--commonly called\nBrane Rings--the next hill towards the west, may be seen the remains of\nan old and extensive hill-castle.\n\nHence, one might descend to the famous Chapel Uny Well, situated between\nChapel Carn Brea and Bartine hills; the one crowned with its ruined\nchapel and the other with a castle. At Chapel Uny will be found a\ncopious spring of as clear water as was ever seen. The only remains that\ncan be identified, as having belonged to its ancient chapel, are a few\ndressed stones near the well. These, from their shape, would seem to\nhave formed part of an arched door or window.\n\nNear by there is also a large circular Fogou, or artificial cavern,\nwalled on both sides and partly covered with long slabs of moor-stone.\nThe Holy Well is, however, the most celebrated object in this vicinity;\na few years ago, it was resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May\nby scores of persons who had great faith in the virtue of its waters,\nwhich were considered very efficacious for curing most diseases\nincidental to childhood, and many ricketty babes are still bathed there\nat the stated times when the spring is believed to possess the most\nhealing powers.\n\nBelonging to this well and its neighbourhood there is a somewhat curious\nstory, which we will relate just as it has often been told us by old\npeople of the West Country.\n\n\n THE CHANGELING OF BREA VEAN.\n\nA hundred years or more ago--one afternoon in harvest time--a woman\ncalled Jenny Trayer, who lived in Brea Vean (a little out-of-the-way\nplace at the foot of Chapel Carn Brea) gave her baby suck, rocked it to\nsleep, then covered up the fire, turned down the brandis, placed\nfire-hook and furze-prong across the hearth for good luck, and, leaving\nthe child alone, away she hastened over to Brea to \"help cut the neck.\"\nIt was nearly dark when the last handful of wheat, called \"the neck,\"\nwas tied up and cut by the reapers throwing their reap-hooks at it. Then\nit took a good bit longer to cry the neck according to the old custom of\nthe harvest-hands dividing themselves into three bands--one party\ncalling, three times, as loud as they could cry, \"We have it, we have\nit, we have it!\" The second demanding, \"What have ye? What have ye? What\nhave ye?\" And the third replying, \"A neck! a neck! a neck!\" Then all\njoin, hats in hand, in a \"Hip! hip! hip! Hurrah!\"\n\nThe neck was then decorated with flowers and hung over the board.\n\nJenny, thinking about her babe all alone, didn't stop for the\nneck-cutting carouse, but got a good drink of beer, and her neck-cake,\nto take home; and hastened away. When she opened her door, she saw, by\nthe moonlight, that the cradle was overturned. Straw and rags were on\nthe floor, but no child was in sight.\n\nJenny groped round the room a long time; then, not finding any live\nembers among the ashes, she took the tinder-box and struck a light. \"The\nmore haste the worst speed.\" It was a long time before she got the\nporvan (rush-wick) lit in the chill (iron lamp). In searching all the\nholes and corners, she came to the wood-corner and there among turves,\nferns, and furze, she found the \"cheeld,\" fast asleep. Being very tired,\nshe took up the child and went to bed. Next morning, when she looked at\nthe babe by daylight, it seemed to her that there was something strange\nabout it--she didn't know what--it was hearty enow, for it seemed never\nsatisfied unless it was all the time sucking or eating; it would roar\nlike a bull if it hadn't its will; and always wanted to be in her arms\nor eating pap.\n\nThe poor woman couldn't do her \"chars,\" and had no rest of her life with\nthe squalling, hungry brat. Yet, with all its sucking and eating, it\nseemed wasting to skin and bone. So it kept on all the winter--the more\nit ate the leaner it became. Many of the neighbours shook their heads\nwhen they saw it, and said they feared the \"small people\" had played her\na trick that afternoon when she went to \"neck-cutting.\" \"Whether or no,\"\nsaid they, \"you can do nothing better, Jenny, than to bathe it in the\nChapel Well as soon as May comes round.\"\n\nAccordingly, the first Wednesday in May she took it on her back and\ntrudged away to Chapel Uny Well.\n\nThree times she put it through the water from west to east, then dragged\nit three times round the well against the sun. Whether the bath made it\nany better or not she couldn't tell in one week. The following\nWednesday, however, the troublesome creature seemed to expect the jaunt,\nand to enjoy it as it rode away on her shoulder over hill and moor to\nthe spring, where it had the same ducking again. The third Wednesday was\na wet day; yet, not to spoil the spell, Jenny took the brat, placed it\nastride on her shoulder, held one foot in her hand, whilst he grasped\nher hair to keep himself steady, as they beat over the moors against\nwind and rain. The thing seemed to enjoy the storm, and crowed, like a\ncock, when the wind roared the loudest.\n\nThey had nearly passed round Chapel Carn Brea and were coming by some\nlarge rocks, near the open moor, when she heard a shrill voice,\nseemingly above her head, call out,--\n\n \"Tredrill! Tredrill!\n Thy wife and children greet thee well.\"\n\nJenny was surprised to hear the shrill voice and nobody in sight. When\nshe stopped an instant to look round, the thing on her shoulder cried\nout in a voice as shrill and loud,--\n\n \"What care I for wife or child,\n When I ride on Dowdy's back to the Chapel Well,\n And have got pap my fill?\"\n\nFrightened out of her senses, to hear the miserable little object talk\nlike a man about his wife and his child, the poor woman cast it on the\nground and there it lay sprawling, until she took courage, threw it\nacross her shoulder, and ran back as fast as she could lay feet to\nground till she came to Brea town. She stopped before some houses a\nlittle below Brea mansion, threw down the thing, that clung to her neck\nfor dear life, on to a dung-heap beside the road.\n\nThe women of Brea all ran out to see what could be the matter. As soon\nas she recovered her breath she told them what she had heard. \"Ah,\"\nexclaimed one, \"didn't I tell thee, months ago, that thee wert nussan a\nsmall body's brat, ever since the neck-cuttan night, when thy child was\nspirited away, and that thing left in his place.\"\n\n\"Shure enow,\" said another, \"anybody of common sense might see that.\nOnly look at the thing there, sprawling upon his back in the mud. Did\none ever see a Christian cheeld like that, with his goggle eyes,\nsquinting one way; his ugly mouth drawn another, and his pinched-up nose\nall a-wry too?\"\n\n\"And now, Jenny,\" broke in the oldest crone, \"'Tis lucky for 'e that I\ncan tell 'e what you must do to get rid of this unlucky bucca, and get\nback thy own dear cheeld. Now there's an old way, and I don't know but\nit es the best; and that es to put the smale body upon the ashes' pile\nand beat it well with a broom; then lay it naked under a church-way\nstile; there leave et, and keep out of sight and hearan till the turn of\nnight; and, nine times out of ten, the thing will be took off and the\nstolen cheeld put in his place. There's another plan but I never seed et\ntried--to make by night a smoky fire, with green ferns and dry. When the\nchimney and house are full of smoke as one can bear, throw the\nchangeling on the hearth-stone; go out of the house; turn three times\nround; when one enters the right cheeld will be restored.\"\n\nThe women of Brea--resolved to try what a beating on the ashes' pile\nwould do towards getting rid of the goblin--threw it on a heap near at\nhand and commenced belabouring it with their brooms. But they had\nscarcely touched it than it set up such a roar that it was heard in Brea\nmansion; and Dame Ellis came running down the town-place to see what\ncould be the matter. She asked what they were beating in that cruel way.\nBeing nearly dark and the wet ashes sticking to the creature she\ncouldn't tell what gave out such a doleful noise.\n\n\"Why mistress,\" says Jenny, \"that thing there on the ashes' pile es what\nwas left in our house, when my dear cheeld was spirited away, by smale\npeople, while I was reapan in your field the very day we cut the neck.\nAll the neighbours know the trouble I've had ever since--how this thing\nthat looked like my cheeld have ben all the time screechan, suckan, or\neatan, and have never grown a bit, nor will make any use of his legs.\"\n\n\"But thats nothan,\" said she, recovering her breath, \"to what happened a\nfew hours ago, and most frightened me out of my senses. You mayn't\nbelieve at--that when, on my way to Chapel Uny Well, with that thing\nastride on my shoulder, somebody that couldn't be seen by mortal eyes\ncried out, 'Tredril, Tredril, thy wife and children greet thee well!'\nThen, in an instant, good lack, that thing from my back replied, 'That\nlittle cared he for wife or child when he rode on Dowdy's back (meaning\nme) to the Chapel Well, and had good pap his fill.' Nobody can tell the\nfright I was in, to hear that thing talk like a man about his wife and\nchild.\"\n\nDame Ellis, lifting the creature from the ashes' heap, said to Jenny, \"I\nbelieve that thou wert either drunk or in a waking dream when passing\nround the hill, and that this child, used so ill, is as truly thine as\nany thou hast born. Now take it home, wash it well, feed it regular, and\ndon't thee leave it all day lying in its cradle; and, if thee canst not\nmake it thrive, send for Dr. Madron.\"\n\nJenny and the other women at first refused to comply with Dame Ellis's\nadvice; told her that she knew next to nothing about such matters, and\nrelated many things to prove that the creature was no mortal's child,\ntill the lady tired with their stories, turned to go in, saying to\nJenny,\n\n\"My husband shall come out and talk to thee; peradventure he may\nconvince thee of thy error.\"\n\nSquire Ellis and his wife being quakers--a sect then but little known in\nthe West--they were thought by Brea women, and many others, to be no\nbetter than unbelieving Pagans, \"who haven't the grace,\" said they, \"to\nknow anything about such creatures as spriggans, piskies, knackers\n(knockers of the mines) and other small folks, good or bad, that haunt\nour carns, moors, and mines; who can vanish or make themselves visible\nwhen and how they please, as all more enlightened folks know.\"\n\nThey well knew, however, what concerned them more--that Squire Ellis\nwas their landlord, and that, quiet and quaker-like as he and his wife\nwere in their talk, and demure in their looks, they were not to be\ntrifled with; and that their will was law for all living on their estate\nunless they could contrive to deceive them.\n\nSquire Ellis came down and, finding that Jenny (with her bantling and\nall the others) were gone into a house, where he heard them loudly\ntalking, he had nothing to say to them; perhaps, he kept an eye on their\nproceedings.\n\nBrea women, in spite of \"unbelieving quakers,\" as they called Squire\nEllis and his wife, among themselves--determined to have their own\nway--waited till all was dark in the great house; then Jenny, with the\nbantling or spriggan, and another woman, who was very knowing about\nchangelings, passed quietly up Brea town-place, and under a stile on the\nChurch-way path crossing a field from Brea lane, they left the creature\n(then asleep) that had been such a plague to them.\n\nJenny returned to Brea Vean, and there stayed till morning. Being\nfatigued and worried she overslept herself, for it was nearly daybreak\nwhen she awoke and hurried away, between hopes and fears, to the stile;\nand there, sure enough, she found her own \"dear cheeld,\" sleeping on\nsome dry straw. The infant was as clean, from head to foot, as water\ncould make it, and wrapped up in a piece of old gay-flowered chintz;\nwhich small folks often covet and steal from furze-bushes, when it is\nplaced there in the sun to dry.\n\nJenny nursed her recovered child with great care, but there was always\nsomething queer about it, as there always is about one that has been in\nthe fairies' power--if only for a few days. It was constantly ailing and\ncomplaining, and, as soon as it was able to toddle, it would wander far\naway to all sorts of out-of-the-way places. The good lady of Brea often\ncame to see it and brought it many nice things that its mother couldn't\nafford to buy, and when he was about nine years of age Squire Ellis took\nthe changeling (as he was always called) into his service, but he was\nfound to be such a poor simple innocent that he could never be trusted\nto work in the fields alone, much less with cattle; as a whim would take\nhim, every now and then, to leave his work and wander away over hills\nand moors for days together. Yet he was found useful for attending to\nrearing cattle and sheep--then kept in great numbers on the unenclosed\ngrounds of Brea. He was so careful of his master's flock in lambing time\nthat there was seldom any lost. Forsaken or weakly lambs were often\ngiven to him by the neighbours, and he contrived to rear them so well\nthat, in a few years, he had a good flock of his own that Squire Ellis\nand everyone else allowed him to pasture wherever he and his sheep\nchoose to wander--everybody knew the poor changeling and made him\nwelcome. When he grew to man's estate, however, he became subject to\nfits, and had to remain at home with his mother great part of his time.\n\nYet, when the fits were over, nothing could restrain his propensity for\nwandering, and his sheep, goats, and even calves, always followed, and\nseemed equally to enjoy their rambles. He often talked to himself, and\nmany believed that he was then holding converse with some of the fairy\ntribe, only visible to him, who enticed him to ramble among the carns,\nhills, and moors--their usual haunts.\n\nWhen about thirty years of age he was missed for several days; and his\nflock had been noticed, staying longer than usual near the same place,\non a moor between the Chapel Hill and Bartinn\u00e9, and there--surrounded by\nhis sheep--he was found, lying on a quantity of rushes which he had\npulled and collected for making sheep-spans.\n\nHe lay, with his arm under his head, apparently in sweet sleep, but the\npoor changeling of Brea was dead.\n\n\n BETTY STOGS'S BABY.[4]\n\nLittle more than twenty years ago, there lived in a lonely cot on a moor\nin Towednack a man and his wife with one child. The woman--from her\nslatternly habits--was known by the name of Betty Stogs; she had been\nmarried about a year and had a baby six months old or so; when, almost\nevery day, whilst her husband was away 'to bal,' she would pass best\npart of the time 'courseying' from house to house in the nearest\nvillage.\n\nThe child would mostly be left in the house alone or with nothing but\nthe cat for company. One seldom saw the colour of the bantling's skin\nfor dirt. When anyone asked Betty why she didn't wash it oftener, \"The\nmoor es a cold place,\" she'd reply, \"and a good layer of dirt will help\nkeep 'n hot.\"\n\nOne afternoon about Midsummer she went to get milk for the child and\nstayed away gossiping till dusk; it was so dark when she entered her\ndwelling that she could scarcely see anything within it.\n\nShe went to the cradle and found it empty; the child was nowhere to be\nseen; nor yet the cat that always slept with it, shared its pap, and\ncleaned the skillet in which the 'child's-meat,' was cooked. Whilst\nBetty was searching about the house her husband came home from\nwork--last core by day,--he was in a great rage with his wife and\ngreater grief for the loss of his 'crume of a cheeld,' as he called it.\n\nAfter hours spent in fruitless search Betty sat down and cried bitterly,\nwhilst the father went away and told the neighbours what had happened.\n\nEverybody turned out to look for the child; they examined moors and\ncrofts for a good distance round till after daybreak without seeing\nsight or sign of it; but, when it was near sunrise, Betty spied the cat\ncoming towards her, then it went back mewling into a brake of furze. She\nfollowed it and came to a plot of mossy grass, surrounded by thickets\nand ferns, where she saw, amongst heath and wortleberry plants, a bundle\nof old-fashioned chintz; she opened it and there was her child, sleeping\nlike a nut. It was wrapped in several gay old gowns, with mint, balm,\nand all sorts of sweet herbs and flowers that are found on moors or in\ngardens; but otherwise it was as naked as when born, yet clean and sweet\nas a rose.\n\nAll the old folks said it was carried there by small-people, who\nintended to bear it away to the hills or carns; but it took them so long\nto clean it first that daylight surprised them ere they had done it to\ntheir mind; so they left it there meaning to fetch it the next night.\n\nThe fright, however, that Betty had undergone, did her good and the\nchild too, for she passed less time in courseying, and took more care of\nher babe for fear it might be stolen again. She made lots of frocks for\nit out of the old chintz; and it throve so well after the small folks'\ncleansing that he made as stout a man as his dad, who was usually called\nJan the Maunster (monster) from his bulky form.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n HOW A MORVAH MAN BOUGHT CLOTHES FOR HIS WIFE.[4]\n\n \"Contented toil, and hospitable care,\n And kind connubial tenderness are there.\"\n GOLDSMITH.\n\n\nMost of the dwellers in the cottages scattered over the hills to the\nnorth of Penzance (like the tinners of old) work in the mines and\ncultivate a few acres 'out of core.' They are also remarkable for\npreserving many old customs which are become extinct in less remote and\nmore populous districts, as well as for the quaint simplicity of their\nmanners and language. A few weeks ago a tall, middle-aged man entered a\ndraper's shop in Penzance. His blue smock-frock, corduroy trousers,\nruddy with tin stuff, and the high-poled Sunday's hat, marked him for a\nhigh-country tinner. He paused in the middle of the shop and looked\naround as if to select some particular one of the assistants to serve\nhim; then going over to the counter, where the forewoman was standing,\nhe placed three little packets of money, done up in paper, before her.\n\n\"Look-e here, my dear,\" says he, \"here's three packats of money for\nthree things I want of 'e. Fust of all les have somethan to make a sheft\nfor my old oman--dowlas or calico, you know the sort of stuff, and how\nmuch will do; for my old oman es of a tidy built and shaped much like\nyou. (The blushes and titterings among the shop girls may be imagined).\nShe told me how much, but I have forgot, only that a must cost ten-pence\na yard; so cut off as much as will make a sheft for yourself, my dear,\nand see if you don't find the exact money for 'n in that paper, tied up\nwith tape.\"\n\nThe paper opened, the money was found right to a farthing.\n\n\"Now, my dear, that's all right. Get some sort of stuff, made of\nsheep's clothing, I don't know what you call 'n, for to make an\nundercoat for the old oman. You know how much will do by your own\nmeasure; a must be two shellans a yard, and there's the money for 'n in\nthat paper tied up with white yarn.\"\n\nTo make sure of the quantity wanted, the shop woman counted the cash\nsent, before she cut the required length of sanford. When that was\nadjusted,\n\n\"Now, my dear,\" says he, \"we are getting on cappetal, sure nuf. Next\nlet's have a pound of blue or black wostard--must be four shellans a\npound and plum (soft) like yarn; there can be no mistake about that, and\nthere es the money in the paper tied with black yarn. Now, over all\nthese, I spose you will give me a nackan (handkerchief) for myself,\nwaan't 'e, my darlan?\"\n\nThe master of the establishment, who had been rather amused at the\nscene, though it was nothing new to him, left the desk and desired the\nshop woman to open some of good quality and neat patterns, for him to\nchoose from.\n\n\"Why, Mr. ----, my dear, havn't 'e any smarter ones than these in your\nshop than?\"\n\nSome old-fashioned ones, of a gay pattern, were soon found, which\npleased the customer exactly. Mr. ---- gave the tinner a glass of wine\nbesides, and asked him how he liked it?\n\n\"Well, I can't say but a wed be pure keenly stuff with a glass of gin or\nbrandy to warm un a little.\"\n\nThe master replied that he had no spirit in the shop, but gave his\ncustomer six-pence to buy a dram to warm the wine, on the way home.\n\n\"God bless 'e,\" says our Morvah man, slapping Mr. ---- on the shoulder,\n\"but you are one of the right sort, and when my old oman do want a smock\nagain I'll come and buy 'n for her, I don't wender now that all the\nwomen like to go to your shop, and that young woman there is pure block\ntin. But I spose, my dear,\" says he, turning towards the one he compared\nto pure tin, \"you think me an old Molly-caudle, don't 'e, for coman here\nto buy the dudds for the old oman home? But 'force put es no choice,' my\ndear. I'll tell 'e a minute how she esn't here herself. This mornan,\nwhen I was takan breakfast to go to bal, Jenny took off a crock of\npetates from the brandes, that she had, to save time, boiled for the pig\nalongside of the tea-kettle for my breakfast. She must always be doan\ntwo or three jobs together like the milkmaid before now. She took the\ncrock of petates out in the court to empty away the waater, and a minute\nbefore she had put a tub of calves'-meat to cool on the caunce, and the\ncheeld, accordan to custom, was trying to get at 'n to splash and play\nin the milk. The cheeld todlan round the tub, tumbled in souce, head\ndown, Jenny left the cover slip from the crock in her fright, and out\ncame the boilan waater and petates all over her foot.\n\n\"Then she cried, 'Come thee way'st out here Billy and take the cheeld\nout of the calves'-tub; see what I've done, and a es all thy fault; why\ndisna (dids't thou not) keep the cheeld out of the way?' Ah was no good\nto say anything to her, my dear, because all the women, except you, will\nlay the blame on somebody else, for the foolish things they do. I\ndragged the cheeld out of the milk, left the dog to lick 'n clean, and\ndipped Jenny's foot in a bucket of waater. The pigs got at the crock and\nmade some screechan when the hot petates burnt their throats. Next I put\nmy old oman on the bed and pulled off her stockan with as much care as\nef I'd ben peelan a petate. Then, by her direction, put a linan rag,\nspread with raw cream, all over the scald, and, without clunkan a bit\nmore breakfast, got ready in a jiffy to run in to the doctor for a\nplaster, and salve, and things, and to know what was best to do.\n\n\"'Billy,' says she, 'as sure es I'm alive, I shall be laid up for weeks,\nand thee west have to do the work indoors and out, but I can never put\naway the time doan nothan. Put on thy best hat and blue coat, thy old\nclothes make thee look foolish in town, and go in to Mr. ----'s shop;\nmind what I do tell thee. I've been savan money these weeks past to buy\nsome underclothing for winter, the next time I did go to town, and there\na all es in the skibbat of the chest, in three pieces of papar, the\nmoney that each thing will come to.'\n\n\"Then she told me all about the price and number of yards, that I kept\nrepeatan to myself all the way in till I come to the doctor's shop and\nthere I forgot all about et. But she told me I should find a nice\nmotherly oman in this shop just her size, and that's you my dear, who\nwould tell me what to do ef I forgot. Jenny wanted to have something to\ndo while her foot was healan. I told her I didn't much like to go to\nshop to buy her smock and undercoat; she could ask the nearest\nneighbour's wife to do et for her. 'No, the devil a bit,' says she,\n'that I waan't! Ask Honney's boy Tom's wife, to buy the things for me!\nI'll go without a sheft fust, for she will go to meetan somewhere or\nother every night for a week that she may tell the rest of them what my\nthings cost (and oh! the lies they will tell about et among them);\nbesides, we shall have the house full all the time with them, makan out\nthey are come to see how I am. Take the cheeld along weth thee down to\nAn' Nancy Trembaa's; leave 'n there; and ask her to step up to milkey\nand do the rest of the mornan work for me.' When I left the cheeld down\nto An' Nancy's, and told her what had happened, away she went, wethout\nstopan so much as to put her hat on, up to keep things to rights while\nI'm wantan.\n\n\"Well, soas, I've done the best I could. I've got the plaster and salve\nin the head of my hat, with a fuggan Jenny made me take to eat on the\nroad. A high bell-topper es as handy as a basket to stow away the lumber\nin; dash me ef a esn't. None of your low billycocks for me.\n\n\"Now I wish 'e all well, my dears, and ef you will come up to see us one\nSunday afternoon you shall be as welcome 'One and All,' as ef you had\nbeen my own sisters. God bless 'e all; I shall be tother side of Ding\nDong in less than an hour.\"\n\nNeither the master nor the shop assistants saw anything to laugh at when\nthe tinner had told his simple story. On the contrary they felt much\ninterested, as his 'old oman' was a well-known customer.\n\n\n\n\n HOW A ZENNOR MAN CHOKED HIMSELF, BUT HAD HIS WILL\n IN HIS POCKET.[4]\n\n\nNot long ago a high-country farmer, after having finished his marketing,\nin Penzance, treated himself to a supper at a cook-shop in Caunsehead.\nBeing in great hunger, or haste, he thought it waste of time to cut his\nmeat into smaller pieces than he could possibly swallow; besides, solid\njunks would stand by his ribs and do the more good.\n\nHe made but two morsels of a quarter of a pound of beef; and in bolting\nthe last it stuck in his throat. In an instant he went blue in the face\nand fell on the floor. The landlord ran for a surgeon, and by good luck\nfound one at home, the other side of the street. \"Stand clear a bit, and\nopen the man's trap,\" said the doctor. With much trouble the Zennor\nman's jaws were forced open, and the doctor feeling a portion of the\nmeat pulled out a piece about six inches long.\n\nThe patient was soon restored and ready for another such meal.\n\nThen a lawyer's clerk, who had just entered, remarked;--\"Why, old boy,\nyou ought to make your will and keep it by ye before sit down to eat\nbeef again.\" \"Why bless 'e so I have. I always keep my will in my\npocket, and you shall see am ef you mind to. I made 'n myself--no\nlawyers for me. Here a es.\" Saying this he drew from his pocket a sheet\nof paper, and gave it to the doctor, telling him he might keep it, if he\nhad a mind to see how to make a will. He intended to make another the\nnext Sunday, because he had more things to bequeath now than when he\nmade the testament, of which the following is a faithful copy:--\n\n\"I'll make my will while I am well. I will bestow my riches. I'll give\nto Ellek,[5] my eldest son, my best Coat, Jacket, and my Breeches. As\nfor my watch et es in pawn; else Elexander should have that. Neckey\nshall have the courage Horse, and Jan the little Sprat. Mary shall have\nthe milking Cow, and Lystria shall have the Heifer. Fillis shall have\nthe flock of Sheep, and wat can I do better? Old Polly shall have the\nPuss[6] of goold, and that will most maintain her. Sally shall have the\nold brass Pan, the Bucket, and the Strainer.\n\n \"Signed, sealed, and delivered, in the presence of\n\n \"COUSIN MATTHEW HOLLOW,\n \"UNCLE PHILIP EDDY, and\n \"JOHN QUICK, the Schoolmaster.\"\n\n [4] According to our intended arrangement the three foregoing stories\n should have preceded those of St. Just.\n\n [5] Alexander.\n\n [6] Purse.\n\n\n\n\n THE SMUGGLERS OF PENROSE.\n\n\n _Part the First._\n\n In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire\n With good old folkes; and let them tell thee tales\n Of woful ages, long ago betid.\n KING RICHARD II.\n\nWhat remains of the old mansion of Penrose, in Sennen, stands on a low\nand lonely site at the head of a narrow valley; through which a\nmill-brook winds, with many abrupt turns, for about three miles, thence\nto Penberth Cove. So late as forty years ago, it was one of those\nantique, mysterious looking buildings, which most persons regard with a\ndegree of interest that no modern structure inspires; the upper story\nonly--with its mullioned windows, pointed gables, and massive\nchimney-stacks--was just seen over the ivey-covered walls of courts and\ngardens that surrounded it.\n\nThere was, however, a certain gloomy air about the ruinous walls and\nneglected gardens embowered in aged trees, which might have conduced to\nsuch unaccountable stories of apparitions and other unnatural\noccurrences, as were said to have taken place there.\n\nSome three or four centuries ago, it was the property and residence of\nan ancient family of the same name; little more is known of these old\nPenroses than what can be gathered from wild traditions related by the\nwinter's hearth. The following among many others were often recounted by\nold folks of the West.\n\nAbout three hundred years ago, the owner of Penrose was a younger son\nwho had been brought up to a seafaring life, which he continued to\nfollow till his elder brothers died unmarried and left him heir to the\nfamily estate; then, preferring a life on the wave, he kept a\nwell-armed, fast-sailing, craft for fair-trading, or what is now called\nsmuggling; she was manned with as brave a crew as could be picked out of\nthe West Country; most of them are said to have been the Squire's poor\nrelations. A favourite cousin, called William Penrose--who had been his\nshipmate for years--was captain of the merry men all.\n\nThe Squire often took trips to France and other places, whence his\ngoods were brought, and it is said that in his days Penrose crew were\nnever concerned in any piratical jobs; though we know that about that\ntime smuggler, privateer, and pirate, meant very much the same thing,\nwhilst the two latter were then convertible terms with most of our\nrovers on the deep.\n\nPenrose and his seamen passed but little time on shore except in the\ndepth of winter; yet the board in his hall was always furnished with\ngood substantial fare and the best of liquors, free for all comers.\n\nOver a few years, when the good man was left a widower, with an only\nchild--a boy about seven or eight--he seemed to dislike the very sight\nof land, for then, even in winter, with his little son, his cousin\nWilliam, and two or three old sailors, he would stay out at sea for\nweeks together; leaving, as usual, the care of his farms and household\nto the care of a younger brother and an old reve or bailif.\n\nIn returning from one of these trips, in a dark winter's night, their\nboat struck on Cowloe and became a wreck. The Squire swam into Sennen\nCove with his boy, and in endeavouring to save his crew got drowned\nhimself.\n\nThe only remaining brother, known as Jan of Penrose, constituted himself\nsole guardian of the heir, and master of the place and property.\n\nNow this Jan hated all whom his late brother favoured; and in\nconsequence of his ill-will William Penrose left the West Country--for\nthe sea it was supposed--but whither he wandered was unknown, as no\ntidings of him were received in the West.\n\nThe new master, however, soon got a large smuggling craft and manned her\nwith a crew who cared but little what they did for gold or an exciting\nlife; being well-armed they feared nothing that sailed the ocean.\n\nJan of Penrose never went to sea; but gave the command to a\nwretch--known to have been a pirate--who was cast on Gwenvor sands from\nhis ship wrecked in Whitsand Bay, on the night that the good Squire\nPenrose was drowned.\n\nThis pirate-smuggler and his desperate crew boarded many a rich\nmerchant-man going up Channel, from which they appropriated whatsoever\nthey pleased, and sent all who opposed them to the other world by water.\n\nThere was no Preventive Service then, to be any check on our free\ntrade. If Revenue Cutters came near our western land, their crews\ndreaded to fall in with Cornish fair-traders more than our smugglers\nfeared the King's men. As for riding officers they would ride anywhere\nelse rather than on the cliff, when beacon fires blazed from the carns\nof dark nights to guide fair-traders' boats into the coves.\n\nWhen the rich goods and plunder were landed, and any over-curious person\nremarked that they were not such as seemed likely to have been purchased\nfrom our neighbours across the Channel, the jolly crew would give\nthemselves credit for being valiant privateers, and as such be much\nrenowned by simple country folks, and their plunder passed as lawful\nprize.\n\nPeople came from all over the country to purchase the goods, safely\nstowed in vaults and other hiding places about Penrose; and in winter\nthe crew spent much of their time there in drunken rioting with all the\nreckless youngsters of the neighbourhood.\n\nAfter the good Squire was drowned his brother appeared to show every\nkindness to the orphan heir; yet it was remarked that the child seemed\ninstinctively to avoid his uncle and the captain, who consorted much\ntogether when the smugglers were ashore.\n\nWhenever the boy could elude the old steward's vigilance he would go\naway alone to the rocks in Sennen Cove where his father was drowned, or\nshut himself up for hours in his father's bed-room, or wander about\nother parts of the gloomy north wing, which was almost in ruins and\nseldom entered by other inmates.\n\nOne winter's day, the ground being covered with snow, Penrose's people\nand many others of the neighbourhood joined for a wolf-hunt. Traditions\nsay that in those times terrible havoc was often made on flocks by these\nfierce beasts, and that children were sometimes carried off by them when\nhard pressed with hunger.\n\nNeither John Penrose nor the captain went to the chase; when at night\nthe game-laden hunters returned and blew their bugle-horns, they\nremarked with surprise that the young heir--who was a general\nfavourite--did not, as was his wont, come into the court to meet them.\nThe boy was sought for in every place whither it was thought he might\nhave strayed. His uncle seemed to be much distressed, and continued the\nfruitless search until it was surmised that the child must have missed\nhis way in returning from Sennen Cove, wandered out under Escols Cliff,\nthere got drowned by the flowing tide, and carried out to sea on the\nebb.\n\nAfter this, Jan of Penrose, having all his own, became more riotously\ndebauched than ever; and his gang having taken a somewhat strange\naversion to their captain, he left and was no more seen in the West.\n\nThe tapestry chamber and all the northern wing was shut up, or\nunoccupied, as it had the reputation of being haunted. None of the\nservants nor even the devil-may-care smugglers would venture into it\nafter night-fall, when unearthly shrieks would be heard there, and\nstrange lights seen flashing through the casements till near morning.\nLights were also often seen in an orchard just below the town-place when\nno one was there.\n\nThese unnatural occurrences, however, put no check to the excesses of\nPenrose's band and the lawless castaways who joined them. By way of\nvariety to their fun, they frequently disguised themselves and made\nnocturnal excursions to some village within a few miles, where they\nwould alarm the quiet folks in the dead of night, by discharging their\nfire-arms in a volley; and make a bonfire of a furze-rick, out-house, or\nthatched dwelling.\n\nThe poor villagers in their fright, would mistake these wretches for\noutlandish people, come again to burn and pillage as in days of yore.\n\nThey were all the more ready to think so because about this time the\nSpaniards had great fondness for roving round the western coasts, and\noften did much damage in defenceless places; it was in Jan Penrose's\ntime, too, that a few Dons, high by day, put off from a galley in\nWhitsand Bay, landed on Gwenvor Sands, and destroyed Velan-dreath Mill.\nTo return to Penrose crew, at the height of the fright and confusion\nthey would carry off such young women as they had before agreed on; the\ngallants would take their fair-ones before them on horseback to Escols\nCliff or the hills, where they would be left alone by daybreak, to find\ntheir way back afoot. Having carried on this sport a long time with\nimpunity, they became so bold at last as to make an attack on Buryan\nChurch-town; fortunately, however, Buryan men were apprised of their\nintentions in time to be armed and ready to give them a warm reception;\nin short they lay in wait for the smugglers, drove them all into a\nvacant place near the cross in Church-town, and there surrounded them;\nwhen thus hemmed in the band fought desperately, and till nearly every\nman of them was killed or disabled they continued shouting to each\nother, \"cheer up comrades, die one, die all, and die we merrilly;\" and\nso many of them met their end in this encounter that Penrose band was\nsoon after broken up.\n\nOne night of the following Christmas, whilst a large company was\nassembled at Penrose, keeping high festival after a day's hunt, loud\nknocking was heard at the green-court door, and soon after a servant\nconducted into the hall an elderly wayfaring man who requested a night's\nshelter from the snow-storm.\n\nJohn Penrose received the wanderer with hospitable courtesy; and charged\nhis steward, the old reve, to provide him with good cheer; the guests\ncontinued their glee and paid but little attention to him, for begging\nhomeless pilgrims were all too plenty here at that time.\n\nThe company was also entertained by professional droll-tellers and\nballad-singers; persons of that class were then--and long after\ncontinued to be--received, as substitutes for minstrels, in gentlemen's\nhouses of the humbler sort.\n\nThe stranger, however, regarded the company with attention, and noticed\nthat the master of Penrose looked wretched and haggard amidst all the\nmerriment. His scrutiny was interrupted by the steward who conducted him\nto another room where a well furnished board, beside a blazing fire,\nawaited him.\n\nThe stranger having refreshed himself, told the old steward how he had\njust returned from a long pilgrimage in foreign lands, and had seen many\nplaces spoken of in miracle-plays, which were acted in the Plan-an-Gware\nat St. Just, and how he had that morning arrived at Market-jew on board\nan eastern ship that traded there for tin.\n\nHe also said that he once had friends in the West Country; whether they\nwere alive or dead he knew not, but hoped to obtain some tidings of them\non the morrow.\n\nThe wanderer's voice seemed familiar to the old steward, and recalled\nformer times; but, ere they had time for more discourse, they were\ninvited to return to the hall and see a guise-dance, which was about to\ncommence.\n\nThe stranger seemed interested in the quaint performance of \"St. George\nand the Turkish Knight.\" A droll-teller in his character of bard, took\nthe part of chorus; explained the intent of coming scenes; instructed\nand prompted the actors as well.\n\nThe play being concluded and the guisards well rewarded by the wayfarer,\nhe withdrew and told the steward that he felt weary after his long walk\nthough the snow and would be glad to lie down; if all the beds were\noccupied, he could repose, he said, in a settle by the fireside, for a\nfew hours only, as he intended to leave early in the morning.\n\nThe old man replied that he feared any other accommodation in his power\nto offer was not such as he might desire,--although the house was large,\nwith ample bed-rooms for more guests than it now contained--because a\ngreat part of the northern end was shut up for a reason that the inmates\ndid not like to talk about. Yet as he believed the pilgrim to be a\nprudent man, who was, no doubt, learned in ghostly matters, he was glad\nto unburden his own mind and have his visitor's counsel, with his\nprayers for the repose of the unquiet spirits that disturbed the place.\n\nThen he told how many of the upper rooms, though well furnished, were\nunused and falling to ruin on account of the unnatural sounds and sights\nbefore mentioned. To which the stranger answered that as he had a mind\nat ease he had no reason to dread any ghostly visitants; if the steward\nwould conduct him to a room in the haunted wing he did not fear for his\nrest.\n\nThe old steward, taking a lamp, led the way to the tapestry\nchamber--being the best room in that part of the mansion. A faggot of\ndry ash-wood--already laid in the large open fire-place--was soon in a\nblaze, and the room well aired and somewhat comfortable.\n\nThe old man brought in bread, meat, and wine, that the guest might take\nmore refreshment during the night, and supply his wallet in the morning\nif he started before breakfast. After returning with more wood and\nbog-turf to keep in the fire, he bade the guest good-night, sweet rest,\nand pleasant dreams.\n\n\n _Part the Second._\n\n Blood, though it sleeps a time, yet never dies;\n The gods on murd'rers fix revengeful eyes.\n CHAPMAN.\n\nAfter the old steward had retired from the dreaded room, its occupant\nwas in no haste to rest himself on the large stately looking bed; but\nseemed never weary of examining the old portraits and quaint figures in\nthe arras (which might have been intended for portraits too), the\nmassive oak furniture with bold, grotesque, carvings, ancient armour,\ncoats of mail, and other interesting objects, which were suspended from\nthe walls, or in hanging presses, with all of which he appeared\nfamiliar; so that it was near midnight when he sat down in the long\nwindow-seat.\n\nThe storm had ceased and a full moon, shining on newly fallen snow, made\nit almost as light as day. He opened the casement and looked into the\ncourt, where he saw a company of young men and women passing out singly\nand in silence.\n\nThe visitor, being well acquainted with West Country customs, knew--as\nthis was twelfth night--that the object of this silent procession was to\nwork some of the many spells, usually practised at this time, for the\npurpose of gaining a knowledge of their future destiny with respect to\nwhat they regarded as the most important of all events--marriage and\ndeath.\n\nSo great was the desire of many young people to obtain an insight of\nwhat the future had in store for them, that they often practised\nsingular rites,--still well-known in the West,--which are probably\nvestiges of ancient magian ceremonials connected with divination.\n\nThis night, however, the young peoples' intention was simply to gather\nivy leaves and pull rushes; by the aid of which, with fire and water,\nthey hoped to discover who would be wedded, and with whom, or buried\nbefore the new year was ended. There are many instances of predictions,\nwith regard to the latter event, conducing to accomplish their own\nfulfilment, from their effects on people of melancholy temperament.\n\nThe pilgrim had not sat long, looking out of the open casement, when he\nsaw the company of young men and maidens come running back, apparently\nin great fright. The doors were all immediately slammed to, the noisy\nmirth and music suddenly ceased in the hall. The house, in a few\nmoments, was shrouded in thick fog; all was still as death about the\nplace for some minutes, then a noise was heard like the distant roaring\nand moaning of the sea in a storm.\n\nThese ocean sounds seemed to approach nearer and nearer every instant,\nuntil the waves were heard as if breaking and surging around the house.\nIn the wailing wind was heard a noise of oars rattling in their\nrow-locks for another instant; then as of the casting of oars hastily\ninto a boat.\n\nThis was followed by the hollow voices of the smugglers, drowned with\nthe old Squire, hailing their own names, as drowned men's ghosts are\nsaid to do when they want the assistance of the living to procure them\nrest.\n\nAll this time the green-court appeared as if filled with the sea, and\none could hear the breakers roaring as when standing on a cliff in a\nstorm.\n\nAll the buildings and trees surrounding the mansion disappeared as if\nsunk into the ground.\n\nAt length the surging of waves and other sounds gradually died away\nuntil they were only heard like the 'calling of cleeves' before a\ntempest.\n\nThe steward had told the stranger of these noises and appearances, which\nhad become frequent of late, to the great terror of the household; but\nhe gave little heed to the old man's tales, thinking that such visions\nwere merely the creations of weak brains diseased by strong potions.\n\n'Tis said that when the young folks reached the outer gate of the\navenue, near which they would find the plants required for their spells,\nall keeping silence and taking care not to look behind them--as this or\nspeaking would spoil the charm--a female, who was a short distance ahead\nof the others, saw what appeared to be the sea coming over the moors\nbefore a driving fog. She ran shrieking to join her companions, who also\nbeheld the waves fast approaching--rolling, curling, and breaking on the\nheath. They all ran up to the house with their utmost speed; and some\nwho had the courage to look behind them, when near the court door, saw\nthe curling breakers within a few yards of them; and a boat, manned with\na ghostly crew, came out of the driving mist as they rushed into the\nhouse; and, not daring to look out, they saw nothing more.\n\nThe weary wayfaring man, having a clear conscience, feared nothing evil\nin what appeared to him an unaccountable mystery, even in that time of\nmarvels; and, having told his beads, he committed himself to good\nspirits' care.\n\nThe brave man was rather soothed than alarmed by a plaintive melody,\nuntil there was a change in the harmonious strains, which grew more\ndistinct; and mingled with them were the tones of loved and once\nfamiliar voices, calling, \"William Penrose, arise and avenge the murder\nof thy cousin's son!\"\n\nCasting a glance towards the window--whence the sound proceeded--he saw\njust within it the apparition of a beautiful boy in white raiment. A\nlight which surrounded it showed the countenance of the lost heir of\nPenrose. At the same time the room was filled with an odour like that of\nsweet spring flowers.\n\nThe pilgrim, William Penrose, spoke to the spirit and conjured it,\naccording to the form prescribed by Holy Church, to speak and say what\nhe should do to give it rest.\n\nThe apparition, coming nearer, told how he had been murdered by the\npirate-captain of the smugglers, on the grand hunting day; and how his\nuncle had given the pirate a great quantity of gold to do the bloody\ndeed--that he had been buried in the orchard under an apple-tree, that\nwould be known, even in winter, by its blasted appearance,--that the\nmurderer was then in Plymouth, keeping a public-house, the situation of\nwhich was so plainly described by the spirit that William Penrose would\nhave no difficulty in finding it, and bringing the murderer to justice\nby means of such proofs of his crime as would be found beneath the\nblasted tree.\n\nMoreover he told William that the spirits knew he was gone on a\npilgrimage for their repose; and that they all, through him, sought his\naid to enable them to rest in peace.\n\nWilliam Penrose having promised to perform all according to the wishes\nof the departed, music was again heard and the spirit gradually\ndisappeared in a cloud of light.\n\nThen the weary man sunk into sound repose from which he only awoke at\nbreak of day.\n\nHis cousin, the good Squire, had also appeared to him in a dream, and\ntold him that concealed in the wainscot, beneath a certain piece of\ntapestry, he would find a secret cabinet, in which was preserved good\nstore of gold and jewels for the infant heir; and that the key of this\nhidden treasury was behind a leaf of carved foliage which ornamented the\nbed head. He was told to take what money he required for his journey and\nto keep the key.\n\nHe found everything as indicated in his dream.\n\nJan of Penrose had often sought for this private recess--where heirlooms\nand other valuables were concealed, and only made known to the heir when\nof age, or to a trusty guardian, if a minor--but he was deterred from\nfurther search by such an apparition as made him avoid the chamber, and\nof which he would never speak after his fearful fright was past.\n\nThe pilgrim arose and requested the old steward to accompany him a short\ndistance on his journey.\n\nBefore they parted the stranger discovered himself, to the old man's\ngreat delight, to be the long-lamented William Penrose; told him that he\nwas about to undertake a long journey for the repose of the dead; that\nhe would return when he had accomplished his mission; and bade the\nsteward adieu, without speaking of the apparition or the cause of\ndisturbances in the mansion.\n\nWilliam Penrose, having arrived in the ancient town of Plymouth, and\nentered the mean public-house to which he had been directed by the\napparition, saw the person he sought lying stretched by the fireside in\na squalid apartment that served for kitchen, guest-chamber, and sleeping\nroom.\n\nThe former pirate-captain looked like a deserter from the churchyard (as\nwe say); the face of this child-murderer was the colour of one long in\nthe tomb; with but little signs of life except in the lurid glare of his\nsunken eyes.\n\nWilliam Penrose with much difficulty induced the 'wisht-looking' object\nto converse; and, after a while, led him to talk of the West Country,\nthen of Sennen. From that the pilgrim spoke of Penrose, and asked him if\nhe knew, in Penrose orchard, a certain apple-tree, which he pointly\ndescribed. He had no sooner mentioned it than the inn-keeper exclaimed,\n\"I am a dead man.\"\n\nThe miserable wretch begged the pilgrim to have mercy on him and listen\nto his confession, in which he declared he was driven to commit the\nmurder by his evil spirit that made him dislike the child, because he\nhad long hated his parents, more than from any love of gold given him by\nJan of Penrose, to remove the only obstacle to his possession of the\nestate.\n\nWilliam Penrose--who was still unknown to the inn-keeper--wondered what\ncause of ill-will he could ever have had against the good old Squire or\nhis wife, until the former pirate told how he was the prodigal son--long\nsupposed dead--of an ancient, respectable, but poor family, whose\nancestral seat was within a few miles of Penrose--how, almost from his\nchildhood, he had long and truly loved, and as he trusted, had his love\nreturned by the lady who became the wife of Squire Penrose,--how that he\nhad left his home in St. Just on a desperate privateering expedition, in\nhopes of soon gaining sufficient riches to make the lady's parents\nregard him with favour,--how, whilst he was returning with gold enough\nto buy the parish, Penrose had wooed and won the lady--his first and\nonly love, for whom he had toiled and suffered every hardship during\nmany years.\n\nHe also related how when he came home so altered, by the burning suns of\nthe Spanish Main, that his nearest relatives knew him not, and found out\nthe ill return his lady-love had made him, that his only solace was the\nhope of revenge.\n\nSome of the gold that he had sweat blood to gain, for the sake of the\nfaithless fair, was laid out in a fast sailing craft, which might pass\nfor a merchant-man, privateer, or pirate, as she was all in turn during\na few years that he roamed the British seas.\n\nThe vessel was manned with a desperate crew, most of them his old\ncomrades, who would do anything to please him. The design he had formed,\nmore through hate than love, was to carry the lady off to some foreign\nland.\n\nA year or so after his return he landed one night in Whitsand Bay,\naccompanied by a great part of his well-armed crew, who took their way\ntowards Penrose, where he learned ere their arrival, that his design of\ncarrying off the lady was frustrated by her having been laid in the\ngrave a few days before.\n\nAfter this he wandered over sea and land by turns, caring nothing what\nbecame of him, until cast on Gwenvor Sands--poor and naked, as his ship\nfoundered in deep water, when all but himself were drowned; and, as bad\nluck would have it, he reached the shore on some loose part of the\nwreck.\n\nThe worst portion of his story from this time is already told; but no\none can tell, as he related, how the desire of gold--to enable him to\nrecommence his roving life, far away from the hated sight of the land\nand everything else that recalled a remembrance of his blighted youthful\nhopes--maddening drink, and a wicked heart, farther irritated by Jan\nPenrose, made him murder the child that he would have given a hundred\nlives to restore before he received the uncle's bloody gold.\n\nSince then he had never a moment been free from remorse. He wished for\ndeath, but feared to die. If he drank himself mad, that only increased\nthe horror of his thoughts.\n\nHe had scarcely finished his sad tale when William Penrose discovered\nhimself to be the well-remembered playmate of the wretched man's\ninnocent youth; and he had only time to beg Penrose to bestow in alms\nhis ill-got store, for the scarcely hoped for mitigation of future\npunishment, when he breathed his last.\n\nWhen William Penrose returned to Penrose and made himself known, to the\ngreat joy of old servants and others, he found that what was thought to\nbe merely the gloomy and morose temper of its master frequently made him\nshun all society, and wander about the hills or cliffs and other\nsolitary places, for days and nights together.\n\nNo one either loved, feared, or cared enough about the surly man to pay\nhim any regard. He was absent then in one of his melancholy moods, and\nWilliam with the steward, aided by other old trusty servants, removed\nthe child's remains from beneath the blasted tree to Sennen churchyard;\nand out of respect to the honourable old family, little was said or\nknown about the sad occurrence.\n\nJan of Penrose was no more seen alive in the old mansion, for the same\nnight that his nephew's remains were buried in consecrated ground, he\nhanged himself in the malt-house; and he haunted it long after.\n\nFollowing the spirit's injunction William Penrose had still to find and\nremove the bodies of the old Squire and his crew. Now it was supposed\nthat they were 'sanded'--that is sunk in the moist sand and covered by\nit during a flowing tide--near Gwenvor Cove, because corpse-lights had\nfrequently been seen, and the drowned sailors had been heard there\n\"hailing there own names,\" as they are still accustomed to do when\nrequiring aid of the living.\n\nNext day Penrose and others found the bodies of the old sailor-squire\nand his crew near the place where fishermen had heard the \"calling of\nthe dead,\" and their remains were laid to repose, with all holy rites,\nin an ancient burying-ground near Chapel Idn\u00e9, where the wind and waves\nsing their everlasting requiem in music they loved well when alive:--\n\n \"Pie Jesu, Domine,\n Dona eis requiem.\n Amen.\"\n\nWilliam Penrose, now heir-at-law of the bartons of Penrose, Brew, and\nother farms in the West Country,--disliking to live in the place\nconnected with such melancholy events--gave up his rights of heirship to\nanother branch of the family; resumed his pilgrim's staff; and was\nsupposed to have died in the Holy Land.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Penroses still in the West are said to be descended from a younger\nbranch of the ancient family of Sennen; with whom the Pendreas or\nPendars were intermarried.\n\nThe family of Jones purchased the Penroses' West Country property, and\nit remained in their possession until the beginning of the last century.\n\nWe hear again of smugglers being kept in pay by the last Jones, of\nPenrose, and by others who succeeded him. From the facilities afforded\nby this secluded place for concealing contraband goods, it was always\nnoted as a favourite resort for western fair-traders.\n\nMany people about the Land's End believe the old mansion was always\nhaunted; and it is said this was the principal reason for taking down\nand rebuilding a portion of it a few years since.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n TREGAGLE.\n\n In Cornwaile's fair land, bye the poole on the moore,\n Tregeagle the wicked did dwell.\n He once was a shepherde, contented and poore,\n But growing ambytious, and wishing for more,\n Sad fortune the shepherde befelle.\n JOHN PENWARNE.\n\n\nOne may almost every day hear West Country folks make allusion to\nTregagle; for instance, a squalling child is called a Tregagle; and to a\nblusterer they often say, \"Hold thy bleatan, thee art worse than\nTregagle roaran before a storm.\"\n\nBut little is known here of the living man's history--which belonged for\nthe most part to the neighbourhood of Bodmin--all our common sayings,\nconnected with him, refer to his troublesome ghost at Gwenvor.\n\nOur vague traditions, however, represent him as having been a most\nunscrupulous lawyer; and say that he rose from low estate, by taking\nbribes to lose his poorer client's cases, by bearing or procuring false\nwitnesses; forging documents relating to the bequest of property; and\nother nefarious transactions which resulted in his acquisition of much\nriches and consequent power.\n\nHe is also said to have been so cruel in his domestic relations,--by\nhaving despatched several wives, who were rich heiresses--that he is\nregarded as a sort of Cornish Bluebeard, who sold his soul to the devil\nthat he might have his wishes for a certain number of years.\n\nAll our western legends agree, however, in stating that the particular\nbusiness which was the cause of his being \"called from the grave\" was\nthis:--\n\nA man who resided in the eastern part of the county, lent a sum of money\nto another without receiving bond or note or anything for security, as\nthe transaction was witnessed by Tregagle; for whom the money was\nborrowed; and who died before the money was repaid.\n\nSoon after Tregagle's death, the lender demanded his money, and his\ndebtor denied ever having received it.\n\nThe case was brought before the court at Bodmin assizes; and when the\nplaintiff said that Tregagle was the only witness, the defendant denied\nit with an oath, and exclaimed, \"If Tregagle ever saw it I wish to God\nthat Tregagle may come and declare it.\"\n\nThe words were no sooner uttered than Tregagle stood before the court,\nand, pointing to the man, said, \"I can no more be a false witness, thou\nhast had the money, and found it easy to bring me from the grave, but\nthou wilt not find it so easy to put me away.\" Wherever the terrified\nman moved about the court Tregagle followed him; he begged the judge and\nlong-robed gentlemen to relieve him from the spirit. \"That's thy\nbusiness,\" said they, one and all, \"thou hast brought him, thou may'st\nget him laid.\"\n\nThe man returned home, but whithersoever he went Tregagle followed, and\nwould seldom quit his side or let him rest by night or by day.\n\nHe repaid the borrowed money, gave much in alms, and sought to get rid\nof the spirit by the aid of parsons, conjurors, and other wise men,\nbefore they succeeded in binding it, for a while, to empty Dosmery Pool\nwith a crogan (limpet shell) that had a hole in its bottom.\n\nHaving soon finished that task, he returned to the man that brought him\nfrom his grave, and followed and tormented him worse than before, until\nhe procured the help of other powerful exorcists who were more astute.\nThe first thing they did was to draw a circle, out in the town-place,\nand put the man to stand within it. The spirit then took the form of a\nblack bull and tried to get at him with horns and hoofs, but the man was\nsafe within the line traced. A parson continued reading all the time,\nwhile others kept an eye on the spirit that took many shapes. At first\nthe holy words of power made him furious; by turns, he bellowed like a\nmad bull, hissed like an adder, or roared like a wild beast, that he\nmight be heard for miles away. Yet, by degrees, Tregagle became as\ngentle as a lamb, and allowed the spirit-quellers to bind him with a new\nhempen cord; and to lead him far away to Gwenvor Cove.\n\nThere they doomed him to make a truss of sand, to be bound with ropes\nmade of the same material, and carry it up to Carn Olva.\n\nTregagle was a long while at his tiresome task without being able to\naccomplish it, until it came to a very cold winter, when, one hard\nfrosty night, by taking water from Velan Dreath brook, and pouring it\nover his truss, he caused it to freeze together and bore it in triumph\nto Carn Olva.\n\nHe then flew back to the man who raised him, and he would have torn him\nin pieces, but, by good luck, he happened to have in his arms an\ninnocent young child, so the spirit couldn't harm him.\n\nWithout delay the terrified man sent for the nearest parson, who,\nhowever, was not able, alone, to cope with Tregagle; the most he could\ndo was to prevent him from harming the man until other spirit-quellers\nwere brought to his assistance; with whose aid the furious spirit was\nagain bound, led away to Gwenvor, and required to undertake the same\ntask, without going near fresh water.\n\nSo Tregagle was matched at last, for he is still there on the shore of\nWhitsand Bay vainly trying to make his truss of sand; and he is\nfrequently heard roaring for days before a northerly storm comes to\nscatter it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI well remember that when a boy, and living in Rafra, St. Levan, how\nelderly men would go out into the town-place, last thing before they\nwent to bed, to \"look at the weather,\"--in harvest particularly,--and\ncome in saying, \"Tregagle is roaring, so we shall surely have northerly\nwind and a dry day to-morrow,\" or, \"the northern cleeves are calling,\"\nby which they meant the same, and unconsciously used somewhat poetical\nfigures of speech.\n\nA legend which connects Tregagle's escape from Gwenvor with the sanding\nup of Parcurnow has been noticed (on page 140); other stories, however,\nsay, that job was imposed on him as a separate task, which he quickly\naccomplished just before he was finally settled at Gwenvor.\n\n\n\n\n WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.\n\n\n DEVIL'S MONEY.\n\n There needs no other charm nor conjurer,\n To raise infernal spirits up, but fear.\n BUTLER.\n\nNot long ago it was believed that Old Nick frequently appeared in the\nform of a bull, and that he often placed money to tempt the unwary. The\nfollowing story--told us of the late Sir Rose Price's huntsman--will\nhelp to explain notions which are not yet wholly exploded.\n\nWhen the huntsman was a boy his parents lived in Nancledra, and sent him\ndaily to a school two or three miles off, till he was about thirteen\nyears old. He had his dinner sent with him, and he often minched. One\nmorning he wandered away over the moors in search of birds' nests and\nrabbits' burrows. He had a good pasty in his dinner-bag and the day\npassed pleasantly in birds-nesting, searching for young rabbits, and\nplaying about a tin-stream, three miles or so up the Bottom, where he\nstayed till the streamers left work. Then he took his course for home,\nover hedges and ditches, wandering wherever his fancy led him, till\nalmost dark, when he found himself in a large hilly field not far from\nNancledra. In making a short cut for home he crossed this field, and,\nwhen near the middle of it, he heard a bull bellowing, and shortly saw a\nlarge black one making towards him with tail up and head down; sometimes\nit would stop to tear up the ground, and fling its horns as if to get in\npractice to toss the boy; who being far from any hedges, there seemed no\nway of escape from the field before the bull could overtake him. But,\nluckily, within a few yards, there was a large rock, to which he ran and\nclimbed it, a moment only before the bull came to it.\n\nThe brute kept on, for a long time, going round and round the rock,\nbellowing and tearing up the turf as if in a rage, till at last, tired\nwith his vain endeavours--as it seemed--to get at the boy, it hoisted\nits tail like a flag-staff, galloped off, and vanished in a minute.\n\nThe boy didn't venture from his fort for sometime after the bull left.\nAt length he 'cramed' down over a shelving side of the rock on all\nfours, head foremost--it was too dark to see where to put his feet. When\nhe touched ground with his hand he felt and took up what he thought, by\nthe feel of it, to be a penny-piece or a large button. He ran home and\nsaw, by light shining through a window, that he had found a penny. When\nthe way was clear, he made a place to hide it, in a hole over the\nchimney-stool--the fire-place was a large open one for burning furze and\nturf.\n\nNext night, about the same hour as on the preceding, he went on the\nrock, 'cramed' down again, and found two penny-pieces, which he hoarded\nin the hole; and, night after night, he visited the rock, found the\nmoney doubled each succeeding night, and picked up silver money in other\nplaces where one would the least expect to find it, till his\nhiding-place was nearly full in a few weeks.\n\nHow much longer this luck would have continued there is no knowing; for,\none night, when he thought there was nobody about, his mother came in\nand found him standing on the chimney-stool so earnest about something\nthat he didn't see her watching him, and he kept handling his money till\nshe said,\n\n\"Whatever hast thee got there between the stones, that thee art always\nstealing into the chimney, whenever thee dost think nobody is noticing\nof thee.\"\n\n\"Only my buttons and marbles, mother,\" said he.\n\n\"I don't believe thee,\" replied his mother; \"stand away, and I'll see\nfor myself.\"\n\nSaying this she took up the fire-hook, ran the point of it into the\nhole, and dragged out a lot of money.\n\n\"Now tell me, or I'll kill thee, thou lying thief,\" said she, \"where\ndidst thee get this money; if thee hast stole it I'll murder thee, I\nwill.\"\n\nThe boy didn't much mind his mother's threats--terrific as they seem--he\nwas used to it. Yet she made him tell how he came by the money.\n\n\"Oh! good gracious mercy on us,\" cried she, before he had finished\ntelling her; \"oh! thou wicked boy; thee hast frightened me out of my\nlife. Now tell me true,\" moaned she, wringing her hands, \"hast thee used\nany of the devil's money, put there to entice thee to sell thyself to\nhim, body and soul?\"\n\n\"No, mother, please sure I han't,\" said he, \"I was savan all to buy a\ngun.\"\n\n\"Well, thank goodness,\" groaned his mother, \"that I have found all out\nin time to prevent thee shuttan thyself or somebody else with the\ndevil's gun. I should never more rejoice if I thought thee hast used a\nfarthing of en. Know, thou plague of my heart, that what seemed to thee\na bull was the Old One hisself. He placed the money there for thee, and,\nwhen the bull seemed to vanish, he only changed to an adder, a toad, or\nsomething else that suited his purpose, and he was watchan thee all the\ntime.\"\n\nWhilst talking to the boy she raked all the money on to a fire-shovel,\nand threw it under a brandes, around which there was a good turf-fire.\nIn a few minutes all the money melted away, and was gone like hailstones\nin sunshine.\n\nNext morning she carried out all the ashes, strewed them about the\ntown-place, and swept the hearth nine times before she lighted a new\nfire. The poor woman never rested till she told old Parson Stephens. He\ndidn't altogether believe the boy's story, but said that if it was the\ndevil's money she did right, or she might have--brought it to him.\n\nThe boy was so terrified by what his mother said, that, for years after,\nhe never ventured to wander by night, even when he hunted for Sir Rose,\nand was as stout a man as one might see of a market day; and the sight\nof a black bull or anything he took for such would always make him\ntremble.\n\nThere are many stories of this class about people having been enticed\nwith devil's money, but few of them have so fortunate an ending as the\nold huntsman's relation.\n\n\n THE SLIGHTED DAMSEL OF GWINEAR.\n\n Trust me no tortures that the poets feign\n Can match the fierce, th' unutterable pain\n He feels who, day and night, devoid of rest,\n Carries his own accuser in his breast.\n JUVENAL.\n\nThere is a general belief, in the western part of Cornwall, that if a\ngreatly injured person, the last thing before death, reads or recites\nthe 109th Psalm, usually called the \"Cursing Psalm,\" applying its\ncomminations to the injurer, the dying maledictions are sure to take\neffect.\n\nNearly a hundred years ago there lived in Gwinear Church-town a young\nman called Thomas Thomas, who for many years courted his cousin,\nElizabeth Thomas, of the same place. She was much attached to the young\nman, who often promised to make her his wife; but, when she had shown\nher utmost trust in him, on some little disagreement, he slighted her\nand proposed to wed another damsel of the same village.\n\nOne Sunday afternoon he took his new love for a walk, passing by his old\nsweetheart's door, purposely to spite her.\n\nSoon after they had passed the cot of Elizabeth's parents, the betrayed\nand wronged girl, who was of a very hasty temper, took a rope and a\nprayer book, went into a road-way field, and hanged herself near the\npath by which her faithless lover and his new fiance had passed, and\nwould, probably, return.\n\nThey came home, however, by another road. On their arriving in\nChurch-town, somebody asked them if they had seen Elizabeth, and\nremarked that no one knew where she had gone, as she had been sought in\nvain all over Church-town.\n\n\"Good God,\" exclaimed Thomas, \"has she made away with herself? For more\nthan once she vowed that she would if I slighted her.\"\n\nThen, as if tokened by her spirit, he went, followed by others, direct\nto the tree on which they found her hanging and dead.\n\nOn the ground, at her feet, was her open prayer book. He took it up and\nfound a leaf turned down at the \"Cursing Psalm;\" on a leaf too he read\nher name followed by \"When this you see remember me.\"\n\nThomas then knew how she had doomed him; and he exclaimed \"I'm ruined,\nI'm ruined, for ever and ever.\"\n\nFor a long while he wandered about like one distracted, working in\nvarious parts of the country, sometimes at mining, other times at\nhusbandry, and never returned to Gwinear Church-town.\n\nLittle was seen of him, by anyone who knew him, until after some years,\nwhen he went to live in Market-jew. He would never venture to church or\nchapel for fear of hearing read the 109th Psalm; he dreaded even to pass\nnear a school for the same reason.\n\nHe was several times hurt in the mines, in which he worked; and he\nattributed all his misfortunes and bad luck to the curse of Elizabeth,\nwhose avenging ghost often appeared to him--as well by day as by\nnight--with an open prayer book in her hand.\n\nHe could never sleep without a comrade in his room; and seldom even\nthen, for, after a short slumber, when worn-out with fatigue, he would\nstart up in bed, crying in agony, \"Oh, dear Betsy, shut the book. Do\nshut the book.\"\n\nNotwithstanding the distraction of his mind, he was still a fine,\nstrong, lusty, man, and many of his comrades advised him to get married,\nsaying there was nothing like a living wife to drive away the spirit of\na dead sweetheart. Taking their advice, he paid his addresses to several\nyoung women of the neighbourhood and others farther away; but they, one\nand all, flouted him with scorn, for the history of his unfortunate\nfirst love was blown far and near. If he persisted in his suit the\nindignant damsels would ask him with a sneer if he wished to bring all\nthe ill-wishes of the \"Cursing Psalm\" on their heads, too.\n\nAt length, however, a widow in Market-jew took pity on Thomas and\nconsented to venture her lot with him; and Betsy's ghost ceased\npersecuting him--for a bit.\n\nBut on the road to St. Hilary Church--whither Thomas and the widow\nproceeded to get married--the weather suddenly changed; from a calm and\nsunshine it became a tempest, with thunder and lightning; it was harvest\ntime, and a cloud, black as night, hung over them, and rain poured along\nchurchway-path, whilst they saw people binding barley in the fields on\neither hand.\n\nThomas, trembling with fear, saw his sweetheart's ghost, with her open\nbook, standing menacingly in the path before him; and he would have\nturned back, had not the widow urged him on, saying that she saw no\nghost, and didn't mind her nor yet her book; and got him married. He\nlived for a few years pretty tranquilly; and his wife bore him two\nchildren. Then he was again disturbed with visits from the avenging\nghost; and some misfortune or sickness always closely followed its\nappearance; until Thomas--worn-out in body and mind--when less than\nforty years of age died, and was buried in St. Hilary.\n\n\n THE WRECK OF ADMIRAL SIR CLOUDESLEY SHOVEL.\n\nWe are reminded by the above of the wreck of Admiral Sir Cloudesley\nShovel's ship, the \"Association,\" at Scilly; and of a tradition, common\nto the Islands, which attributes that disaster to the reading or\nreciting of the 109th Psalm, shortly before death, by one of Sir\nCloudesley's crew, whom he unjustly condemned to be hanged.\n\nThe Admiral was returning with his fleet from Toulon, when, on the\nevening of the 22nd October, 1707, his ship struck on the Gilstone,\nabout three miles and a half from St. Agnes; and in a few minutes\nafterwards she went down, and everybody on board perished, except one\nman, who saved himself by floating on a piece of timber to a rock called\nHellweathers,--about two miles and a half from the Gilstone,--where he\nremained some days before the weather permitted any boat to approach and\ntake him off to St. Agnes.\n\nHe is said to have stated that the day before the Admiral's ship was\nwrecked, one of the crew, who was a native of Scilly, and well\nacquainted with the channel, represented to Sir Cloudesley that the\ncourse the ship was taking would bring her on Scilly rocks. The Admiral\nand his officers were incensed at the man's interference; and because he\npersisted in affirming that the ship's way was wrong and would bring\nthem to destruction, Sir Cloudesley Shovel--rather summarily, one might\nnow think--condemned the man to be hanged for insubordination and\nendeavouring to excite a mutiny.\n\nWhen the poor fellow was tied to the mast, preparatory to his being\nsuspended by his neck, from the yard-arm, he begged, as a last favour,\nthat a Psalm might be read before his execution. His request being\ngranted, he selected the 109th, and repeated certain imprecatory\nportions of it after the reader; and the last words he uttered were to\nthe effect that Sir Cloudesley Shovel and those who saw him hanged\nshould never reach the land alive.\n\nHis body, shrouded in a hammock, with a shot to sink it, was cast into\nthe deep, and but little heed paid to the dying sailor's sentence.\nShortly after, however, the sky, which had been gloomy all day, became\nmuch darker; black, lowering, clouds, hung over the fleet like a funeral\npall, and the gale rose to a violent tempest. Then the hanged man's\ncurse was dreaded; and lo, to the crew's consternation, they beheld his\ncorpse--divested of its rude winding-sheet--floating near the doomed\nship, which it closely followed, with its face turned towards her,--in\nall her varying course, through eddying currents,--until she struck on\nthe Gilstone; when the hanged man went down with the ship and his\nmessmates.\n\nAt this unfortunate time there perished, besides the Admiral, several\nofficers, and about two thousand men, belonging to the \"Association\" and\nother vessels of the fleet.\n\nSir Cloudesley Shovel's body was washed ashore at Porth-Hellick Bay, in\nSt. Mary's, about eight miles from the Gilstone. It was quite naked, and\non the hatch of a ship, on which he had endeavoured to save\nhimself,--and a little dog lay by him,--when he was found by a soldier\nand his wife, who only knew him to be the Admiral by a diamond ring on\nhis finger. They buried him in the sand, where a pit on Porth-Hellick\nBank still marks Sir Cloudesley Shovel's grave. The pit never fills up\nin the greatest storms; and no grass ever grows on this blasted grave,\nalthough the ground around it is often green.\n\n\"So the hanged seaman had as sweet a bit of revenge as one could wish\nfor,\" said our narrator, with a motion of his head which showed his\nsatisfaction at the Fates' award.\n\nConnected with this unfortunate occurrence, there is a gratifying bit of\ntrue history--we cannot say so much for all the above--which says that\nLady Shovel, on having her husband's ring,--by which his body was\nidentified,--sent her by the soldier, she gave him a pension for life;\nand the Admiral was deposited in Westminster Abbey, where his monument\nrecalls the direful tale.\n\n\n A NIGHT'S RIDE TO SCILLY.\n\n No repares en eso, Sancho, que como estas cosas y estas volater\u00edas\n van fuera de los cursos ordinarios, de mil leguas ver\u00e1s y oiras lo\n que quisieres, y no me aprietes tanto, que me derribas; y en verdad\n que no s\u00e9 de qu\u00e9 te turbas ni te espantas, que osar\u00e9 jurar que en\n todos los dias de mi vida he subido en cabalgadura de paso mas\n llano: no parece sino que no nos movemos de un lugar. Destierra,\n amigo, el miedo, que en efecto la cosa va como ha de ir, y el\n viento llevamos en popa.\n * * * * *\n Bien es verdad que sent\u00ed que pasaba por la region del aire, y aun\n que tocaba \u00e1 la del fuego; pero que pas\u00e1semos de all\u00ed no lo puedo\n creer.\n D. QUIJOTE.\n\nMany persons, not at all given to lying, assert that they have been\ncarried up and away by Old Nick, in the form of a horse. For the most\npart, they affirm that they were taken \"towers high;\" and, when their\ninfernal steed descended it threw them off violently, and vanished in\nfire and smoke.\n\nWe know a man called Jackey--never mind his surname--who had long been\na sober character, and was so particularly veracious that he prefaced\nall his stories by saying, \"I won't tell 'e a word of a lie, and know\nit!\" Indeed this common affirmation of his has become an every-day\nsaying, when anything doubtful is related. Well, Jackey has often told\nus, and many others, that, when a young man, and not so good as he might\nhave been, he dwelt in the north of St. Just, and courted a girl who\nlived in Tardinney with her parents, who either rented a few acres or\nsome dairy cows. One Sunday afternoon he went early to see his\nsweetheart. Whilst she was out milking, and he with her, the old woman,\nher mother, made a nice heavy currant-cake for tea. All was ready on the\nboard when they returned from milking. Jackey made a hearty tea, or\nsupper, as we should say; but, when that was over, the old woman said,\n\"I've made a junket for thee, Jackey, as it's the first Sunday in May;\nit's in the dairy, 'runn'd' by this time; I'll bring it to thee in a\nminute.\"\n\n\"Don't think I can find room for it,\" said he; \"I'm as full as a tick.\"\n\n\"Hold thy tongue,\" said she; \"go thee wayst out and take a few jumps\ndown from the heaping-stock, and pack the tea and trade away! Junket is\nno fillan, any more than drink; it will only quaff (puff) one for a\nbit.\"\n\nJackey went out and exercised himself a few minutes, by leaping over a\nstile; came in and found on the table a basin of junket well spread with\nthick cream and honey. It was no shabby allowance either, for the bowl\nheld a quart or more. Whilst Jackey dispatched his junket his sweetheart\nrigged herself in her best, and then away they went down to Sennen\nChurch-town to Methodist meeting. There they met several of his comrades\nwith their sweethearts. Preaching over, they all went into the \"First\nand Last\" for a drop of something to drink. Santusters are always free\nenough in treating the women--and everybody else for that matter--so\neach of the fair ones had a glass of gin-and-peppermint or of brandy and\ncloves, or both if they liked, and most of them did like to taste both\ncordials and a glass of shrub besides. The men had a few mugs of\nshenackrum (gin and beer) with a dram of rum all around to finish off.\nThey were a score or more going to St. Just; and all kept together till\nthey came to the Burying-place Downs, where they parted company, and all\nthe Santusters went Brea way, singing snatches of some well-known\nrevival hymns to lively song tunes, except Jackey, who had to put his\nsweetheart home by the other road.\n\nIt was between ten and eleven o'clock when they got to Tardinney, and\nfound the old folks gone to bed. A glowing turf-fire burned on the\nhearth, and they stayed courting till about one in the morning. But\nbefore Jackey left, his kind-hearted dear had tempted him to a slight\nsupper of half a dozen eggs that she had saved up during the week\nunknown to the \"old 'oman,\" and which were boiled over the turfy-fire.\nJackey ate them with some bread and butter, then he had a good piece of\ncold cake, left from tea, with a bowl of milk; kissed; said good-night;\nand started for home.\n\nJackey had been tramping about nearly all day. He had a tiresome walk\nbefore him of nearly four miles; and to foot it, all alone, seemed\ndoubly wearisome. He walked on pretty fast till he came half-way over\nKelynack Downs. There he sat down to rest a minute and felt tired enough\nto sleep in a pool of water. He couldn't help wishing, when he rose to\nproceed, that an old horse might come in his way,--there were generally\nplenty of them on the common. He hadn't gone more than a hundred yards,\nwhen he saw what appeared to be an old black horse standing stock-still,\nas if asleep, close by the road. Jackey untied and took the halter it\nwas spanned (hobbled) with from its legs, placed it over its head,\nmounted, and did his utmost to keep it on the road. But, in spite of all\nhe could do, it took off westward over the Downs, going slowly at first,\nbut soon quickened its pace till it went like the wind, and he was\nnearly blown off sometimes, with the rush of air occasioned by their\nspeed, for there was no wind to speak of.\n\nThe night was so clear that he saw the Longships light nearly all the\ntime, till they came to the cliff near the Land's End, to the best of\nhis judgment. He felt no fear to speak of. The thing he bestrode took\nhim over cliff--not right down, but sloping away gently. It went off\nthrough the air--just skimming the sea--straight to Scilly, and arrived\nthere very quickly:--he thought it might be in a quarter of an hour or\nthereaway, from the time he left the Longships behind his back till they\ncame to St. Agnes flashing light.\n\nThere was no stay when it came to the islands; for away it went all\naround and across them so high up that he saw all Scilly isles spread\nout like a map, and so plainly that he always remembered their position.\nThen without any control from the rider, Jackey's steed turned tail on\nScilly and brought him back--about daybreak--to Kelynack Downs again,\nwithin a stone's throw of the rock where he mounted, shook him off\npretty gently, and vanished in flame and smoke--as usual.\n\nThe Devil carried Jackey easy enough; but, for nearly a week after his\nride, he felt very stiff and sore all over.\n\nIf any doubting body questioned the truth of this story or hinted that\nperhaps he fell asleep on Kelynack Downs and had \"the stag,\" or got\n\"hilla-rodden,\" (night-mare) he would reply,\n\n\"Don't 'e believe it, my dear; not sure nuf; and, as a proof that what\nI tell 'e is true, if you will give me a piece of chalk I'll mark out\nall the islands as I seed them, and as correct as anyone who had lived\nthere all his time. Yet I had never been to Scilly before, nor have I\nsince that night. Bless the Lord, I had a narrow escape; but didn't stay\nso late a-courting any more, and a few months after that night's ride,\nMally and me--we got married.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nOne can't see what motive Old Nick had in this case, to take such\ntrouble, unless it were for a mere freak, because he never seemed to\nclaim any recompense from his rider.\n\nTo be \"hilla-ridden,\" and to have the \"stag,\" are the only names known\nto old country folks for the \"night-mare,\" which is a word one never\nhears among them. There is, however, some difference in the\nsignification of our two local terms. The former means to pass the time\nin an agony of tormenting dreams; the latter is used for obstructed\nrespiration, or a feeling of weight on the chest, that prevents a person\nfrom moving.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n ANCIENT BRIDAL CUSTOMS.\n\n With the past and with the present,\n Quaint old manners still are link'd;\n Olden customs, grave and pleasant,\n Ling'ring still, though nigh extinct.\n C. T. C.\n\nSome West Country folks still observe a few old-fashioned marriage\nusages; one of which the following sketch will explain. It was given us,\nas inserted, by a young man who was one of the wedding guests.\n\n\"In the winter of 1860 we were invited to a wedding at a place called\nthe Grambler in Sancreed; with strict orders to be in time to accompany\nthe \"weddenars\" to church at ten o'clock the following Saturday morning.\n\nNot caring to take part in the ceremony, we only left Penzance at one\no'clock in the afternoon. On our arriving at New Bridge we found a\nmessenger awaiting our arrival to guide us to the bride's parents' house\nwhere the wedding was being held. He also brought a bottle of brandy\nwhich An' Nancy, the bride's mother, sent for the \"strangers from\nPenzance to drink on the way, to keep out the cold.\"\n\nOn nearing the house, we heard music and dancing, when our guide\nhastened on before to let the party know we were come. \"My dear boys,\"\nsaid An' Nancy, meeting us at the door, \"come 'e in quick out of the\ncold, we've ben afeerd you woddan coman.\"\n\nAll the company received us with hearty kindness; being placed at the\nboard, our host said, \"We've had dennar, my dears, but there's plenty\nleft for 'e,\" at the same time pitching on each of our plates a piece of\nroast beef of not less than four pounds, \"Aet that fust,\" he continued,\n\"then you shall have some more.\" My companion looking rather surprised\nat the liberal supply, An' Nancy exclaimed, \"What's the matter weth thee\nmy boy, dossena like et? Well than thee shust have somethan else;\" and\nwithout waiting a reply, took away the plate of beef and replaced it\nwith one of roast goose and a dish of boiled pudding, saying, \"Now\nthere, my dear boy, aet that, I s'ppose the beef was too tough for 'e.\"\n\nMeanwhile the wedding-party--most of whom were young people--awaited us\nin another room; we soon joined them and found good drink and cakes in\nabundance. Uncle Will, the bride's father, being called upon for a\ntoast, he gave:--\n\n \"Here's to the bridegroom and the bride,\n May they stick to each other's side;\n I hope their life will be of joy,\n And that the fust will be a boy.\"\n\nwhich was received with roars of laughter and stamping of feet. Aunt\nNancy took from a buffet several bottles of cordials for the women and\nothers who liked them; amongst others were poppy and blackberry syrups,\nsweet-drink (mead),--that had been kept some years for this happy\noccasion--and peppermint water, of her own distilling. Presently the\nfiddle struck up with a jig. \"Les have the double shuffle, Uncle Will,\"\nsaid the young people. Up he jumped as lively as a kid, though he was\nnear eighty, and footed it out to the delight of all.\n\nYoung Jan of Santust (St. Just) followed, making the fire fly from the\nheels of his boots, like flashes of lightning; and all the company were\nquickly whirling, in reels, without much order.\n\nNow, whilst the gaiety was at its height, the newly-wedded couple had\ncontrived to slip out quietly, and hasten to their new home. \"They're\noff, they're off,\" cried several voices; \"come on soas, or else we shall\nbe too late; they will be in bed and lock the door.\" Away they all flew,\nlike mad devils, scampering over hedges and ditches for nearly a mile.\nWe followed--fortunately for us it was a clear moonlight night.\n\nWhen we got to the house the foremost of the party were up stairs. \"Come\n'e up, boys,\" shouted they; up we went and found the bride and\nbridegroom in bed, with their clothes on, having had no time to lock the\ndoor even, as the wedding guests were close on their heels.\n\nWe shall long remember the scene we then witnessed; the guests were\nbeating them in bed, with stockings, straps, braces, or anything they\ncould lay hands on. \"Give them pepper,\" shouted young Jan, the groom's\nbest man; \"give et them, boys,\" and pepper them they did right merrily.\nNot wishing to be behind the rest, we took off our braces and followed\nsuit. They continued this strange sport for a good while, until the\nleader said, \"Les go back, soas, or else we shall be all ill-wisht, for\net's nearly twelve a'clock.\"\n\nAway they again rushed back to the old folks' house; and each one on\narriving, before speaking, touched the cravel, (lintel or head-stone of\nthe hearth) with his or her head, for good luck.\n\nThe old couple seemed well satisfied when we returned, as it was not\nquite midnight.\n\nMany elderly folks had arrived late in the evening to drink health and\nlong life to the newly-married; they assured us that it was an old\ncustom to tan young married people to bed, or else they would meet with\nbad luck all their days. The good old souls had arranged for us to stay\nover night; but as we deemed it best to return home, they made us take\nmore to eat and drink, to keep out the cold and help us on the road,\nthey said. Then amidst hearty leave-takings and promises to visit them\nagain soon, they allowed us to depart.\n\nWell, somehow, we arrived home about daybreak, but often wished that we\nhad stopped at the Grambler till sunrise.\"\n\nAt more modish weddings the guests merely enter the bridal-chamber and\nthrow stockings--in which stones or something to make weight are\nplaced--at the bride and bridegroom in bed. The first one hit, of the\nhappy couple, betokens the sex of their first-born.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt was an old custom, religiously observed, until lately, in Zennor and\nadjacent parishes on the north coast, to waylay a married couple on\ntheir wedding-night and flog them to bed with cords, sheep-spans, or\nanything handy for the purpose; believing that this rough treatment\nwould ensure them happiness and the \"heritage and gift that cometh from\nthe Lord,\" of a numerous family.\n\n\n MADRON WELL.\n\nOn passing over a stile and entering the moor in which the well is\nsituated, cross the moor at a right-angle to the hedge, and a minute's\nwalk will bring one to the noted spring, which is not seen until very\nnear, as it has no wall above the surface, nor any mark by which it can\nbe distinguished at a distance.\n\nMuch has been written of the remarkable cures effected by its holy\nwaters, and the intercession of St. Madron, or Motran; when it was so\nfamous that the maimed, halt, and lame, made pilgrimages from distant\nparts to the heathy moor.\n\nIt is still resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May, by some\nfew women of the neighbourhood, who bring children to be cured of skin\ndiseases by being bathed in it. Its old repute as a divining fount has\nnot yet quite died out, though young folks visit it now to drop pebbles\nor pins into the well, more for fun and the pleasure of each other's\ncompany, than through any belief that the falling together, or the\nseparation of pins or pebbles, will tell how the course of love will run\nbetween the parties indicated by the objects dropped into the spring; or\nthat the number of bubbles which rise in the water, on stamping near the\nwell, mark the years, in answer to any question of time; but there was\nnot such want of faith, however, half a century ago.\n\nA short time since I visited an elderly dame of Madron, who was a highly\nreputed charmer for the cure of various skin ailments; I had known her\nfrom my childhood; and my object was to glean what I could about the\nrites practised, within her remembrance, at Madron Well, the\nCrick-stone, and elsewhere.\n\nShe gave the following account of the usages at Madron Well about fifty\nyears ago. At that time, when she lived in Lanyon, scores of women from\nMorvah, Zennor, Towednack, and other places, brought their children to\nbe cured of the shingles, wildfires, tetters, and other diseases, as\nwell as to fortify them against witchcraft or being blighted with an\nevil eye.\n\nAn old dame called An' Katty, who mostly lived in the Bossullows, or\nsome place near, and who did little but knitting-work, picked up a good\nliving in May by attending at the well, to direct the high country folks\nhow they were to proceed in using the waters.\n\nFirst she had the child stripped as naked as it was born; then it was\nplunged three times against the sun; next the creature was passed\nquickly nine times around the spring, going from east to west, or with\nthe sun; the child was then dressed, rolled up in something warm, and\nlaid to sleep near the water; if it slept, and plenty of bubbles rose in\nthe well, it was a good sign. I asked if a prayer, charm, or anything\nwas spoken during the operations? \"Why, no, to be sure,\" my old friend\nreplied, \"don't 'e know any better, there musn't be a word spoken all\nthe time they are near the water, it would spoil the spell; and a piece\nrented, not cut, from the child's clothes, or from that of anybody using\nthe well must be left near it for good luck; ever so small a bit will\ndo. This was mostly placed out of sight between the stones bordering\nthe brooklet, or hung on a thorn that grew on the chapel wall.\n\nWhilst one party went through their rites at the spring, all the others\nremained over the stile in the higher enclosure, or by the hedge,\nbecause, if a word were spoken by anybody near the well during the\ndipping, they had to come again.\" The old woman, An' Katty, was never\npaid in money, but balls of yarn, and other things she might want, were\ndropped on the road, outside the well-moors, for her; she also got good\npickings by instructing young girls how to \"try for sweethearts\" at the\nwell. \"Scores of maidens\"--the dame's words--\"used, in the summer\nevenings, to come down to the well from ever so far, to drop into it\npins, gravels, or any small thing that would sink.\" The names of persons\nwere not always spoken when the objects which represented them were\ndropped into the water; it sufficed to think of them; and as pins or\npebbles remained together or separated, such would be the couple's fate.\nIt was only when the spring was working (rising strongly) that it was of\nany use to try the spells; and it was unlucky to speak when near the\nwell at such times.\n\nThe old woman that I visited said she had never heard that any saint had\nanything to do with the water, except from a person who told her there\nwas something about it in a book; nor had she or anybody else heard the\nwater called St. Madron's Well, except by the new gentry, who go about\nnew naming places, and think they know more about them than the people\nwho have lived there ever since the world was created. She never heard\nof any ceremony being performed at the old Chapel, except that some\npersons hung a bit of their clothing on a thorn tree that grew near it.\nHigh Country folks, who mostly resort to the spring, pay no regard to\nany saint or to anyone else, except some old women who may come down\nwith them to show how everything used to be done.\n\nThere is a spring, not far from Bosporthenes, in Zennor, which was said\nto be as good as Madron Well; and children were often taken thither and\ntreated in the same way.\n\nSuch is the substance of what the dame related; and she regarded the due\nobservance of ancient customs as a very solemn matter.\n\nIn answer to the questions of \"What was the reason for going round the\nwell nine times? Leaving bits of clothing? Following the sun, &c.?\" It\nwas always the same reply, \"Such were the old customs,\" and everybody\nknew it was unlucky to do any such work, and many things besides,\nagainst the sun's course; no woman, who knew anything, would place pans\nof milk in a dairy, so as to have to unream (skim) them, in turn,\nagainst the sun, nor stir cream in that direction to make butter.\n\nBy following down the well-stream or hedge, mentioned above, we come to\nthe Chapel. In its southern wall may be noticed an opening for letting\nwater from the brook, which runs near it, flow into a baptistry in the\nsouth-western corner of the Chapel. Entering the doorway, on the\nnorthern side, one may remark that this primitive fount appears to have\nbeen arched over, after the manner of our old bee-hive huts, by the\nupper rows of stones slightly over-hanging. The altar table-slab, or\nmensa--still remaining at the east end--has a square pit worked in its\ncentre, probably to mark the spot--over reliques--on which the\nmonstrance was placed. A step makes the division between the little nave\nand sacrarium; there are also the remains of stone seats which were\ncarried all around against the walls.\n\n Let no rude hand remove,\n Or spoil thee; for the spot is consecrate\n To thee, and thou to it.\n\n\n THE CRICK-STONE, OR MEN-AN-TOL.\n\nIn a croft belonging to Lanyon farm, and about half a mile north of the\ntown-place, there is a remarkable group of three stones, the centre one\nof which is called by antiquaries the Men-an-tol (holed stone), and by\ncountry folk the Crick-stone, from an old custom--not yet extinct--of\n\"crameing\" (crawling on all fours) nine times through the hole in the\ncentre stone, going against the sun's course, for the cure of lumbago,\nsciatica, and other \"cricks\" and pains in the back. Young children were\nalso put through it to ensure them healthy growth.\n\nAntiquaries are undecided with respect to the purpose for which these\nmysterious stones were erected. Some hold that it is a sepulchral\nmonument, as well as the Men Scryfa (inscribed stone) half a mile\nfurther on, because there is a tradition that a little below, in Gendhal\nmoor, there was once so great a battle that the streams ran with blood.\nOthers think the object of its erection was for the computation of time;\namong the latter is Professor Max M\u00fcller, who, in the _Quarterly\nReview_, for August, 1867, after stating that the three stones are in a\nline bearing nearly east and west, says:--\n\n\"This Men-an-tol may be an old dial, erected originally to fix the\nproper time for the celebration of the autumnal equinox; and, though it\nmay have been applied to other purposes likewise, such as the curing of\nchildren by dragging them several times through the hole, still its\noriginal intention may have been astronomical.\"\n\nHe also thinks that the Menheeres (long stones) served the same purpose,\nas they are mostly found in pairs bearing nearly east and west.\n\nThe Tolmen, in Constantine parish, and holed stones in other parts of\nthe county, were used the same way as Lanyon Crick-stone for curing\nvarious ailments.\n\nTo cure boils and rheumatism, persons \"crame\" nine times against the\nsun, under a bramble growing at both ends.\n\nThe notion is that going against the sun will backen a disease but in\nall other cases the sun's course must be followed.\n\n\n CHARMS.\n\nThere are persons in every parish west of Hayle, and in many east of it,\nwho charm for the cure of various ailments. The members of a family,\nformerly of Sennen, are believed to possess peculiar virtues as\ncharmers, which is said to have been obtained, hundreds of years ago,\nfrom a forefather of theirs, dwelling in Escols, who found, washed in on\nGwenvor sand, a very old man, almost dead, whom he took to his house,\nhad him well cared for, so that he soon recovered and prepared to\ndepart. Before leaving, however, he told his host that he had neither\ngold nor silver to pay him for his hospitality; yet he would bestow on\nhim and his what would be of more value; and imparted to the old man of\nEscols most of the following charms, which a descendant of the family\ngave me by word of mouth; if written they are useless, and the giver of\na written one thenceforth loses the power to cure by charming.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_Charm for a scald, wild-fire, burn, or any other inflammatory\ndiseases._\n\nThe person to be charmed gathers nine bramble leaves, which are put\ninto a vessel of spring water; then each leaf is passed over and from\nthe diseased part, whilst repeating three times to each leaf as\nfollows:--\n\n \"Three ladies come from the east,\n One with fire and two with frost;\n Out with thee fire, and in with thee frost,\n In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.\"\n\nA stick of fire is then taken from the hearth and passed over and around\nthe diseased part whilst the above is repeated nine times.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_Charm for a prick of a thorn, boils, kennels, &c._\n\n \"Christ was crowned with thorns,\n The thorns did bleed but did not rot,\n No more shall thy finger (_or whatever part it may be_),\n In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n_Charm for staunching blood._\n\n \"Christ was born in Bethlehem,\n Baptised in the river Jordan;\n There he digg'd a well.\n And turn'd the water against the hill,\n So shall thy blood stand still.\n In the name, &c.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n_Charm for a tetter._\n\n \"Tetter, tetter, thou hast nine sisters.\n God bless the flesh and preserve the bone,\n Perish thou tetter and be thou gone,\n In the name, &c.\"\n\n \"Tetter, tetter, thou hast eight sisters.\n God bless the flesh and preserve the bone,\n Perish thou tetter and be thou gone,\n In the name, &c.\"\n\nThe charm is thus continued until it comes to the last, which is:--\n\n \"Tetter, tetter, thou hast no sister,\n God bless the flesh and preserve the bone,\n Perish thou tetter and be thou gone.\n In the name, &c.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n_Charm for toothache._\n\n \"Christ pass'd by his brother's door,\n Saw his brother lying on the floor.\n 'What aileth thee, brother?\n Pain in thy teeth?\n Thy teeth shall pain thee no more.'\n In the name, &c.\"\n\nThe charmer places his or her thumb on the diseased part in all but the\nfirst charm.\n\n * * * * *\n\nDivination with a Bible and key; seeking a response to doubts from the\nfirst words the eye may glance on in letting a Bible fall open; and\nvarious other superstitious practices, common to all England, are well\nknown here and need not be described.\n\n\n THE FAIRY TRIBES.\n\nBelief in fairies is far from being extinct in Cornwall, though our\ncountry folks never call them by that name.\n\nA few days since, a woman of Mousehal told me that not long ago troops\nof small people, no more than a foot and a half high, used--on moonlight\nnights--to come out of a hole in the cliff, opening onto the beach,\nNewlyn side of the village, and but a short distance from it. The little\npeople were always dressed very smart; and if anyone came near them they\nwould scamper away into the hole. Mothers often told their children that\nif they went under cliff by night the small people would carry them away\ninto \"Dicky Danjy's holt.\"\n\nAnother kind called spriggans, which simply means sprites, are believed\nto guard treasures buried in cliff and hill castles.\n\nNot long since a tinner of Lelant dreamt, three nights following, that\na crock of gold was buried in a particular spot, between large rocks\nwithin the castle, on Trecroben hill. The next clear moonlight night he\ndug up the ground of which he had dreamt. After working two or three\nhours he came to a flat stone which sounded hollow; whilst digging round\nits edges, the weather became suddenly dark, the wind roared around the\ncarns, and looking up, when he had made a place for his hands to lift\nit, he saw hundreds of ugly spriggans coming out from amidst the rocks\ngathering around and approaching him. The man dropped his pick, ran down\nthe hill and home as fast as he could lay foot to ground; he took to his\nbed and was unable to leave it for weeks.\n\nWhen he next visited the castle he found the pit all filled in, with the\nturf replaced; and he nevermore dug for the treasure.\n\nPiskey still leads benighted people astray; this sprite wanders alone\nand is always spoken of in the singular. It is somewhat remarkable that\na green bug, frequently found on bramble bushes in autumn, is called by\nthis name. After Michaelmas, it is said, that blackberries are\nunwholesome because Piskey spoils them then.\n\nPlaces frequented by goats are believed to be the favourite haunts of\nfairies.\n\nIt is uncertain whether Bucka can be regarded as one of the fairy tribe;\nold people, within my remembrance, spoke of a Bucka Gwidden and a Bucka\nDhu--by the former they meant a good spirit, and by the latter an evil\none, now known as Bucka boo. I have been told, by persons of credit,\nthat within the last forty years it was a usual practice with Newlyn and\nMousehal fishermen to leave on the sand at night a portion of their\ncatch for Bucka. Probably from this observance the common nickname of\nNewlyn Buckas was derived. An old rhyme says:--\n\n \"Penzance boys up in a tree,\n Looking as wisht as wisht can be;\n Newlyn buckas as strong as oak,\n Knocking them down at every poke.\"\n\nFrom this it appears that Newlyn boys once considered it a matter of\npride to be called by the name of their ancient divinity.\n\nThe knockers of the mines--that some class among fairy tribes--are\nsimply believed, by our tinners, to be the spirits of those who worked\nthe 'old bals' in ancient times.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n MERMAIDS AND THE HOOPER.\n\nWithin easy memory many parts of the western coast were said to be\nfrequented by mermaids, particularly Sennen Cove. This place was also\nresorted to by a remarkable spirit called the Hooper--from the hooting\nor hooping sounds which it was accustomed to make.\n\nIn old time, according to tradition, a compact cloud of mist often came\nin from over sea--when the weather was by no means foggy--and rested on\nthe rocks called Cowloe, thence it spread itself, like a curtain of\ncloud, quite across Sennen Cove. By night a dull light was mostly seen\namidst the vapour, with sparks ascending as if a fire burned within it;\nat the same time hooping sounds were heard proceeding therefrom. People\nbelieved the misty cloud shrouded a spirit, which came to forewarn them\nof approaching storms, and that those who attempted to put to sea found\nan invisible force--seemingly in the mist--to resist them.\n\nA reckless fisherman and his son, however,--disregarding the\ntoken--launched their boat and beat through the fog with a threshal\n(flail); they passed the cloud of mist which followed them, and neither\nthe men, nor the Hooper, were evermore seen in Sennen Cove.\n\nThis is the only place in the west where any tradition of such a\nguardian spirit is preserved.\n\n\n THE WRECKER AND THE DEATH SHIP.\n\n Full well 'tis known adown the dale;\n Tho' passing strange indeed the tale,\n And doubtful may appear.\n SHENSTONE.\n\nPersons of a notoriously wicked character were said to have been\nfrequently taken off bodily by Old Nick when they died. The following is\none of many stories to that effect.\n\nMore than a hundred years ago a dark strange man appeared in St. Just;\nno one knew whence he came, but it was supposed, however, that he was\nput ashore from a pirate ship, by way of marooning him; as the crews of\nsuch are wont to do by any wretch that is too bad even to consort with\nhigh sea robbers.\n\nHe didn't appear to want for money as he soon rented a small, lone,\ntenement, near the shore, and married a widow of the neighbourhood.\n\nPeople wondered, for a long while, how so many vessels got wrecked under\nthe cliff that bordered the stranger's farm.\n\nAt length it was discovered that on dark winter nights--when honest\nfolks were a-bed--he made it his practice to fasten a lantern to the\nneck of a horse, which he had hobbled, by tying down its head to a\nfore-leg; then he drove the horse along near the cliff, and the lantern,\nfrom its motion, would be taken for a vessel's stern-light.\n\nConsequently those on board ships sailing by, expecting to find plenty\nof sea room, would come right in and be wrecked on the rocks. Any of\ntheir crews that escaped a watery grave the wretch would knock on the\nhead with his axe, or cut off their hand when they tried to grasp the\nrocks.\n\nHe lived long and became rich by his sin. At length, however, the time\ncame for the fiend to claim his own. When he was dying his awful shrieks\nwere heard far away, as he cried, \"Do save me from the devil, and the\nsailors, there, looking to tear me to pieces.\" Several parsons and other\npious folks were sent for,--all those of the neighbourhood readily came,\nfor the dying sinner was rich.\n\nThough it was in harvest time and high day, the old wrecker's chamber\nbecame, at times, as dark as night. The parsons saw the devil in the\nroom, when others could not; by their reading they drove him to take\nmany shapes, but for all that he would not be put out; at last, when he\ntook the form of a fly, and buzzed about the dying wretch, they saw it\nwas in vain for them to try any longer.\n\nDuring the time the exorcists were engaged, the chamber seemed--by the\nsound--to be filled with the sea splashing around the bed; waves were\nheard as if surging and breaking against the house, though it was a good\nbit inland.\n\nWhilst this was taking place at the dying wrecker's bedside, two men,\nwho were about harvest work in one of his fields near the cliff, heard a\nhollow voice, as if coming from the sea, which said, \"The hour is come\nbut the man is not come.\"\n\nLooking in the direction whence the words came, they saw no person; but\nfar out to sea, they beheld a black, heavy, square-rigged ship, with all\nsail set, coming fast in, against wind and tide, and not a hand to be\nseen aboard her.\n\nShe came so close under cliff that only her topmast could be seen; when\nblack clouds--that seemed to rise out of the deep--gathered around her\nand extended thence straight to the dying man's dwelling.\n\nThe harvest-men, terrified at the sight of this ship-of-doom so near\nthem, ran up to the town-place, just as the old sinner died, when his\ndwelling shook as if about to fall. Everybody, in great fright, rushed\nout and saw the black clouds roll off towards the death-ship, which, at\nonce, sailed away--amidst a blaze of lightning--far over sea, and\ndisappeared.\n\nThe weather immediately cleared, and nothing unusual occurred until a\nfew men assembled to put the wrecker's ghastly remains quickly off the\nface of the earth; then, as the coffin was borne towards the churchyard,\na large black pig came--no one knew from whence--and followed the\nbearers, who all declared the coffin was too light to contain any body.\nThe sky, too, became suddenly overcast, and a tempest raged to that\ndegree, they could scarcely keep on their legs to reach the churchyard\nstile, where such sheets of blinding lightning flashed around them, that\nthey dropped the coffin and rushed into the church.\n\nThe storm having abated, they ventured out, and found nothing of the\ncoffin but its handles and a few nails, for it had been set on fire, and\nall else consumed, by the lightning.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt does not appear what business the black pig had in the funeral\nprocession; such is the way, however, in which the story is always told.\n\n\n THE SUN NEVER SHINES ON THOSE WHO HAVE\n \"SWORN AWAY A LIFE.\"\n\nOne frequently hears, in remote country places, the reproachful sayings\nof, \"The sun wont shine on thee,\" or, \"the sun don't shine on thee.\"\nThis is regarded as a very bitter taunt, even by those who do not\nunderstand its allusion or the old belief from which it proceeds.\n\nThe following story, told me by an aged mine captain, of Lelant, will\nserve to explain it.\n\nA few years ago a smuggler of Breage gave false evidence, which caused\none of another crew to be hanged, on the charge of having fired a fatal\nshot at an officer belonging to a revenue cutter.\n\nThis perjurer, who swore away an innocent man's life, received--for\ninforming--such a sum of blood money as made him comparatively rich, yet\nhe remained at sea for several years, until he came to live at Hayle.\nFew persons there knew him; but everybody remarked that he looked\ndeathly pale and shivered with cold, however warm the weather might be.\nHe lived alone and rarely left his house to go beyond his garden, and\nhis neighbours said that when he stood out in \"sunshiney\" weather he\ncast no shadow. They surmised that he had been forsworn; for he could\nnever see the sun, and the sky always appeared dark to him; yet he saw\neverything else the same as other people.\n\nAfter his decease it became known how he had caused an innocent man's\ndeath.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Notices of other popular superstitions may be found by a reference\n to the Index.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n A LEGEND OF PENGERSEC.\n\n So I your presence may enjoye,\n No toil I will refuse;\n But wanting you, my life is death;\n Nay, death Ild rather chuse.\n FAIR ROSAMOND.\n\n\nMany years ago an elderly gentleman of Gwinear told me the following\nstory, which he had often heard related by old folks of that parish and\nBreage, about certain ancient occupants of Pengersec; who dwelt there\nlong before the present castle was built by Milliton, who, according to\ntheir legend, constructed his stronghold in the time of Henry VIII, out\nof the ruins of a former castle which stood near the same site; and of\nwhich, they say, some out-works may still be traced towards the sea.\n\nMy friend made a point of telling the story just as it was related by\nold folks, and I wrote the greater part of it from his recital.\n\nIt contains, however, too many details of dreadful crimes to please\ngeneral readers; and as I think it right to give our old stories\nunmutilated--so far as a due regard to decorum permits--I hesitated\nabout publishing it until advised to do so by friends who thought it\nwould interest antiquarian students.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe lords of old Pengersec Castle were all soldiers who rarely lived at\nhome. When the last lord's father was about twenty, as there was no\nfighting going on hereabouts, he betook himself to outlandish countries,\nfar away in the east, to a place inhabited by people who were little\nbetter than savages; for, instead of tilling the ground or digging for\ntin, they passed their time roving from place to place as they wanted\nfresh pastures for their cattle. They lived in tents covered with the\nskins of their flocks, and their raiment was made of the same material;\nyet these heathen worshippers of Termagaunt got plenty of gold and\nprecious things, by sending their young men to fight, for or against, or\nto rob their more industrious neighbours who dwelt in houses, tilled the\nground, and followed trades.\n\nWell, Pengersec went to war with these pagans, for or against, we don't\nknow nor care which, no more did he, so that he was fighting.\n\nWhilst there, however, he fell in love with a beautiful Princess of the\npeople who dwelt in towns.\n\nHe wished to carry her off, but he couldn't, because she was betrothed\nto a Prince of that country and jealously watched; yet Pengersec often\nfound means to visit the lady in the dead of night; and about the time\nhe left to return home she bore him a child, which was \"put going\" (made\naway with). In spite of all, the Princess would then have followed him,\nhad he not vowed to return for her soon, or if, in the meanwhile, the\nold king, her father, died--and not having male offspring--he would\nmarry her there and reign in his stead.\n\nThen she took off her finger-ring, broke it, and gave him half, saying,\n\"when this you see, remember your love in a far country;\" and he swore\nby all she held sacred to remain unwed for seven years unless he married\nher.\n\nShortly after his return home, however, he espoused a fair lady of\nHelaston. There being no signs of his wife's likelihood to present him\nwith an heir--after having been married a year or two--he became very\ndissatisfied; and hearing of new wars in the east he returned--before\nseven years had elapsed--to the country where the former Princess--now a\nQueen--reigned in her own right.\n\nHe renewed their former connection--taking good care not to tell her he\nhad a wife at home--and led her troops to war against the Prince who\nwould have had his Queen and her dominions but for him.\n\nShe lent Pengersec her father's enchanted sword--a magic weapon that\nbrought success to the rightful possessor--and fought by his side; yet\nthey were conquered; and the Cornish rover missed his lady-love in their\nconfused retreat; when, to save himself, as best he could, he took ship\nfor home and left her to her fate.\n\nNow the Queen escaped to a port where she had many vessels, and knowing\nthat Pengersec's castle was near a place to which they often went for\ntin, she embarked with an aged captain and set sail for the Mount,\nhoping that if the man she trusted and loved above all in heaven or\nearth had escaped with life, she would find him in his native land.\n\nMeanwhile the treacherous lover had returned and found his wife with an\ninfant at the breast; he blamed her because she had not informed him of\nher state before he left home. In reply, she told him how she feared to\nraise his hopes, not being sure they would be realized.\n\nHe had scarcely settled himself comfortably in his castle with his wife\nand his son--of whom he was very fond--when, one night, the Queen\nknocked at his gate. In her arms she held a babe that had been born at\nsea; weeping, she showed it to its father who refused to admit her\nwithin his doors. \"What can have possessed thee to follow me here thou\ncrazy saracen,\" said he, \"know that I've many years been wed.\" \"Cruel\nman, dos thou spurn thy little son and me from thy doors,\" she replied,\n\"now that I am in this strange land poor and needy.\" Not wishing the\ninmates of his dwelling to hear or see any more of the strange lady, he\nled her away down by the sea-side. There, standing on a cliff, she\nreproached him with being a faithless, perjured lover; with having\nstolen the magic sword, on which the safety of her land depended; and\nwith being the cause of all her misfortunes. He threatened to drown her\nunless she promised to return at once to her own country. \"Alas! I have\nno longer a country,\" said she, \"for thee I am become a disgrace to my\npeople, who scorn me,\" and raising her hand--as if to curse him--she\ncontinued, \"but thou shalt no longer flourish; may evil meet thee and\nbad luck follow thee to the sorrowful end of thy days.\"\n\nProvoked at her upbraiding, he, in his fury, cast her over cliff, into\nthe deep, with the infant that she clasped to her breast.\n\nShortly after she was found floating lifeless on the waves, with the\nbabe asleep in her arms, by the captain and crew of her ship, who,\nfearing she might be unkindly received, wished to accompany her, but\npreferring to meet her roving lover alone, she bade them remain in the\nboat, near where she landed, at a short distance from his castle.\n\nThe Queen's remains were taken to her native land, and the good captain\nreared her child, which passed for his own son.\n\nThis old tiger of a Pengersec spent much of his time in hunting wolves,\nwhich were numerous then; the following day he was in full chase on\nTregonning hill until night, when a violent storm arose. By the\nlightning's glare he saw, cowering around him, a drove of wild animals,\nthat dreaded the awful thunder-storm more than they did the hunter and\nhis dogs. Presently appeared among them a white hare, with eyes like\ncoals of fire, then the dogs and savage beasts ran away howling louder\nthan the tempest; the horse threw its rider and left him alone on the\nhill with the white hare that Pengersec knew to be the vengeful spirit\nof the murdered lady.\n\nSearch being made next day he was found on the hill more dead than alive\nfrom the effects of his fall and fright.\n\nWorst of all he had lost the enchanted sword, with which he could save\nhis life in any encounter. This mishap troubled him much, for, when in\npossession of this charmed weapon, he thought it mere fun to lop off the\nheads of those who offended him; but now he became a coward and dreaded\nto go beyond his castle gate without a priest beside him.\n\nIndeed, he could never leave his dwelling but the white hare would cross\nhis path. When the priests vainly tried to dispose of her--like other\nspirits--in the Red Sea, she assumed her natural shape and told them not\nto think they had power to bind or loose her like the spirits of those\nwho had been in their hands from their cradle to the grave; moreover,\nthat she wouldn't be controlled by them or their gods, but, to please\nherself, would quit the place until her son came to man's estate.\n\nPengersec's cruel treatment of his wife shortened her days; she soon\ndied, leaving her unweaned child, called Marec, to be nursed by the\nmiller's wife, who shared her breast between the young heir and her son\nUter.\n\nMany years passed during which Pengersec seldom went beyond his castle\nthat he had almost entirely to himself; a few old servants only remained\nin the gloomy habitation, out of regard to the young master, that he\nmight be properly instructed and cared for. Marec, when about twenty\nyears of age, excelled in all manly exercises; being a good seaman, as\nwell as his constant attendant and foster-brother Uter, they would steer\ntheir boat through the roughest breakers, to aid a ship in distress,\nwhen other men feared to leave the shore. His favourite pastime was\ntaming wild horses of the hills, in which he was said to have remarkable\nskill.\n\nAbout this time Pengersec recovered his wonted courage, so far as to\nventure out to see the young men's sports, and to visit Godolphin\ncastle--a few miles off--where lived a rich lady whom he wished his son\nto wed.\n\nShe had often seen Marec bear away the hurling-ball, win prizes at\nwrestling and other games, and had a great desire for him and more for\nthe domain to which he was heir.\n\nAlthough she was passable as to looks, and only a year or two older than\nthe young lord, he had no liking for her, because she had the repute of\nbeing a sorceress. In all the country side it was whispered that the\ndamsel was too intimate with an old witch of Fraddam, whose niece,\ncalled Venna, was the lady's favourite waiting-woman.\n\nThey spent much time together distilling or otherwise concocting what\nthey named medicaments, though some called them poisons; and many\npersons, believing the lady had evil eyes, pointed at her with forked\nfingers to avert their baneful influence.\n\nYet, from her affected horror of little failings, pretended pity for\nthose whom she slandered by insinuations, and her constant attendance at\nchurch, simple people, that she favoured, thought her a good woman; and\ncrafty ones, from sympathy, were ever ready to further her designs.\n\nAs the young man cared more about his sports than for the lady,\nPengersec did the courting--for his son at first--but at length he\nmarried the damsel of Godolphin himself.\n\nThey had not been long wedded, however, ere she became disgusted with\nher old lord's gloomy fits, and, from seeing much of Marec, her passion\nfor him became too much for concealment. Fearing lest she might betray\nher desires to her husband, she shut herself up in her own apartments\nand, pretending to be ill, sent for the witch of Fraddam, who soon\ndiscovered her ailment.\n\nThe lady complained of her dreary life shut up in the lonesome castle\nwith her morose old husband, though he doted on her, after his fashion.\nHaving made him promise, before marriage, that she and her children\nshould inherit his lands and all he could keep from his eldest son, it\nfretted her to find that, as yet, she was not likely to become a mother.\n\"Behave kinder to Marec,\" said the wise-woman, \"that he and his comrades\nmay cheer your solitude.\"\n\n\"Never name the uncouth savage to me!\" exclaimed the lady, \"he would far\nrather chase wolves and ride wild horses around the hills than pass any\ntime, by day or by night, in a lady's bower.\" The witch being skilled in\nmaking love-potions and powders, after more converse, promised to send\nher a philter, by the aid of which Marec would soon become her humble\nslave, and pine for her love. The love-drink was fetched without delay\nby Venna, who waited on her young master at supper and spiced his ale;\nbut this was a mistake, for it should have been prepared and served by\nthe person in whose favour it was intended to work.\n\nThe waiting-maid being a comely lass, and he a handsome man, she forgot\nher duty to her mistress, when Marec--as the custom was with gallant\nyouths--pressed her to drink from his tankard to sweeten it. The cordial\nand charms, that were intended to move his affections in the lady's\nfavour, ended in his strolling on the sea-shore with her handmaid. The\nstep-dame, unable to rest, wandered down on the beach, where she espied\nthe loving pair in amorous dalliance. Her love turned to hate; without\nbeing seen by them, she returned and passed the night in planning\nrevenge.\n\nIn the morning early the enraged lady sought an interview with her\ndoting old husband, and told him that she wished to return to her\nfather's house, because she was pining for fresh air, but dared not\nleave her room when his son was in the castle for fear of being insulted\nby his unbecoming behaviour; in fact, she gave the old lord to\nunderstand--by hints, which might mean little or much--that Marec then\ndiscovered such a passion for her as she failed to inspire before her\nmarriage.\n\nPengersec raved, and swore he would be the death of him before many\nhours were passed; at length, however, his fit of anger having\nmoderated, he assured his wife that he would get him taken so far away\nthat it would be long ere he returned to trouble her, if ever he did.\n\nThis being agreed on, the lady somewhat pacified returned to her own\napartment, and summoned her woman to attend her. Venna had no sooner\nentered the chamber than her mistress pinned her in a corner, held a\nknife to her breast, and vowed to have her heart's blood that\ninstant--for her treachery in enticing her young master to the\nsea-shore--unless she drank the contents of a phial which she held to\nher lips.\n\n\"Have patience, my dear mistress,\" said she, \"and I will either explain\nto your satisfaction what seemeth false dealing and disloyalty, or I'll\ndrain this bottle of poison to the last drop.\" Venna then told her\nmistress that she was only following her aunt's instructions to get\nMarec into her toils, and--if other means failed--induce him, in the\ndead of night, to visit her chamber by the outer stair from the garden.\n\nThe woman also proposed to make other arrangements, of which her\nmistress approved.\n\nThen the pair devised how to get rid of the old lord speedily,\nfor--having excited his jealousy--they feared he might kill his son, or\nsend him from the country without delay.\n\nThey little thought, however, when they had decided to poison him in the\nevening at his supper, that all their infernal plans were overheard by\nthe priest and steward, who had long suspected the step-dame and her\nwoman of hatching some plot against the young master.\n\nIn Pengersec castle, as in many dwellings of that time, there were\nprivate passages, contrived in the thickness of its walls. Such places,\nbeing known only to the master and his confidential servants, were\nfrequently forgotten; yet the priests, who were skilled builders and\ngreat devisers of mysterious hiding-holes, mostly knew where to find\nthem.\n\nFrom behind a perforated carving, in stone or wainscot, the lady's\nwicked designs were found out. At supper, the old steward, as was his\ncustom, stood behind his master to hand him the tankard of ale, that he\ndrank with his venison pasty, and a goblet of strong waters, that stood\nin a buffet--prepared and spiced by the lady for her husband--beside one\nfor herself, to take with the sweet waffels with which they finished\ntheir repast. The hall being but dimly lighted by the fading twilight\nand a fire on the hearth, the steward managed to distract the lady's\nattention, when removing the tankard, by letting it fall and spilling\nwhat remained in it on her robe, so that, without being noticed, he\nexchanged the two drinking-vessels' contents, and the lady took the\npoisoned draught which she had prepared for her spouse.\n\nBut it had little or no effect on her for the time, because, to guard\nagainst a mischance of this kind, she had long accustomed herself to\nimbibe poisons, in increasing doses, until she could stand a quantity\nthat would be fatal to one not thus fortified.\n\nAfter supper the priest informed Marec of the snares laid to entrap him,\nand of the step-dame's murderous attempt on his father.\n\nThe lady despaired of accomplishing her designs, as Marec showed by his\nbehaviour, that he regarded her with loathing. One day, when she was\nmore gracious to him than usual, and made advances not to be\nmisunderstood, looking on her with contempt, he said, \"Know, sorceress,\nthat I detest thee and abhor thy shameful intentions, but thou canst\nneither hurt me by thy witchcraft, nor with the blight of thy evil\neyes.\" She made no reply, but left the hall and soon after told her\nspouse that his son had most grossly insulted her. \"Indeed,\" said she,\n\"I had to defend myself with all my might to preserve my honour, and\nthreatened to plunge a dagger into his heart unless he desisted and left\nmy apartment.\" Her fabricated story so provoked the old lord that he\ndetermined to dispose of his son without delay.\n\nThat evening, the weather being stormy, Marec and Uter noticed, from\nPengersec How, a vessel taking a course which would bring her into\ndangerous ground; the young men launched their boat, rowed towards the\nship, and signalled that there were sunken rocks ahead.\n\nNight was now fast closing in, and the land could scarcely be discerned\nthrough the mist, when the young men beheld something floating at a\nlittle distance. On approaching it, they saw it to be a drowning seaman\nquite exhausted, and unable to keep any longer on the surface; they\npulled with might and main and were just in time to save him. Having\nreached Pengersec Cove, they bore him to Marec's chamber, stripped off\nhis wet clothing, rubbed him dry, placed him in bed on sheep-skins, and\nlay on either side that the warmth of their bodies might help to restore\nhim. At length his breathing became regular, and, without speaking, he\nwent off in sound sleep.\n\nThe rescued sailor awoke much restored and just as well as need be,\nthough surprised to find himself in a new berth with strange\nshipmates--as he thought his two bed-fellows. He tried to get out of bed\nand have a look round, when Marec well pleased to see him so far\nrecovered--related how they had taken him into their boat the previous\nevening, when he was seemingly at the last gasp.\n\nThe seaman--who was called Arluth--then said, that he recollected having\nfallen from the \"tops\" into the water, and endeavouring to keep himself\nafloat, in hopes of being seen from his ship and rescued; but of what\nfollowed he had no remembrance. He also informed them that he was the\nson of a captain of an eastern ship, which frequently traded at Cornish\nports; fearing his father might be in great distress, from thinking him\ndrowned, he wished to get on board his ship as soon as possible.\n\nUter fetched, from the butlery, beef, bread, and beer; when the sailor\nand his master sat beside each other he remarked that they looked like\ntwin brothers, from their close resemblance.\n\nHaving breakfasted, they took horses and--followed by the dogs--started\nfor Market-jew.\n\nWhen they came out on uncultivated ground, Marec proposed to hunt as\nthey went along, that the seaman might have some game to take aboard.\n\nThey had gone but a little way when a white doe started from a thicket\nand ran towards the hills--followed by the hounds in full cry. The\nsailor's horse being an old hunter, took after them, and the rider,\nbeing an indifferent horseman, lost all control over his steed, which\nbore him after the hounds near to the top of Tregonning hill, where the\ndoe disappeared and the dogs were at fault.\n\nThe sailor alighted near the same carn where Pengersec had been thrown\nfrom his horse many years agone. He had no sooner put foot to ground\nthan lightning struck the rocks close by and they toppled over. Then he\nheard a voice--as if from the ground--that said, \"Fear not, Arluth,\nbeloved son of mine, to seize thy forefather's sword and with it win thy\nkingdom.\"\n\nThere was no one nigh him; but, on glancing towards the carn, he saw\nnear it a beautiful white hare, which gazed lovingly on him for a moment\nand then disappeared amongst the rocks. On going to the spot, where the\nrocks had been severed, he found a naked sword with sparkling jewels in\nits hilt, and the blade shone like flame.\n\nArluth, having recovered from his surprise, took up the sword, and,\nlooking round, he saw Marec and Uter near him. Surprised that it should\nbe discovered in such a place, and at what the seaman told him, Marec\nsaid, that as he had found the magic weapon, he was destined to achieve\ngreat things.\n\nArluth again thought of his father and shipmates, who, not knowing if he\nwere dead or alive would be in great trouble; he begged his companions\nto let him hasten to Market-jew, and their horses soon took them\nthither. On parting the sailor said he hoped to see his friends again;\nthey proposed to visit him in the evening; saw him embark in a boat and\npull off to his ship. The good captain was overjoyed to see him after\nhaving mourned for him as dead.\n\nArluth related how he had been rescued; drew the sword from his belt and\ntold the captain where he had found it, with what he had seen and heard\non the hill. The captain having examined it, said, \"The time is come for\nme to declare that the only relationship I bear thee is through my\nregard and loyalty to the murdered Queen, thy mother.\" He then related\nto Arluth how the Queen had lost her kingdom and magic sword, through\nher ill-requited love for Pengersec; and how he had saved him when an\ninfant. In conclusion the captain said, \"Thou wilt now understand, my\nson--let me still call thee so--how that the young lord of Pengersec,\nwho rescued thee last night, is thy brother. Thy name, too--which was\ngiven thee by thy mother, as soon as thou wast born--belongs to this\ncountry's tongue. The Queen, having heard Lord Pengersec thus called by\nhis Cornish followers who attended him to her land, took that title to\nbe one of his names, and liked it best for thee.\"\n\nThe captain also told the wondering sailor that he would be the\nacknowledged heir to their country, which had for many years been rent\nwith civil war between divers pretendants thereto, among whom there was\nno one sufficiently powerful to secure the throne, since the magic\nsword--on which their country's safety in some way depended--had been\nlost, and reserved by a protecting power for him.\n\n\"Now nothing more is wanting,\" said he, \"to enable thee to reclaim thy\nmother's dominions, and its people will gladly receive thee to give\npeace to the distracted country.\"\n\nThe young sailor was much surprised by what the captain related, and\nstill more so when he said that about the time Arluth was following the\nwhite doe Pengersec came on board his ship and proposed to hire him and\nhis crew to kidnap and carry away his son and his servant, merely to\ngratify a step-dame's spite. The captain said his only reply to the\nbefooled and unnatural father's proposal was to tell him he should never\nleave his vessel alive if he spoke to one of his crew, and to order him\nover the ship's side immediately.\n\nBeing stupified with grief, he didn't think, however, of another\nvessel--then anchored at no great distance--that came from a city where\nthe people mostly lived by piracy; the crew of this ship--which sailed\nunder any colour that suited their ends--made it their business, among\nother things, to land in lonely places, maraud the country, carry off\nyoung people, and sell them in Barbary for slaves.\n\n\"Had I but thought of it in time,\" said the captain, \"we would have\ntaken off Pengersec and given him a taste of the sea, for I knew much\nmore of him than he suspected.\" Having seen Pengersec go on board and\nleave the pirate ship, the captain and Arluth, knowing the gang would\neven murder their own brothers for a trifle of gold, determined to watch\ntheir proceedings, and rescue the young men if need be.\n\nIt was bargained between Pengersec and the pirates that, for a small\nsum, they would kidnap his son and Uter, either when they went out\na-fishing--as was their practice almost nightly--or land and steal them\nfrom the castle.\n\nMeanwhile, Arluth had arms placed in a boat; and when twilight darkened\ninto night he saw a boat leave the pirate ship. \"Now, may the gods help\nme!\" he exclaimed, springing up and brandishing his sword, \"my first use\nof this shall be to save my brother.\" Arluth with several of his crew\ngave chase.\n\nMarec and Uter, being on their way to the good captain's ship, were\nencountered by the pirates, overpowered, and put in irons, when their\ncompanion of the morning sprang into the pirate's boat and cut in pieces\nevery one of the gang.\n\nHaving released and embraced the captives, Arluth bore away to the\npirate ship, boarded her, hanged the rest of her crew, and took the\ncraft as a lawful prize; and a rich prize they found her.\n\nArluth, having returned to the good captain's ship and informed Marec\nand Uter how the old lord intended to serve them, said, \"Come with me\nand never more put foot in the place whilst thy crafty stepmother's head\nis above ground.\" Marec replied to the effect that he didn't like to go\naway until he had furnished himself and Uter with money and needful\nchanges of clothing. \"Don't touch a thing in the accursed place,\"\nreturned Arluth, \"for you have a brother belonging to the land whither\nwe are bound, who will share his last stiver with thee, and shed his\nheart's blood in thy defence. Nay, brother, be not surprised,\" continued\nhe, in drawing Marec to him, \"this brother of thine will ere long be\nking of the country.\"\n\n\"Would to heaven thou wert my brother, thou heart-of-oak, and I would\njoyfully go with thee to any land,\" replied Marec.\n\nThe captain gave the young men of Pengersec a cordial welcome, set\nbefore them the richest wines in his ship, and--smiling with\nsatisfaction to see the brothers' attachment, and Marec's puzzled\nlook--he related to him the history of his father's exploits, which had\nbeen told to Arluth, for the first time, only a few hours before.\n\nMarec had been altogether ignorant of much that the old commander\nrelated of his father's youthful adventures; he rejoiced, however, to\nfind a brother in Arluth, and to go with him, he cared not whither. Uter\nhad such a strong regard for his master that he would gladly accompany\nhim to the world's-end.\n\nArluth, having taken command of the captured pirate ship, with his\nbrother for mate--Uter, and a few hands spared from the other vessel, as\nhis crew--they at once made sail.\n\nWhilst the two ships go sailing on, with clear skies and favouring\ngales, we will return, for a brief space, to Pengersec. About the time\nthey got under way, the priest was told that the old lord had during the\nday been on board two eastern vessels; the good man, fearing this visit\nportended mischief, watched all night for Marec. When morning dawned,\nthere being no appearance of the young men nor their boat--and the ships\nhaving left the bay--he sought Pengersec; found him and his wife, early\nas it was, in the hall. The priest and steward accused the lady of\nhaving conspired with her woman and others to destroy her step-son and\nhusband. Venna, being summoned, turned against her mistress; the old\nlord, seeing how he had been fooled, ordered both women to be cast into\nthe dungeon, mounted his horse and rode in all haste to Market-jew to\nsee if any craft might be procured to sail after the departed ships and\nrecover his son. Finding nothing there to the purpose, he returned at\nnight-fall--distracted with remorse and rage--fully determined to hang\nhis wife and her woman from the highest tower of his castle.\n\nOn nearing the thicket, from which the doe started on the preceding day,\nout sprang the white hare with flaming eyes, right in face of his horse;\nthe terrified steed turned, galloped down to the shore, and, to escape\nthe pursuing hare, took to sea. Neither the horse nor its rider were\nevermore seen.\n\nThe lady was released by her father's people; she became covered with\nscales, like a serpent--from the effects of the poison she had taken it\nwas supposed--and she was shut up, as a loathsome object, in a dark room\nof Godolphin.\n\nVenna escaped to her aunt the witch of Fraddam. The old lord having\nconfessed, in his anguish, how he had disposed of his son and Uter, the\npeople of Pengersec supposed they were taken to Barbary and sold as\nslaves; hoping, however, to discover them, the old servants took good\ncare of everything, in order to save money and effect his ransom.\n\nThe two ships kept as near as might be on their voyage; and it was\nnoticed that a beautiful white bird followed them from Mount's Bay; it\noften came within bow-shot but no one dared to aim a shaft at it, for\nthe eastern mariners believed it to be the spirit of a departed friend\nwho guarded them from harm.\n\nMarec frequently passed to the old captain's vessel, when they were\nbecalmed, for he liked much to hear him tell of eastern magicians and\nthe wonderful things they did.\n\nHaving arrived at their destined port, they found their country in great\ndisorder from the war waged by many pretenders to the throne, as before\nstated by the old commander. He had no sooner, however, presented to the\npeople the young man, whom they had long known as his son, and related\nto them the history of his birth, and of the recovered magic sword, than\nthey all flocked to Arluth's standard and proclaimed him their king.\n\nArluth but little valued his new dominions at first, and would have\npreferred the command of a good ship. Yet, to please his people, he\nconsented to rule them, and soon became fully occupied with the cares of\nhis government, which he regulated like the prudent captain of a\nwell-ordered ship; he would have no idle hands nor waste of stores in\nhis dominions.\n\nKing Arluth wished his brother to live with him as chief mate and\nadviser, and offered to dwell in any place he might choose, so it was\nnear their principal port, that he might superintend the traffic.\n\nMarec was loath to part with his brother, but his fancy was so fired\nwith what the captain told him about a people, living near them, who\nwere skilled in magic, that he ardently desired to visit their country,\nand, if possible, acquire some of their extraordinary wisdom.\n\nArluth, on becoming acquainted with his wishes, furnished a vessel with\nsuch merchandise as would meet with a ready sale in the wise-men's\ncountry; equipped his brother in every way becoming his rank, and\ndispatched him and Uter under the care of trustworthy persons.\n\nMarec remained a long while studying among the magicians, and learned\nmany curious arts, unknown in western lands. He also married a beautiful\nand rich lady, who was gifted with many rare accomplishments, and Uter\nwedded her favourite damsel.\n\nIn about three years, the old captain--who, in the meantime, had made a\nvoyage to Market-jew for tin--came to the sage's country on purpose to\ninform Marec that his father had long been dead, and how the people on\nhis estate had sent him money and wished for his speedy return.\n\nPengersec's heart then yearned for his home and his people; he told his\nwife how in the pleasant land, towards the setting sun, gentle showers\ndescended, all summer long, like dews distilled from Heaven, and kept\nthe fields ever verdant; how crops succeeded crops throughout the year,\nwhich was like a perpetual spring compared with the arid land in which\nthey then dwelt. He said how hills and dales were covered with fat herds\nin that happy land, whose inhabitants had not to hunt half-starved wild\nanimals for their subsistence, but only followed the chase for pastime;\nhow by a process, unknown in other lands, a liquor was there brewed from\ngrain, which made those who drank it as strong as giants and brave as\nlions; how the Cornish people merely washed the soil of their valleys\nand found metals--more precious than silver or gold.\n\n\"That is the tin, to obtain which your eastern mariners make their\nlongest and most dangerous voyages,\" said Pengersec--as we shall now\ncall Marec--\"besides,\" continued he, \"I have a strong and fair castle in\na green valley by the sea; I will build thee a bower by the murmuring\nshore, where we will have delightful gardens and everything for\npleasure.\" \"Say no more, my beloved, about the delights of thy land,\"\nshe replied, \"for I shall little regard that when thou art by; thy home\nshall be mine wherever thou choosest to dwell; and whenever it pleaseth\nthee let us depart.\"\n\nAfter procuring many magical books and other things, necessary for the\npractice of occult sciences, Pengersec and his lady, with Uter and his\nspouse, took leave of the sages and made sail for home.\n\nOn the way, Pengersec stayed some time with King Arluth, who presented\nhim with a foal of the choicest stock of his country; he also sent on\nboard, unknown to his brother, bales of brocade, and various rich stuffs\nof gold and silver tissue, besides pearls, precious stones, and other\nvaluable things; and, promising to revisit each other, they took loving\nleave.\n\nThe lady passed much time on deck playing on her harp, its sweet music\nkept the weather fair, drew dolphins and other fishes from the depths of\nthe sea to sport around and follow the ship to Mount's Bay; thence it\ncame to pass that on our coast were found many rare fishes--never before\nseen here.\n\nWhen the young lord and his beautiful bride landed at Market-jew, the\npeople--one and all--came from near and far away to welcome them.\nBonfires blazed on every hill; weeks were passed in feasting at\nPengersec, where archery, hurling, slinging, wrestling, and other games\nwere carried on that the fair stranger might see our Cornish sports; at\nnight, minstrels and droll-tellers did their utmost to divert the\ncompany.\n\nThe lady of the castle took much delight in her new home; she often\npassed the mornings with her husband in hunting; she rode over moors and\nhills with a hawk on her wrist or a bow in her hand. At eve her harp\nwould be heard in Pengersec towers sending joyous strains over sea and\nland; then fishermen would rest on their oars, and sea-birds--forgetting\ntheir nightly places of rest in the western cleeves--remained entranced\naround the castle.\n\nThe people were much pleased with the outlandish lady, who admired their\nunbounded hospitality to strangers, their primitive manners, simplicity\nof heart, and sincerity of intention; for they appeared to her as\nabsolutely ignorant of fraud or flattery, as if they had never heard of\nsuch a thing; she found them to be of a free, facetious temper, though\nof a somewhat curious and inquisitive disposition--the women especially.\n\nThe lady thought our ancient language sounded much like her eastern\ntongue, and that made her feel all the more at home.\n\nPengersec was no sooner fairly settled than he built two broad and lofty\ntowers--united by a gallery--on the seaward side of his castle. The\neasternmost tower was constructed with everything requisite for his\nmagic art; in the other were placed his lady's private apartments,\noverlooking pleasant gardens, the green glen, and boundless ocean.\n\nWhen Pengersec returned, his stepmother was still immured in her dark\nchamber. In a little while, however, she fretted herself to death, and\nthe breath no sooner left her body than she returned to haunt the rooms\nformerly occupied by her in the castle. Pengersec had that portion of\nthe building at once rased to the ground, but her hideous ghost still\ncontinued to wander about the place.\n\nNow it was that the young lord essayed the power of his art to some\npurpose, for, by his enchantment, he confined her to a hole in a\nheadland, west of Pengersec Cove, called the How, and compelled her to\nassume the form of an uncommonly large adder, in which shape she is\nstill occasionally seen there, if what people of that neighbourhood say,\nbe true.\n\nOver a few years, Pengersec became so much attached to occult sciences\nthat he devoted nearly all his time to their practice; he was seldom\nseen beyond his castle, and, even there, he almost continually shut\nhimself up in his tower, where he was never approached except by his\nlady and Uter, both of whom assisted him in such operations as required\nhelp. Fires would be seen--through loop-holes in his tower--blazing all\nnight long; and the flames ascended high above the battlements when he\nchanged base metals into silver and gold.\n\nIf his fire happened to go out he rekindled it by sparks drawn from the\nsun, by means of a magic crystal. With the same glass, or another, he\nalso saw what was being done in distant lands.\n\nA person, who came from far to see the magician's wonders, on looking\ninto or through this glass, beheld in the castle-court what appeared to\nbe an uncommonly large bird carrying in its mouth a baulk of timber; on\ntaking away the glass he could only see a duck with a straw in her bill.\n\nPengersec paid no attention to his farms, which were left to Uter's\nmanagement; the lord, indeed, had no reason to care about them whilst he\ncould make gold in abundance.\n\nBut this untold riches was about the least important fruit of his\nscience, for--ere he became middle-aged--he concocted a magical elixir,\nor water-of-life, which preserved him, his lady, and others in their\nyouthful vigour.\n\nThe lord of Pengersec was soon renowned in all the west as a most\npowerful enchanter, whom everybody feared to molest--and well they\nmight. Some one from the Mount, having a mind to his fat sheep, carried\none of them down to the cliff, tied its legs together, and passed them\nover his head. At this instant, however, the enchanter, happening to\nglance at his magic glass, saw what was taking place, and put a spell on\nthe thief that made him remain in the same spot all the night with the\ntide rising around him and the sheep hanging from his neck. The\nenchanter released the thief in the morning and gave him the sheep with\na caution not to meddle with his flocks again or he would be served out\nworse.\n\n'Tis said, too, that Venna, who was now a noted wise-woman or\nwitch--living at St. Hillar Downs--often had contests with the enchanter\nto test the relative powers of their familiars; they contended with\nspells and counter-spells from mere pride of art. We omit the details\nbecause they would merely be a repetition of much that has been related\nin the foregoing stories of witchcraft and pellar-craft.\n\nAt times the lord would be seen careering over moors and hills, mounted\non his handsome mare, brought from the east; she excelled every other\nsteed for swiftness; a whisper from him would make her as docile as a\nlamb, though she was quite unmanageable with everybody else.\n\nThe castle servants were frequently alarmed by hearing the enchanter\nconjuring, in an unknown tongue, the unruly spirits that he required to\nserve him; or by loud explosions. Pungent and fiery vapours, that\nthreatened to consume the building, often sent their strong odours for\nmiles around. At such times the frightened inmates sought their lady's\naid; who, on taking her harp to the enchanter's tower, soon drove away\nor subdued the evil spirits by the power of its melody. One time the\nmagician left his furnaces and their fires to the care of his attendant\nwhilst he went to pass a while in his lady's bower; he had not been long\nthere when something told him that mischief was taking place in his\ntower. On hastening thither he found the attendant, Uter, had neglected\nhis duty; and, by reading in one of the magical books, had called up\nevil spirits in such numbers that in another instant they would have\ndestroyed him; and it required all the enchanter's power to subdue them.\n\nMany years elapsed. The lord had a numerous family--of whom he took\nlittle heed. Some of them were settled on farms, others had been adopted\nby their uncle, King Arluth, who frequently sent his brother rare drugs,\nspices, and other things, required by him for making his precious liquor\nof life. The lady, having outlived all her children and grandchildren,\nbecame weary of existence in a world, or amidst a people, that seemed\nstrange to her--all those of her own age being long dead--and wishing to\nrest with her children, though loath to leave her husband, she often\nbegged him to discontinue prolonging his life; and he--as on former\noccasions, for the last hundred years or so--always promised her to\nleave the world when he had perfected some new essay of his art, which\nwas all in all to him. His wife, however, neglected to take the\nlife-cordial, and, at length, rested beneath the sod.\n\nTheir numerous descendants were known--as the custom was then--by the\nnames of places on which they dwelt; only one of them is particularly\nmentioned by name in the legend; this was a lady, who lived in Pengersec\nCastle at the time that a Welsh Prince, from having heard of the Cornish\nmagician's renown, came over to him for instruction, and before his\ndeparture married the beautiful Lamorna, who was the sage's\ngreat-granddaughter.\n\nThe Welsh Prince, having sent a quantity of black stones to Pengersec,\nhe extracted from them a sort of liquid-fire, which, by some\nmismanagement, burst its containing vessels, and an instant afterwards\nall was in flames. The magician was consumed with all his books and\ntreasures; the castle and all it held destroyed, leaving nothing but the\nbare walls.\n\nIt is said that Venna, the witch, prolonged her life also--without the\naid of Pengersec's elixir--by merely enticing to her habitation, and\nkeeping there, goats and young people. From them, by some means of her\ncraft, she drew their youthful vigour to herself and caused them to pine\nand die. This wicked practice of hers having being discovered, young\nfolks were carefully kept out of her reach; and to prevent her from\ndoing any more mischief, one night when she was brewing her hell-broth,\nand the flames were seen rising high, the people--to prevent her\nescape--nailed up her door; put a turf over her chimney-top, and\nsmothered her in the infernal vapours that arose from her hearth.\n\nAll the chief people of the story are ended; but had it not been for\nPengersec's untoward accident he might have lived to this day.\n\nWe have preserved in the foregoing what may seem to many persons mere\nchildish fancies; if, however, the same incidents should be found in the\nfolk-lore of other lands, they will have an interest for those whose\nleisure and learning enabled them to trace our popular tales to their\nfountain-head.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAn old tinner of Lelant, who told me the story of \"Tom and the giant\nDenbras,\" brought into it the incident of Pengersec enchanting a \"giant\nof the Mount\" that came to steal his cattle. Much the same story is\nstill told in Sennen of an astrologer, and a reputed conjuror, called\nDyonysious Williams, who lived in Mayon about a century ago. This\ngentleman found that his furse-rick was diminishing much faster than\ncould be accounted for, from the ordinary consumption of fuel in his own\nhouse. He consulted his books, and discovered by his art that some\nwomen, of Sennen Cove, made it a practice of carrying away his furse\nevery night. The very next night, after all honest folks should be in\ntheir beds, an old woman of the Cove came, as usual, to his rick for a\n\"burn\" of furse. She made one of no more than the usual size, which she\ntried to lift on to her back, but found that she could not move it. She\nthen took out half the furse, but was still unable to lift the small\nquantity that remained in her rope. Becoming frightened, she tried to\nget out the rope and run, but found that she had neither the power to\ndraw it out nor to move from the spot herself. Of course the conjuror\nhad put a spell on her, and there she had to remain throughout the cold\nwinter's night until Mr. Williams came out in the morning and released\nher from the spell. As she was a very poor old soul, he let her have a\nburn of furse; but she took good care never to come any more, nor did\nthe other women who soon found out how she had been served.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, &c.\n\n\n MIRACLE PLAYS, CHRISTMAS PLAYS, &c. Page 1.\n\nThe accounts published last spring of Miracle Plays being acted in\nYorkshire, by a company of Congregationalists under the direction of a\nRoman Catholic priest, would seem to indicate a primitive state of\nsociety in the north--good feeling and sympathy between members of old\nmother church and the followers of new lights; and that Yorkshire folks\nare as much attached to ancient customs as are the Cornish, or even\nmore. Mummery, and the acting of such old Christmas plays as St. George\nand the Dragon, with the King of Egypt and Fair Sabra his daughter, were\nfavourite pastimes in the northern counties long after they fell into\ndisuse in other parts except Cornwall. These old plays, like our\nguise-dances, are of very remote origin, and founded probably on the old\nmysteries now reproduced in Yorkshire; the subject of St. George being\nintroduced at the time of the Crusades. And, if tradition may be\ncredited, our old guise-dances were also often founded on more homely\nand familiar legends, and these formed the connecting link between old\nmysteries and the modern drama.\n\nThe subject of miracle plays is interesting to us because almost the\nonly remains of ancient Cornish literature are mystery plays. One of\nthem, \"The Creation of the World,\" by William Gordon, of Helstone, in\n1611, has been published by the late Mr. Davies Gilbert. Others, of\nearlier date, have been translated and published by Mr. Norris, to which\nwe may add St. Meriseck, lately translated by Mr. Whitley Stokes. Many\nof our ancient amphitheatres, where the \"Guary miracle\" used to be\nacted--still exist, as the \"Round,\" or plain, in St. Just Church-town;\nthe Plan-an-guary, Redruth; and others farther eastward. In this age of\nrestoration (would it were also one of restitution) these old\nPlan-an-guaries should be rebuilt and restored as public places of\nrecreation, common to all.\n\nWe know that miracle plays continued to be performed in the western\nparishes during Queen Elizabeth's reign, and probably much later. A\nshort time ago, William Sandys, Esq., F.S.A., published in his learned\npaper, entitled the \"Cornish Drama,\" in the \"Journal of the Royal\nInstitution of Cornwall,\" an extract from a MS. volume, entitled, \"A\nBook declaring the Royalties of which Sir John Arundell, of Lanhern, and\nhis ancestors, have had within the Hundred of Penwith,\" &c. which sayeth\nthat--\n\n\"Ao. 10, E. John Veal of Boraine, gentleman, of the age of 78. Sworn at\na Court holden at Penzance the 20th day of June, Ano decimo E., by\nWilliam Gilbert, under Steward of the Hundred Court of Penwyth, being\nupon his oath examined touching the liberties of Connerton, and the\nHundred of Penwyth appendant unto the same manor, saith that when he was\na Boy of good remembrance his grandfath. and his Father both dwelling\nthen at Sancras, within the hundred of Penwyth, did see one Sr. John\nTrwrye (or Trevrye) knight, a sanctuary man at St. Borains, which had\ncommitted some great offence then against the King, and thereupon\ncommitted to the Tower, and by means of a servant which he had, broke\nprison and came into Cornwall to St. Borian, and claimed the priviledge\nof the Sanctuary. It fortuned within a while after there was a mirable\n(sic) Play at Sanckras Parish, divers men came to the play amongst whom\ncame a servant of this Mr. Trevrye, named Quenall and (in the place\nbefore the play began) the said Quenall fell at variance with one\nRichard James Veane, and so both went out of the Play and fought\ntogether, the said Quenall had a sword and a buckler, and the other had\na single sword, the said Quenall was a very tall man in his Fight, the\nother gave back and fell over a mole Hill, and ere he could recover\nhimself the said Quenall thrust his sword through him and so he\nimmediately dyed, and Quenall taken and bound to the end of the Play and\nbefore the Play was done his Mastr. hearing thereof came to the Place\nwith other Sanctuary men and by force would have taken him away from his\nsaid Grandfather, Mr. Veal, and others, but he was not able so to do,\nbut with a sufficient Guard he was carried to Conertone Gaol, where he\nwas after hanged on the Gallows in Conerton Down, and so was more in his\ntime, for there was no prisoner then carried to Launston Gaol.\"\n\nIt will be observed that the name of the parish where the miracle play\n\"fortuned\" to be held is, in this interesting document, spelt as the\ncountry folk still pronounce it--Sanckras. The name has been much\nspeculated on, and antiquaries are undecided whether the proper\ndesignation is Sancreed, Sancrist; Sancrus, or Sancras, (both holy\ncross.) Now it happens, however, that the learned antiquary, to whom we\nare indebted for the above, has also preserved in his interesting work,\n\"Christmas-tide,\" another legend which we think will throw some light on\nthe matter and show that the popular name is probably correct; or that,\nlike many other places, it has long rejoiced in two names.\n\n\"There is a curious story on the subject, (the true cross) related in\nHarl. MS., 2252 (temp. Hen. 8) entitled, 'A grete myracle of a knyghte,\ncallyde Syr Roger Wallysborrow.' Being in the Holy Land, he wished to\nbring off privily a piece of the cross, and, praying to that effect, his\nthigh opened miraculously, and received it. He then returned to\nCornwall, his native country, having, in the course of his voyage, by\nvirtue of the fragment of the cross, appeased the elements, and\nprevented shipwreck. On his arrival his thigh opened to liberate the\nprecious relic, of which he gave part to the parish where this happened,\nhence called Cross parish, and the remainder to St. Buryan, where his\nlands were.\"\n\nThose who came to Sancras play got more entertainment than was promised\nin the bill. And Carew, in his \"Survey of the County,\" gives an anecdote\nof the stupidity, feigned or real, of a performer in the Plan-an-guary,\nSt. Just, that afforded much amusement. It having come his turn, the\nordinary, or manager, said, \"Goe forthe men, and shew thyselfe.\" The\nactor stepped forward and gravely repeated, \"Goe forthe man, and shew\nthyselfe.\" The ordinary, in dismay, whispered to him, \"Oh, you marre all\nthe play!\" The actor, in very emphatic gesture, repeated aloud, \"Oh, you\nmarre all the play!\" The prompter, then losing his patience, reviled the\nactor with all the bitter terms he could think of, which the actor\nrepeated with a serious countenance as part of the play. The ordinary\nwas at last obliged to give over, the assembly having received a great\ndeal more sport than twenty such guaries could have afforded.\n\nWe are become too fastidious and pious to be amused with such rude\nentertainment as the old guary miracles afforded to our simple\nforefathers. One might even think parts of these ancient dramas\nirreverent, if not profane; for example, a scene in Noah's flood, where\nthe venerable patriarch and his wife have a scuffle because she wouldn't\nenter the ark before she had a gossip, with another dame, about a piece\nof anti-diluvian scandal. She swears by St. John that she will not enter\nthe ark without her gossips, every one; and, when she is at last forced\nin, she salutes Noah with a hearty box on the ear. In the Cornish\nMystery of the Creation of the World, by Jordan, the lady is much more\ncivil, and, like a thrifty Cornish housewife, is very careful to collect\nall her property, because, as she says, \"they cost store of money.\" No\ndoubt she took good care to carry into the ark all her milking-pans and\nbussa-pots, as well as temberan things and gaard for scouring them, not\nforgetting her brandes and baking-iron, and the clome in the dresser.\n\nIn one of the Townly Mysteries, Mak, the buffoon of the piece, steals a\nsheep from the shepherds, while they are asleep, and takes it home to\nhis wife, who puts it into the cradle, endeavouring to make it pass for\na child, and praying that if ever she beguiled the shepherds, who have\ncome in search of it, she may eat the child lying there. The trick,\nhowever, is discovered. One of the shepherds going to kiss the child,\nfinds the long snout.\n\nThere are many other comic passages in these mysteries, which would now\nbe considered rather gross than witty. Yet, with all that and their\nludicrous anachronisms, those who take an interest in ancient manners\nand customs will be gratified by their perusal.\n\nMr. Sandys, in the work from which we have largely quoted, also gives us\nthe following interesting bit of information:--\n\n\"In 1428, a sum of four pounds was given to Jakke Trevaill and his\ncompanions, for making various plays and interludes before the king at\nChristmas.\"\n\nSurely Jakke and his comrades went up from St. Just or Sancras, to show\nking Henry VI what a Cornish guise-dance was like.\n\nThe re-introduction of medi\u00e6val mysteries and other middle-age\nmummeries, as well as the federation of extreme religionists, is a\ncurious and significant sign of these times, in which all unite to\npleasantly \"trickle the trout,\" or to extend the good work, as parties\nof different views may choose to regard this rare union of extreme\nlinks.\n\n\n THE LEVELIS, OF TREWOOF.\n\nTrewoof (or as it is now called Trove) was formerly the seat of a family\nof gentlemen bearing that name, who gave for their arms \"Arg a chev, sa\nbetween 3 black birds (hoops) ppr.\"\n\nThis family flourished here from a very remote period, and we find that\nas early as 1292 (12 Edwd. I.) one Hawise Trewoof, the relict of William\nde Trewoof, intermarried with Henry de Boscawen, of Boscawen Rose\n(ancestor of the noble family of Boscawen Earls of Falmouth.) Trewoof\nand Boscawen Rose are both in the parish of St. Buryan, and less than\ntwo miles apart.\n\nThe estate continued in the possession of the Trewoofs until the reign\nof Henry VII, when Johanna, daughter and sole heiress of John Trewoof,\n\"carried\" it, together with herself, in marriage to Thomas Levelis, of\nCastle Horneck and Landewednack.\n\nThe Levelis family was of very old Norman descent, and had flourished\nin the district from the Conquest (1066) as appears from the monument of\nArthur Levelis, Esquire, to be seen in Buryan Church.\n\nThe arms of this family are given as \"Arg 3 calves' heads couped at the\nneck, gules.\" The crest given in the Visitation is \"A garretted turrett,\nor, surmounted with 3 turretts or small towers.\" In Landewednack Church\nwindow, easternmost but one, says Dr. Borlase, \"I find that Thomas\nLevelis, who glazed ye window, bore arg 3 calves' heads in pile gules.\nHis wife's arms were arg a chev betwixt 3 hoops sable.\"\n\nThe learned doctor further adds, \"I find also that Levelis arms, spelt\nthere Levelys, are married to the arms of the Trewoofs and have no third\nbearing: whence it is to be conjectured that the Levelys of Landewidnock\nmarryed Trewoof at the time when that window was glassed, that this\nTrewoof glassed it, that the Levelys passed from this parish of\nLandewidnock to Trewoof in Buryan on this marriage of the heiress, that\nLevelys married an heiress also from Landewidnock (viz., heiress of\nArcher,) for Arthur, buried in Buryan, quartered in the 3rd place sable\na chevron engrailed betwixt 3 pheons arg, which same arms are still to\nbe seen joyned to arg on a fess sable 3 buckles, or, in the same window\nof Landewidnock Church which has the Levelys and Trewoofs in it.\"\n\nThomas Levelis settled at Trewoof, and, by the said Jane or Johanna,\ndaughter of John Trewoof, has issue a son and heir--John Levelys, whose\nposterity in the male line were settled at Trewoof until the death of\nArthur Levelis (fifth in descent from the said Thomas Levelis,) which\ntook place in 1671.\n\nArthur Levelis, like his wife's father, John Cooke, or Coke, of\nTregessa, was a zealous Royalist; and an instance of his loyalty is\nrecorded at page 134 of Mr. Blight's _Churches of West Cornwall_; he\nhaving concealed a band of Royalists in the fogue on the estate on their\nbeing closely pursued by Fairfax.\n\nMr. Levelis, through his mother--Ebit Coffin, daughter of Richard\nCoffin, of Portledge, Devon, Esquire (and wife of Hugh Levelis)--was\nenabled to deduce a descent from Edward I., King of England, through the\nnoble families of De Bohun, Courtenay, Carey, and Coffin.\n\nOf this descent his posterity were proud, and it has been urged as one\nreason for their devoted loyalty. Arthur Levelis had only one child--a\ndaughter, the issue of his marriage with the daughter of John Coke of\nTregessa; and this daughter became the sole heiress of the Levelis\nfamily and estates. She married Richard Vosper, gentleman, then residing\nin St. Buryan, who had accumulated a considerable fortune and was\nmortgagee of divers estates in the west of Cornwall.\n\nThere were issue of this marriage several children.\n\nMr. Vosper had formerly resided at Liskeard, where his family had been\nseated for very many years, and in which town they held a good position,\nas will be seen by a reference to the Borough muniments.\n\nThe Vospers claim to be of Jewish origin, and settled in Cornwall at an\nearly date. For some time they were engaged in mining operations.\n\nThe meaning of the name \"Vosper,\" or \"Vespuer,\" is \"pure,\" \"immaculate.\"\nAnd in an old seal, in the possession of the family, there is a coat on\nwhich is a cross charged with the Virgin. But on the title deeds in\npossession of the family, to which Arthur Vosper (son and heir of the\nsaid Richard Vosper, of Trewoof, was a party,) there is a quarterly seal\nof the Vospers and Levelis as follows:--1 and 4 or, a cross moline\nsable, _Vosper_; 2 and 3, ar, 3 calves' heads, couped gules, Levelis.\nThis coat, appertaining to the said Richard Vosper, his descendants\nstill continue to bear, and the same now appertains to the Vospers,\nformerly of Launcells, Milton Abbott, and Lewannick.\n\nTrewoof estate passed, unentailed, to Arthur Vosper, the eldest son and\nheir-at-law, who married Elisabeth Eyans, of Eyanstone, Oxon, and this\ngentleman having been unfortunately drowned in 1679 in the Isis, the\nproperty passed to his two daughters and co-heirs--Elisabeth and\nPrudence.\n\nThe former of these subsequently married Joseph Marke, of Woodhill, near\nLiskeard, gentleman, and jointly with her sister in 1699, disposed of\nthe property, contrary to the wish of their cousin, Mr. Vosper, of\nLiskeard and Launcells.\n\nPrudence was afterwards married to Mr. Dennis, of Liskeard.\n\nThe late John Vosper, of Milton Abbott and Callington, gentleman, who\ndied in 1796, was one of the representatives of Mr. Vosper, of Liskeard\nand Launcells.\n\nSo also was the late Thomas Vosper, of Alternon.\n\nMr. Vosper, of Milton Abbott, had issue several sons; one of whom,\nRobert, was grandfather of the present Samuel Vosper-Thomas, of\nWimborne.\n\nAnother Edward Vosper, of Stonehouse, Devon, gentleman, was grandfather\nof Thomas Phillips, of Plymouth, gentleman, the present magistrates'\nclerk for Plymouth.\n\n\n DUFFY AND THE DEVIL. Page 3.\n\nAn old droll teller of Sancreed, called Billy Foss, used to relate a\nstory very similar to that of the guise-dance; he made no mention,\nhowever, in his droll, of any family names, nor of any particular place\nin which the \"Lord\" dwelt, who married a poor girl; but her name was\nDuffy; and the demon who worked for her, and who was also fooled by a\nwitch through strong drink, was called Tarraway. Billy used to say,\n\"Some who know no better, call Duffy's devil Terrytop; but his ancient\nand proper name is Tarraway.\"\n\n\n PENDRE AND BARANHUAL. Pages 63, 73, and 94.\n\nThis place gave name to the family of Pendrea, or Pender. Hals says,\n\"John Pendrea, the last of his tribe, temps. Henry VI, having only two\ndaughters, that became his heirs, who were married to Bonython, of\nCarclew, and Noy. To Noy's share fell this tenement of Pendrea, which\nwas the dwelling of him and his posterity for several descents; and here\nwas born, as I was informed, William Noy, the Attorney General to\nCharles I, who designed to have built a noteable house here, but was\nprevented by death, having before brought great quantities of materials\nto this place in order thereto. His grandson, William Noy, Esq., sold\nthis place, and several others, to my very kind friend Christopher\nDavies, gent., now in possession thereof.\"\n\nBaranhual, at one time the residence of the Penders, came from them to\nthe Noyes, and was sold by the Noyes to the Davises. Here was to be\nseen, until recently, a small room encrusted with shells, which was said\nto be the work of some ladies of the Davies family. The design of the\nwork was Charles II shown flying from his enemies, and one of them, in\nfull pursuit, had the legend, \"This is the heir, come let us kill him,\nthat the inheritance may be our own,\" whilst an angel calls from a\ncloud, \"Is it not written thou shalt do no murder?\" The materials of\nthis work are principally shells from Parcurnow. In 1750 Davies sold\nBaranhual, and some other farms, to Admiral Boscawen, in whose family it\nstill remains.\n\nPendrea, and much other property in Buryan, belong to the Rev. John\nTonkin, of Trevervyn.\n\n\n THE DANES LANDING ON THE CORNISH COAST FOR\n PLUNDER. Pages 127-141.\n\n Then his cruisings o'er the seas,\n Westward to the Hebrides,\n And to Scilly's rocky shore;\n And the hermit's cavern dismal,\n Christ's great name and rites baptismal,\n In the ocean's rush and roar.\n LONGFELLOW.\n\nWe find an interesting notice of Danish marauding expeditions in\nCornwall, and of King Olaf's conversion at Scilly, in Snorri Sturleson's\n\"Heimskringla\"--the \"World's Circle\"--which relates events from the\nearly ages, when mythology and history were undistinguishably blended,\ndown nearly to the period of Sturleson's birth in 1178.\n\nThe following is from Laing's translation of the \"Saga,\" or story of\nKing Olaf Tryggvesson, who reigned from about the year 995 to the year\n1000.\n\n\"Thereafter Olaf Tryggvesson sailed to England, and ravaged wide around\nthe land. He sailed all the way north to Northumberland, where he\nplundered; and thence to Scotland, where he marauded far and wide. Then\nhe went to the Hebrides, where he fought some battles; and then\nsouthward to Man, where he also fought. He ravaged far around in\nIreland, and thence steered to Bretland, which he laid waste with fire\nand sword, and also the district called Cumberland. He sailed westward\nfrom thence to Valland and marauded there. When he left the west,\nintending to sail to England, he came to the islands called the Scilly\nIsles, lying westward from England in the ocean. Thus tells Halfred\nVandr\u00e6daskalt of these events:--\n\n \"The brave young king who ne'er retreats,\n The Englishmen in England beats.\n Death through Northumberland is spread\n From battle-axe and broad spear-head.\n Through Scotland with his spear he rides;\n To Man his glancing ships he guides;\n Feeding the wolves where'er he came,\n The young king drove a bloody game.\n The gallant bowman in the isles\n Slew foemen, who lay heaped in piles.\n The Irish fled at Olaf's name--\n Fled from a young king seeking fame.\n In Bretland, and in Kauraland,\n People against him could not stand:\n Thick on the field their corpses lay,\n To ravens and howling wolves a prey.\"\n\nOlaf Tryggvesson had been four years on this cruise, from the time he\nleft Vendland till he came to the Scilly Isles.\n\nWhile Olaf Tryggvesson lay in the Scilly Isles he heard of a seer, or\nfortune-teller, on the islands, who could tell beforehand things not yet\ndone, and what he foretold many believed was really fulfilled. Olaf\nbecame curious to try this man's gift of prophecy. He therefore sent one\nof his men, who was the handsomest and the strongest, clothed him\nmagnificently, and bade him say he was the king; for Olaf was known in\nall countries as handsomer, stronger, and braver than all others,\nalthough, after he had left Russia, he retained no more of his name than\nthat he was called Olaf, and was Russian. Now when the messenger came to\nthe fortune-teller, and gave himself out for the king, he got the\nanswer. \"Thou art not the king, but I advise thee to be faithful to thy\nking.\" And more he would not say to that man. The man returned, and told\nOlaf, and his desire to meet the fortune-teller was increased; and now\nhe had no doubt of his being really a fortune-teller. Olaf repaired\nhimself to him, and, entering into conversation, asked him if he could\nforesee how it would go with him with regard to his kingdom, or of any\nother fortune he was to have. The hermit replies in a holy spirit of\nprophecy, \"Thou wilt become a renowned king, and do celebrated deeds.\nMany men wilt thou bring to faith and baptism, and both to thy own and\nothers' good; and that thou mayest have no doubt of the truth of this\nanswer listen to these tokens: When thou comest to thy ships many of thy\npeople will conspire against thee, and then a battle will follow in\nwhich many of thy men will fall and thou wilt be wounded almost to\ndeath, and carried upon a shield to thy ship; yet, after seven days,\nthou shalt be well of thy wounds, and immediately thou shalt let thyself\nbe baptised.\" Soon after Olaf went down to his ships, where he met some\nmutineers and people who would destroy him and his men. A fight took\nplace, and the result was what the hermit had predicted, that Olaf was\nwounded, and carried upon a shield to his ship, and that his wound was\nhealed in seven days. Then Olaf perceived the man had spoken\ntruth,--that he was a true fortune-teller, and had the gift of prophecy.\nOlaf went once more to the hermit, and asked particularly how he came to\nhave such wisdom in foreseeing things to be. The hermit replied that the\nChristian's God himself let him know all that he desired; and he brought\nbefore Olaf many great proofs of the power of the Almighty. In\nconsequence of this encouragement Olaf agreed to let himself be\nbaptised, and he and all his followers were baptised forthwith. He\nremained here a long time, took the true faith, and got with him priests\nand other learned men.\"\n\nIt is worthy of remark that various accounts in this work, of the\nmarauding expeditions of northern vikings on the shores of Bretland and\nKauraland (Wales and Cornwall) confirm many traditions still lingering\nin the West Country, about the Danes, (all Northmen were called Danes)\nlanding on Gwenvor Sands, burning Escols, their defeat in a battle on\nVelan-druchar Moor, and how their ships remained in Whitsand Bay till\n\"birds built in their rigging,\" &c.\n\nRed-haired families are still often taunted with bearing on their heads\na sign that some ancestress must have welcomed a northern pirate to\nKauraland with more warmth than discretion.\n\nThe \"seer,\" or \"fortune-teller,\" on the islands, was probably one of a\nsimilar class to the Cornish \"pellar,\" or \"white-wizzard,\" of the\npresent day.\n\nKing Olaf's priest, taken from Scilly, is one of the most remarkable\ncharacters of the wonderful book.\n\n\n ST. LEVAN'S PATH. Page 146.\n\n \"Aux lieux o\u00f9 la charrette et le saint ont pass\u00e9s,\n Le froment pousse encor plus vert et plus press\u00e9.\"\n BRIZEUX.\n\nWe find a similar belief to that connected with the path St. Levan trod,\nin the Breton legend of St. Corn\u00e9ly, from which the above lines are\nquoted. \"La Charrette\" was the cart--drawn by oxen--in which the saint\nrode when he and his people were pursued by an invading host of pagans.\nSt. Corn\u00e9ly, being hard pressed, to prevent the Bretons being driven\ninto the sea, turned about, cursed the pursuers, and changed them\nall--in rank and file as they stood--into the Menheers of Carnac.\n\nThe remarkable correspondence of beliefs, customs, names of places, &c.,\nin the Armorican Cornouaile, with those of West Cornwall, would seem to\nshow that the former was either colonised from hence or that many found\nan asylum there in some invasion of this district.\n\nThe story of Tom of Chyannor is well known there; a translation of the\nArmorican version was given in one of the early numbers of _Chambers's\nJournal_ as a Breton legend.\n\n\n A GHOSTLY SHIP'S-BELL.\n\nIn the southern side of St. Levan Churchyard there is a low altar-tomb\non the grave of Captain Wetherel, whose ship sprung a-leak and sunk, and\nwho was drowned near the Rundle Stone many years ago. This grave is\nregarded with fear and wonder by many persons of that neighbourhood; for\never since the Captain was laid there, it has been believed that a\nghostly bell strikes the hours, and half-hours, in his grave, the same\nas on board ship.\n\n'Tis said this sound beneath the sod may be heard the clearest by\npersons passing the Churchyard at midnight. It was a few minutes before\nthat hour, when the Captain, finding his vessel sinking, made his crew\ntake to the boat; but he himself refused to quit his ship; and, as she\nwent down, they heard him give eight loud and distinct strokes on the\nbell.\n\nMany years since several young people were assembled in the Churchyard\none Sunday forenoon, after service had commenced and the elders had gone\ninto Church; time passed pleasantly with the young folks in chatting\nabout such occurrences of the St. Levan world as interested them. In\nrambling among the graves, to look at the many garden flowers that\nbloomed on them, they approached Captain Wetherel's tomb, and a girl who\nstood by it reading the inscription, started back on hearing a hollow\nsound beneath her feet; she, and others near her, who saw her emotion,\nlistened, and lo! a ringing came up as of a bell at sea; all rushed into\nChurch in great fright. There was much talk of the strange occurrence\nfor a few weeks, and less loitering of the youngsters to gossip in the\nChurchyard during service.\n\nShortly after a young sailor, belonging to St. Levan, who had been\nabsent many years, came home for a few weeks; being in the \"Elder Tree\"\npublic-house, one forenoon, with some of his former companions, their\ndiscourse led to the mention of the ship's-bell sounding in Captain\nWetherel's grave. The young seaman said he believed the story was all\nnonsense, though as strange or stranger things sometimes happened in old\nvessels; but, as it was then near upon twelve o'clock, for curiosity\nsake, he went out and stood near the Captain's tomb; whilst his comrades\nremained by the Church porch, for a few minutes, watching the sun-dial.\nAs it marked noon the sailor rushed back to his companions, and, looking\nas pale as a corpse, said, with bated breath, \"True as I'm alive, I\nheard 'eight bells' struck in the grave, and wouldn't go near the spot\nagain for the world.\"\n\nThe young seaman, on his next voyage, found his grave in the deep.\n\nI never heard of any other person who went purposely to hear the\nCaptain's bell, for it is a general belief here that bad luck is sure to\novertake those who endeavour to pry into ghostly doings that don't\nconcern them. Although the belief still holds, yet most West Country\nfolks are become shy of mentioning Captain Wetherel's bell, or of\ntalking on kindred subjects, except amongst ourselves, from the ridicule\nwith which it is now fashionable to treat such matters, even in St.\nLevan.\n\n\n BREA AND PENDEEN, IN ST. JUST. Pages 42, 166, and 200.\n\n\"Brea, at present, retains no traces of its former consequence, which\nmay be assumed from its chapel, noticed in a former page.\n\nThe family of Bray, or Brea, came with the Conqueror. In the 3rd Henry\nIV., A.D. 1402, Michael de Bray held two parts of one Knight's fee, in\nBray, in Penwith, and in the 12th Edw. I., Brea, or Bray, is charged by\nthe Justices' Itinerant for eight acres. Edward Bray was summoned to\nParliament, 3rd November, 1529, by the style and title of Baron Bray,\nwhich honour expired on the death of John, the second Lord, 18th\nNovember, 1557. This property now belongs to the Ellis family. It\nappears from an inscribed stone, over one of the chimneys, that the\npresent house was built by Charles Ellis, 1634. A former member of that\nfamily, who lived there, was a Quaker, and is said to have been an\neccentric character. He enclosed a burying ground not far from his\nhouse, and was there interred, and has a granite tomb erected over his\nremains.\n\nPendeen is the house of most importance in this parish, it has long been\nthe property, and sometimes the residence, of different branches of the\nold and highly respectable family of Borlase. The Rev. Dr. William\nBorlase, the celebrated antiquary and historian of his own county, who,\nby his elaborate work, has raised to his own memory an enduring\nmonument, was born here.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe mansion itself, though now only used as a farm house, and occupied\nby labourers, retains much of its ancient respectability of appearance.\nThe masonry is of good wrought granite, and the chimneys are tastefully\nbuilt; it bears the date of 1670, and is a structure superior to the\nother houses of the same age in the neighbourhood.\"\n REV. JOHN BULLER, L.L.B.\n\nThe learned antiquary, who was born and who resided at Pendeen for a\nconsiderable time, is well represented by William Copeland Borlase,\nEsq., the author of \"N\u00e6nia Cornubi\u00e6,\" recently published.\n\n\n THE BURNING OF VELLAN-DREATH. Page 215.\n\nIt is said that in Queen Elizabeth's reign the Spaniards did much\nmischief by pillaging defenceless places on the western shores. About\nthe time they burnt Moushal, an old miller and his son, a stout man,\nwere the only dwellers in Vellan-Dreath. Early one morning, the miller,\non returning from the mill-pool, which was far up on the hill, whither\nhe had been to lift the flushet, noticed a boat with several men put off\nfrom a ship, and he watched them till they landed just beneath his mill.\nSuspecting they were bent on mischief he went in and barricaded his\ndoor; unfortunately the miller had no lead, but he put the muzzle of his\nmusket through the latch-hole, which was probably larger than required\nto admit a finger to lift the latch. Meanwhile his son watched the\ninvaders approach from a gable-end loop-hole which served as a window to\nthe mill-bed.\n\nThe water had not yet been turned on to the wheel; some of the\n\"Spaniars,\" on coming round near the door, seeing the miller's gun\npointed at them as they came within range, turned, tried to climb the\nmill-wheel and effect an entrance through the low thatched roof. The old\nmiller, who spied them through crevices between the board of his door,\nguessing their intentions, called to his son to turn the water on; the\nlaunder flushet was raised in an instant, and the wheel revolved; one\nSpaniard was drowned in the pul-rose (wheel-pit) and another killed in\nthe opening where the axle-tree worked.\n\nThe millers, seeing more invaders coming up the cliff, set fire to a\nfurse-rick near their door, and, each one taking on his back a sack of\nflour, made good their retreat through the smoke, without being\nperceived by the Spaniards till they were far up the hill. The sacks of\nflour protected them pretty well from stray shots, but the old miller,\nbeing hit in his knee with a bullet had to drop his sack. They reached\nEscolls, however, without farther harm, and the young man, on throwing\ndown his sack of flour, declared that it was pounds heavier, from the\nlead lodged in it, than when he took it up. The Spaniards found little\nin the mill of any value to them; but they set fire to it, and it was\nnever rebuilt.\n\nThe site of Vellan-Dreath can scarcely be traced on account of the blown\nsand having covered it over, and filled in the hollow in the cliff where\nit stood. Many years ago one of the mill-stones was found and taken to a\nsmith's shop, in Mayon, or Treeve, where it served to bind cart wheels\non; it remained near the smithy door but a few years since, and it may\nbe there still, or not far from the spot. It is worth preserving, many\nwould come from far to see a mill-stone of Queen Elizabeth's time.\n\n\n THE MEN-AN-TOL, CONSTANTINE TOLMEN, &c. Page 242.\n\n \"D'un pass\u00e9 sans m\u00e9moire incertaines reliques,\n Myst\u00e8res d'un vieux monde en myst\u00e8res \u00e9crits.\"\n LAMARTINE.\n\nMr. J. T. Blight, F.S.A., gives the following graphic description of\nvarious perforated stones in Cornwall, and elsewhere.\n\n\"In the western part of Cornwall there are several ancient monuments\nknown by the name of 'Holed Stones.' They consist of thin slabs of\nGranite, each being pierced by a round hole, generally near its centre.\nThey vary in size and in form. That near the Men-Scryfa in Madron,\nbetter known than others, is placed between, or rather arranged\ntriangularly with, two other upright stones. Other holed stones which\nhave hitherto been noticed are not so accompanied. The late Mr. Buller,\nin his 'Account of the Parish of St. Just,' describes some such stones\nwhich he found near Carn Kenidjac. One may still be seen in the Vicarage\ngrounds of St. Just; and two others near Bolleit, in St. Buryan.\n\nThe monument to which I would now more particularly call attention is at\nTolven Cross (Tolven is Cornish for Holed Stone), in the parish of St.\nConstantine, a few yards west of the road from Gweek to the Helston and\nFalmouth turnpike. Dr. Borlase refers to a holed stone about a mile west\nof St. Constantine Church. The subject of the present notice is twice\nthat distance from the Church; it is therefore uncertain whether or not\nthe Doctor alludes to the same monument. It is the largest 'holed stone'\nin Cornwall, being 8 feet 6 inches high by 8 feet 11 inches wide at the\nbase, diminishing to a point at the summit; thus it is of a triangular\nform. Its average thickness is about one foot; but it is a little\nthicker at the bottom than at the top. The hole, almost perfectly\ncircular, is 17 inches in diameter. Though within the slate district,\nthe stone is of granite.\n\nFormerly it was a conspicuous object by the way-side; but within the\nlast 12 or 14 years a house has been built betwixt it and the road. It\nnow forms part of a garden hedge.\n\nIn a field adjoining the opposite side of the road, perhaps 18 yards\nfrom the stone, is a low irregular barrow, about 20 yards in diameter,\nand studded with small mounds.\n\nDr. Borlase has alluded to the superstitious practice of drawing\nchildren through the Holed Stone at Madron, to cure them of weakness or\npains in the back--a practice still observed at the Holed Stone at St.\nConstantine. I was told that some remarkable cures had been effected\nthere only a few weeks since. The ceremony consists of passing the child\nnine times through the hole, alternately from one side to the other; and\nit is essential to success that the operation should finish on that side\nwhere there is a little grassy mound, recently made, on which the\npatient must sleep, with a six-pence under his head. A trough-like\nstone, called the 'cradle,' on the eastern side of the barrow, was\nformerly used for this purpose. This stone, unfortunately, has long been\ndestroyed. That holed stones were not originally constructed for the\nobservance of this peculiar custom is evident, for in some instances the\nholes are not more than five or six inches in diameter.\n\nA few years ago, a person digging close to the Tolven, discovered a pit\nin which were fragments of pottery, arranged in circular order, the\nwhole being covered by a flat slab of stone. Imagining that he had\ndisturbed some mysterious place, with commendable reverence he\nimmediately filled up the pit again. Taking the proximity of the barrow\nin connection with the pit, it seems most probable that the Tolven is a\nsepulchral monument, stones of this kind being erected perhaps to a\npeculiar class of personages.\n\nIt is well known that the Circle is an ancient symbol of eternity, and\nit was sometimes adopted as typical of Deity itself. The triangular form\nof the stone may not be accidental. The holed stones at Madron also form\npart of a triangular arrangement. Whether a significant connection was\nintended in this union of the circle and the triangle is perhaps worthy\nof consideration. Though holed stones are sometimes found near what are\ntermed Druidic Circles, I perceive no traces of monuments of that\ndescription near the Tolven. The holed stones at Kenidjac, St. Just, are\nnear ancient circles; and the two holed stones at Bolleit are not more\nthan 100 yards from the well-known stone circle, called 'Dawns Myin.'\"\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n THE GARRACK ZANS (HOLY ROCK.)\n\nWithin the memory of many persons now living, there was to be seen, in\nthe town-places of many western villages, an unhewn table-like stone\ncalled the Garrack Zans. This stone was the usual meeting place of the\nvillagers, and regarded by them as public property. Old residents in\nEscols have often told me of one which stood near the middle of that\nhamlet on an open space where a maypole was also erected. This Garrack\nZans they described as nearly round, about three feet high, and nine in\ndiameter, with a level top. A bonfire was made on it and danced around\nat Midsummer. When petty offences were committed by unknown persons,\nthose who wished to prove their innocence, and to discover the guilty,\nwere accustomed to light a furse-fire on the Garrack Zans; each person\nwho assisted took a stick of fire from the pile, and those who could\nextinguish the fire in their sticks, by spitting on them, were deemed\ninnocent; if the injured handed a fire-stick to any persons, who failed\nto do so, they were declared guilty.\n\nMost evenings young persons, linked hand in hand, danced around the\nGarrack Zans, and many old folks passed round it nine times daily from\nsome notion that it was lucky and good against witchcraft.\n\nThe stone now known as Table-m\u00ean was called the Garrack Zans by old\npeople of Sennen.\n\nIf our traditions may be relied on, there was also in Treen a large one,\naround which a market was held in days of yore, as mentioned at page 77.\n\nThere was a Garrack Zans in Sowah only a few years since, and one may\nstill be seen in Roskestal, St. Levan.\n\nNothing seems to be known respecting their original use; yet the\nsignificant name, and a belief--held by old folks at least--that it is\nunlucky to remove them, denote that they were regarded as sacred\nobjects.\n\nVenerated stones, known by the same name, were long preserved in other\nvillages until removed by strange owners and occupiers, who are, for the\nmost part, regardless of our ancient monuments.\n\n\n DIVINATION BY RUSHES AND IVY-LEAVES. Page 217.\n\nMany persons, who were anxious to know their future fate with regard to\nlove and marriage, or for mere fun, were in the habit of assembling, on\ntwelfth night, in a farm house kitchen, which had a large open\nfire-place--used for burning furse and turf. A fire was laid that would\nmake plenty of \"umers\" (embers) and hot ashes, such being required for\nworking the spells; then each person touched the \"cravel\" (mantle stone)\nwith his or her forehead, and departed in single file and silence, which\nwas required to be observed, until, having gathered the rushes and\nivy-leaves, they returned and again touched the \"cravel\" with their\nheads. The procession was often waylaid or followed by some who tried to\nmake the spell-workers break silence; if any of them spoke they had to\nreturn and again touch the \"cravel.\"\n\nThose who wished to know their own luck in love and marriage, or that of\ndifferent couples who were said to be sweethearts, placed in the hot\nashes and \"umers\" two pieces of rush--named or intended for the\nrespective parties;--if both rushes burnt kindly together, those they\nrepresented would be married. As the pairs were consumed, united or\nparted, such would be the course of their love. The one which burnt\nlongest would outlive the other. When it was decided who were to be\nmarried together an ivy-leaf was cast into the fire, and the number of\ncracks it made in burning told the years to pass before the couple would\nbe wed. Then two leaves for the wedded pair were buried in the hot\nashes, and the cracks they made showed how many children the happy\ncouple would be blessed with. Other presages, which afforded much\namusement, were drawn from the appearance and behaviour of rushes and\nivy-leaves--or lovers and married folks--in their fiery bed.\n\nMeanwhile old people--who in general were the most anxious to know if\nthey or others were destined to live or die during the ensuing\nyear--drew an ivy-leaf for each person, either named or thought of,\nthrough a gold ring, and cast the leaves into a vessel of spring water,\nwhich was placed on the hearth-stone and left there over night. Next\nmorning, the leaves that were found to have turned black, or to be\nspecked with red spots like blood, showed that those for whom they were\nintended would be dead ere next twelfth night. The blood spots betokened\na violent end.\n\n\n RECENT ILL-WISHING. Page 65.\n\nThe following case of an ill-wished woman, living in ----, was told me a\nfew days since by one of her neighbours.\n\nIn the Autumn of 1870 a pilot, or one of a pilot's crew, that my\ninformant called a \"hobbler,\" gained upwards of twenty pounds for his\nshare of the \"hobble,\" or pilotage of a ship, which was only one night's\nwork.\n\nNext morning, whilst the \"hobbler\" was in bed, his wife, elated with\nher husband's good luck, stood outside her door when the neighbouring\nwomen were passing by to the spring for water, and she was saying to a\nnumber of them, who gathered around her, how lucky it was that her\nhusband had met with such a good hobble, just in time for her to pay off\nold scores at the shops, and to enable her to get a little comfortable\nwinter's clothing for her husband and children before cold weather came.\nIn her joy at the godsend, she continued a long time detailing her plans\nfor disposing of it to the best advantage, and was about to go in as the\nwomen took up their pitchers, when another hobbler's wife, who had been\nlistening for some time, turned round, in taking up her vessel of water,\nand said, \"Thee art ready to burst with pride because good luck es come\nto thy door, but I wish to God that thee may'st never be the better for\nit.\"\n\nSaying this she departed. The pilot's wife--a moment before full of\ngladness--was now \"struck all of a heap.\" Cold shivers passed through\nher; as she fell on the form she said that no good would now come to her\nfrom the begrudged money, and that the ill-wish had taken effect.\n\nFrom that day to this she has never been like the same woman; she has\nlost all heart to struggle for her family; when her husband is at sea\nshe fears he will no more return, and believes something evil is\nconstantly hanging over her head. Yet she can't be said to have any\nknown bodily ailment; the doctor told her he didn't know what to give\nher, nor what could be amiss with her, unless she was bewitched, so my\ninformant said. She had also sought aid of the pellar, or white wizzard,\nwho visits the district at stated times, and even he had to give her up.\n\nIn answer to my inquiry if the woman that ill-wished the hobbler's wife\nwas a witch, she replied, \"No, not that the neighbours knew of, and they\nsupposed she didn't altogether mean to do the harm she did, but it so\nhappened that the bad words passed her lips at the fatal minute when\nill-wishes won't fall to the ground; some call her a witch now, but they\ndon't think her one--she's too big a fool.\"\n\nAfter a pause, as if to settle the matter, she added, \"No, on the\nwhole, I don't think she's anything better or worse than the general run\nof women; I have known her all my life time; she was a 'professor' for\nyears; we used to meet in the same class till she got married, when she\nleft off, because she couldn't afford then, with a family coming quick,\nto pay class-money every week, ticket-money and preacher's-money every\nquarter, and give to all the collections, as et es expected of members,\nhowever poor they may be, it was busy all to make both ends meet. No\nmore could she then spare time to go to preaching, or other means of\ngrace, every night in the week, like she did in her courting days;\nbesides she was a very wicked talking woman, and said worse than she\nmeant. She would rap out an oath like nothing--it eased her mind she\nsaid--if anybody 'thurted' (crossed) her. Like other backsliders she was\nworse than anyone that had always been 'carnal-minded.' Class-leaders,\nand others of 'the people,' tried all they could do, by talking to her,\nto get her in the right way again; when her husband was in good getting\nthey even prayed for her in the meetings, and it made her worse than\never to be told that. She said, in her sinful way, they had better leave\nher alone, for she knew they were no better than a set of 'duffans,' and\nbackbiting and undermining hypocrites; that all they wanted of her was\nmoney, money all the time, and if one hadn't plenty of that for them,\nthey wouldn't so much as dip the tip of their finger in water to save a\npoor soul from perishing. Pinching hard times made her spiteful, for\nthere's nothing so bad as poverty to make one feel ugly. As for the poor\nill-wished woman, she never had half enough of the Old One in her to\nhelp her stand up in her own defence.\"\n\nWe give another out of many recent instances of ill-wishing. The other\nday a small farmer, living in the higher side of Madron parish, came in\nto a surgeon, in this town, and told him that his wife was very bad in\nbed, and that neither he nor any of the neighbours could make out what\nwas amiss with her unless she was ill-wished by a woman, who lived on\nthe downs near his dwelling, or else 'overlooked' by her evil eyes.\n\nHis wife objected to borrow or lend with her--above all to lend. \"And\ngood reason why,\" said the man, \"for she never paid what she borrowed. A\nmonth or so ago she wanted six-pence of my woman to clear scores with a\n'Johnny-fortnight,' (packman), my wife refused her; on leaving our door\nshe scraped her feet on the 'drussel,' then turned round, shaked her\nfinger at my wife, and said, 'See if I don't make thee wish, the longest\nday thee hast got to live, that thee had'st never denied me anything.'\"\n\n\"My poor dear had to take to her bed next day, and she han't been much\nout of it since. Do come and see her as quick as you can.\"\n\nIn answer to the surgeon's questions, the farmer told him she wasn't\nwhat one could call heart sick; but there was no \"sprowl\" (energy) in\nher; and her bowels were never in a right state. The surgeon gave him\nmedicine for his wife, and promised to see her shortly. A few days\nafter, having to visit a patient who lived near the ailing farmer's\nwife, he called to see her also. The husband, who was in \"great stroath,\nand all of a stroll,\" molly-caudling about the household work, told the\ndoctor that his wife was still in bed, no better for the medicine that\nhe could see, and showed him up stairs to her room, where he found a big\nfat woman, sleeping soundly; when awoke, she described her ailment just\nas her husband had stated, dwelling much on her bad appetite, the\nweakness she felt all over, and her having no heart to do anything. The\ndoctor noticed, all about the chamber, a number of bottles and tea-cups,\nwith the remains of all sorts of cordials and caudles in them, which\nshowed that she had been nursed to the surfeiting point. Having felt her\npulse, examined her tongue, and gone through all the ceremonies usual on\nsuch occasions, he shook his head and left the room, followed by the\nhusband, who, with a long face, begged that he might be told the worst.\n\"Now don't 'e be afraid to tell me,\" said he, \"for if there is no hopes\nI can bear to hear it; thank goodness I have done all in my power for\nher, poor dear, and have nothing on my mind to answer for.\" \"Her best\nchance of being cured depends upon you, I think,\" said the doctor, with\na serious face, \"if you can make up your mind to undertake a difficult\njob.\" \"Oh, do tell me what I shall do,\" replied the man, \"and I will go\nthrough fire and water for her, the dear.\" \"That's all very easy to\nsay,\" rejoined the doctor, \"but it will require all your strength and\ncourage. If you have a wheelbarrow about the place, bring it in, put\nyour wife into it, and trundle her out into the middle of the largest\nfield or croft hereabouts, there leave her, and if she won't come in let\nher stay there until she's tired; there's no more amiss with your wife\nthan there is with me, except laziness and a diseased fancy, that you\nhave made worse by indulging her whims; you should have been out in the\nfields about your work, and have left her to do without her caudles till\nshe rose and cooked them.\"\n\nWe don't know how the farmer proceeded to execute the doctor's advice,\nbut next market day he called in, thanked him for his hint, said his\nwife was then doing her work, and as well as ever she was in her life.\n\"But you had better not venture to see her again soon,\" said he, \"for I\nbelieve she would as lieve meet the Old One as you for a bit.\"\n\nAlmost every day one may hear of similar cases which show the power of\nsuperstitious fears over weak minds.\n\n\n MIDSUMMER BONFIRES.\n\nOur bonfires, torches, and tar-barrels, with the peculiar hand-in-hand\ndance around the blazing piles, remind us of ancient times when similar\ncustoms were regarded as sacred rites by our forefathers; and it would\nseem as if some vestiges of these time-honoured religious notions were\nstill connected with Midsummer bonfires in the minds of old-fashioned\npeople, living in remote and primitive districts, where they still\nbelieve that dancing in a ring over the embers, around a bonfire, or\nleaping (singly) through its flames, is calculated to insure good luck\nto the performers and to serve as a protection from witchcraft and other\nmalign influences during the ensuing year.\n\nMany years ago, on Midsummer's eve, when it became dusk, very old people\nin the West Country would hobble away to some high ground, whence they\nobtained a view of the most prominent hills, such as Bartinney, Chapel\nCarn-brea, Sancras Bickan, Castle-an-Dinas, Carn Galver, St. Agnes\nBickan, and many other beacon hills far away to north and east, which\nvied with each other in their Midsummer's blaze. They counted the fires\nand drew a presage from the number of them. There are now but few\nbonfires to be seen on the western heights; yet we have observed that\nTregonan, Godolphin, and Carn Marth hills, with others away towards\nRedruth, still retain their Baal fires. We would gladly go many miles to\nsee the weird-looking, yet picturesque, dancers around the flames on a\ncarn, or high hill top, as we have seen them some forty years ago.\n\nWe are sorry to find that another pleasing Midsummer's observance, which\nalso appears to be ancient, has almost died out. Yet within the memory\nof many, who would not like to be called old or even aged, on a\nMidsummer's eve, long before sunset, groups of girls--both gentle and\nsimple--of from ten to twenty years of age, neatly dressed and decked\nwith garlands, wreaths, or chaplets of flowers, would be seen dancing in\nthe streets.\n\nOne favourite mode of adornment was to sew, or pin, on the skirt of a\nwhite dress, rows of laurel-leaves, often spangled with gold leaf.\nBefore Midsummer small wooden hoops were in great demand to be wreathed\nwith green boughs and flowers for garlands, to be worn over one shoulder\nand under the opposite arm. Towards sunset groups of graceful damsels,\njoined by their brothers, friends, or lovers, would be seen\n\"threading-the-needle,\" playing at \"kiss-in-the-ring,\" or simply dancing\nalong every here and there from Chyandour to Alverton, from the Quay to\nCaunsehead, as the upper part of the town used then to be called,\nperhaps with more propriety than Causewayhead.\n\n\n THE MERMAID OF ZENNOR.\n\nZennor folks tell the following story, which, according to them,\naccounts for a singular carving on a bench-end in their Church.\n\nHundreds of years ago a very beautiful and richly attired lady attended\nservice in Zennor Church occasionally--now and then she went to Morvah\nalso;--her visits were by no means regular,--often long intervals would\nelapse between them.\n\nYet whenever she came the people were enchanted with her good looks and\nsweet singing. Although Zennor folks were remarkable for their fine\npsalmody, she excelled them all; and they wondered how, after the scores\nof years that they had seen her, she continued to look so young and\nfair. No one knew whence she came nor whither she went; yet many watched\nher as far as they could see from Tregarthen Hill.\n\nShe took some notice of a fine young man, called Mathey Trewella, who\nwas the best singer in the parish. He once followed her, but he never\nreturned; after that she was never more seen in Zennor Church, and it\nmight not have been known to this day who or what she was but for the\nmerest accident.\n\nOne Sunday morning a vessel cast anchor about a mile from Pendower Cove;\nsoon after a mermaid came close alongside and hailed the ship. Rising\nout of the water as far as her waist, with her yellow hair floating\naround her, she told the captain that she was returning from church, and\nrequested him to trip his anchor just for a minute, as the fluke of it\nrested on the door of her dwelling, and she was anxious to get in to her\nchildren.\n\nOthers say that while she was out on the ocean a-fishing of a Sunday\nmorning, the anchor was dropped on the trap-door which gave access to\nher submarine abode. Finding, on her return, how she was hindered from\nopening her door, she begged the captain to have the anchor raised that\nshe might enter her dwelling to dress her children and be ready in time\nfor church.\n\nHowever it may be, her polite request had a magical effect upon the\nsailors, for they immediately \"worked with a will,\" hove anchor and set\nsail, not wishing to remain a moment longer than they could help near\nher habitation. Sea-faring men, who understood most about mermaids,\nregarded their appearance as a token that bad luck was near at hand. It\nwas believed they could take such shapes as suited their purpose, and\nthat they had often allured men to live with them.\n\nWhen Zennor folks learnt that a mermaid dwelt near Pendower, and what\nshe had told the captain, they concluded it was this sea-lady who had\nvisited their church, and enticed Trewella to her abode. To commemorate\nthese somewhat unusual events they had the figure she bore--when in her\nocean-home--carved in holy-oak, which may still be seen.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n GLOSSARY OF LOCAL WORDS.\n\n\n A or AH, he or it; _e.g._ a es, it is.\n\n AFTER-WINDING, waste corn.\n\n AN', aunt, an expression of regard applied to aged women.\n\n ARREAH! (Maria?) an exclamation of angry surprise.\n\n ARISH, stubble.\n\n\n BAL, a mine.\n\n BANNAL, broom plant.\n\n BOWJEY, sheepfold, &c., on cliff or downs.\n\n BRAVE, much, very well, &c.\n\n BRUYANS, crumbs.\n\n BUCCA, a spirit.\n\n BUCCA-BOO (-DHU), a black spirit.\n\n BULHORN, a large shell-snail.\n\n BUSSA, an earthen crock.\n\n BUSY (to be), to require; _e.g._ it is BUSY all, it requires all.\n\n\n CAUNSE, pavement.\n\n CAYER, a coarse sieve for winnowing.\n\n CHEE-AH! word used for calling swine.\n\n CHEELD-VEAN (little child), a term of endearment.\n\n CHILL, an iron lamp.\n\n CLIFF, all the ground between the shore and cultivated land. The\n cliff proper, or precipice, is called the edge of the cliff; the\n cleeves, or the carns.\n\n CLUNK, to swallow.\n\n COSTAN, a basket made of straw and brambles.\n\n COURANT, romping play.\n\n COURSEY, to linger gossiping.\n\n COWAL, a large fish-basket.\n\n CRAVEL, mantel-stone.\n\n CRELLAS, the ruins of ancient bee-hive huts; an excavation in a\n bank, roofed over to serve for an out-house, &c.\n\n CROGGAN, a limpet shell.\n\n CRONACK, a toad.\n\n CROUD, the rind of a sieve covered with sheepskin, used for taking\n up corn, &c.; also an old fiddle.\n\n CRUM, crooked.\n\n CROUST, afternoons' refreshment of bread and beer in harvest time.\n\n CROW, a small out-house.\n\n\n DIDJAN, a little bit.\n\n DIJEY, a very small homestead.\n\n DOWER, water.\n\n DRUCKSHAR, a small solid wheel.\n\n DUFFAN, a nickname for one much given to self laudation; usually\n bestowed on a bouncing religionist who is powerful in speech, and\n strong in faith, but no better than ordinary mortals in works.\n\n DUFFY, a forthright, blunt happy-go-lucky person.\n\n DUMBLEDORE, large black-beetle.\n\n\n 'E, ye or you.\n\n\n FAIX! faith.\n\n FLUSHET, a flood-gate.\n\n FUGGAN, a small unleavened cake.\n\n FUGGO, an artificial cave.\n\n\n GADGE-VRAWS, the ox-eye daisy.\n\n GARD, soil used for scouring.\n\n GARRACK, a rock.\n\n GLOWS, dried cow-dung used for fuel.\n\n GRAMBLER, a stony place.\n\n GRIGLANS, heath.\n\n GRUIT, fine soil.\n\n GUARE, play, called out by boys when they throw quoits cast a ball,\n &c.\n\n GUISE-DANCE, Christmas mummery.\n\n GULTHISE (in Scilly niclethies), harvest-home feast.\n\n GURGOES, the ruins of ancient fences found on waste land.\n\n GWEEAN, a periwinkle.\n\n\n HILLA, the night-mare.\n\n HOGGAN, a \"fuggan\" with meat baked on it; the fruit of hawthorns.\n\n\n KEGGAS, rank wild plants, such as water-hemlock, elecampane, &c.\n\n KIBBAL, a bucket used at a draw-well or mine shaft.\n\n KISKEYS, the dried-up stalks of \"keggas.\"\n\n KNACKERS (knockers), spirits in the mines.\n\n KEUNEY, moss, lichen, &c.\n\n\n LAISTER, the yellow water-iris.\n\n LEW, sheltered from wind.\n\n LEWTH, shelter.\n\n\n MABYER, a young hen.\n\n MIRYON, an ant.\n\n MOAR, the root; to produce roots.\n\n MOOR-WORK, tin-streaming.\n\n MORABS, land near the sea.\n\n\n NACKAN, a kerchief.\n\n\n OAR-WEED, sea-weed.\n\n ORGAN, pennyroyal.\n\n\n PADZEPAW, a newt.\n\n PAR, cove; the word porth is never used by the natives of West\n Cornwall, nor does it ever occur in family names.\n\n PEETH, a draw-well.\n\n PIGGAL, a kind of large hoe used for cutting turf, &c.\n\n PILF, woolly dust.\n\n PILJACK, a poor scurvy fellow.\n\n PISKEY, a mischievous fairy that delights to lead people astray;\n also a greenish bug, found on blackberries.\n\n PITCH-TO, to set to work with good heart.\n\n PLUM, soft, light.\n\n PORVAN, a rush lamp wick.\n\n PRUIT! a word used for calling cows.\n\n PUL, mire, mud.\n\n PULAN, a small pool, such as is left by ebb tide.\n\n PUL-CRONACK, a small toad-like fish, found in \"pulans.\"\n\n\n QUALK, a heavy fall.\n\n QUILKAN, a frog.\n\n QUILLET, a small field.\n\n\n REEN, a steep hill side.\n\n ROSE, low lying level ground, moorland, &c.\n\n RULLS, rolls of carded wool.\n\n\n SEW (gone to), dried up.\n\n SKAW, the elder tree.\n\n SKAW-DOWER, fig wort.\n\n SKEDGEWITH, privet.\n\n SMALL-PEOPLE, fairies.\n\n SOAS, sose, forsooth.\n\n SPANISH DUMBLEDORE, the cock-chaffer.\n\n SPRIGGAN, sprite, fairy.\n\n SPROWL, life, energy.\n\n STROATH, more haste than good speed.\n\n STROLL, an untidy mess.\n\n\n TALFAT, a boarded floor, for a bed-place, over one end of a\n cottage.\n\n THRESHAL, a flail.\n\n TOWSAR, a large apron or wrapper.\n\n TUBBAN, a clod of earth.\n\n TUBBLE, a mattock.\n\n TUMMALS, quantity.\n\n TUNGTAVUS, a tattling fool.\n\n TUNTRY, the pole by which oxen draw a wain, cart, &c.\n\n TURN, a spinning wheel.\n\n\n UNCLE, a term of regard given to an old man.\n\n\n VEAN, little.\n\n VINED, mouldy.\n\n VISGEY, a pick-axe.\n\n VISNAN, the sand launce.\n\n VOW, a cavern or \"fuggo.\"\n\n VUG, a cavity in a lode or rock.\n\n\n WIDDEN, small.\n\n WIDDENS, small fields.\n\n WISHT, sad, like a person or thing ill-wisht.\n\n\n ZAWN (pro SOWN), a cavern in a cliff.\n\nA short time ago, two gentlemen of Penzance walked over to Chysauster,\nthe higher side of Gulval, on a Sunday morning, to inspect the\nhut-circles, caves, and other remains of what are supposed to have been\nancient British habitations. After a fruitless search, the gentlemen\nreturned towards Chysauster to see if they could meet with anyone to\ninform them where the objects they were in quest of might be found. In\nthe lane they overtook a woman and asked her if she knew of any caves\nthereabout? \"Caaves! no, I don't--not fit for butchers,\" she replied,\n\"but if you want any for rearan I think I can tell 'e where there es\nsome to be found; now I look at 'e agen you don't seem much like\nbutchers nether, nor you arn't none of our farmers about here ether!\nWhere are 'e coman from at all? Looking for caaves of a Sunday mornan!\nYou are very much in want of them I s'pose.\" The gentlemen explained\nthat they neither wanted calves for rearing nor killing, but to find the\nancient ruins. \"Oh Lord,\" said she, \"you're lookan for the old crellas,\nand things up in the hill! Why dedn't 'e say so than, that one might\nknow what you meant, instead of givan such outlandish names to things.\nBut come 'e along with me, and I'll show 'e,\" continued she in turning\nback and leading the way.\n\n\n\n\n INDEX.\n\n\n PAGE\n\n Ancient Bridal Customs 237\n\n ------ Coins found at Castle Maen 127\n\n ------ Mariners' Stories 149\n\n A night's ride to Scilly 233\n\n\n Ballowal, the knockers of (fairy tale) 185\n\n Baranhuel, a Queen's visit to 67\n\n -------- fairies' cow 73\n\n -------- shell room 72, 274\n\n Beatrice I'an, or Ivan 104\n\n -------- her death 118\n\n Betty Stoggs's baby (fairy tale) 205\n\n Bevan, the Rev. James 197\n\n Bewitching a dairy 65\n\n Bob 'o the Carn (fairy tale) 173\n\n Boleit, ancient monuments of 29\n\n Books popular in the West Country a century ago 197\n\n Boscawen-un circle 34\n\n Boskenna 36\n\n Boslow, the Piskey of 158\n\n Brea, or Bray 42, 200, 278\n\n Brea-Vean, the Changeling of (fairy tale) 200\n\n Breage, St., visits her brother, St. Levan 145\n\n Bridal customs, ancient, still in vogue 237\n\n Buccaneering 45\n\n Bucka, offerings to 187, 246\n\n Buryan fair 39\n\n ------ Sanctuary, men of 269\n\n ------ wise-woman or fortune-teller of 47\n\n\n Calling of the cleeves 216\n\n Cardews of Boskenna, the last of 38\n\n Castle Treen, traditions of 130, 138\n\n ------ Maen, or Men 127\n\n Changeling of Brea-Vean 200\n\n ------ how to get rid of one 202\n\n Chapel Uny Well 199\n\n Charms 243\n\n Chyannor, Tom of, the tin-streamer 72\n\n Chynance 116\n\n Clarice de Boleit, inscription on her tomb 29\n\n Conjurors, pellars, or wise-men 20, 76 276\n\n Crick-stone, the, or Men-an-tol 242\n\n Cursing Psalm, the 229, 231\n\n\n Danes, traditions of their incursions 127, 141, 274\n\n Daunce-Mayn 33\n\n Death-ship, the 248\n\n Demon, a, spinning 5\n\n Den-an-Dynas, the giant and his wife 137\n\n Devil's money 227\n\n Divination 131, 217, 245, 283\n\n Doctresses of the West Country 49\n\n Duffy and a Devil, an old guise-dance 1\n\n\n Enchanter, the, of Pengersec 263\n\n -------- of Maen and a thief 265, 267\n\n Escols, a strong man of 31\n\n ------ weavers of 196\n\n\n Faction fight in Buryan Church-town 215\n\n Fairy dwelling on Selena Moor 94\n\n ---- fair 161\n\n ---- master, the 173\n\n ---- tales 73, 94, 102, 154, 168, 173, 185, 200\n\n Fairies, how they may be driven away 75\n\n ------ old folks' notions respecting 101, 245\n\n Flowers, planting on graves, an old West Country\n custom 114\n\n Fortune-tellers 49, 276\n\n\n Garrack-zans 77, 150\n\n Ghost stories 122, 152, 217, 230\n\n ------ laying 124\n\n Ghostly ship's-bell, a 277\n\n Giants of Castle Treen 131, 137\n\n Goblins of the Mines 187\n\n Guise-dances, how performed 2\n\n Gulthise (harvest feast) 95\n\n Gwinear, the slighted damsel of 229\n\n\n Haunted houses 122, 212\n\n Hella-point, mermaids of 151\n\n Hell-hounds 66\n\n Heimskringla, the, of Snorri Surlusson, account\n in of Northmen marauding Cornwall, &c. 274\n\n Hilla-ridden 236\n\n Holed stones 31, 242, 280\n\n Hooper of Cowloe, the 247\n\n Hostess, the, of Market-jew 82\n\n Hurling 24\n\n Husbandry, old 195\n\n\n I'ans, their house in Treen 103\n\n ---- ghosts of 122\n\n ---- a Breton descendant of 125\n\n Ill-wishing 63, 65, 285, 286\n\n Ivy-leaves and rushes, divination by 217, 283\n\n\n Johanna, the foolish, her garden 146\n\n ---- rebukes St. Levan for fishing on a Sunday 148\n\n Just, St., feast of 154, 170\n\n\n Kaerkeis bowjey 127\n\n Key, the, of Castle Treen 130\n\n Knackers of Ballowal (fairy tale) 185\n\n\n Levan, St., legends of 145\n\n -------- stone 147\n\n -------- his path 146, 272\n\n -------- witches 139\n\n Long stones, or Menheeres of Boleit 30\n\n -------- places named from numerous 31\n\n Lovell, Madam, her troubles 21\n\n ------ or Levelis, family of 271\n\n Loyal hearts of Buryan 69\n\n\n Madron well and chapel 239\n\n Marriage usages, ancient 237, 239\n\n Mayor of Market-jew, a 83\n\n Merchants of Treen, the 81\n\n Merlin's prophesies 130, 147\n\n Mermaid of Zennor, the 288\n\n Midsummer bonfires 287\n\n Miners' stories 187, 191\n\n Miracle-plays, performed at Sancreed 269\n\n Morvah man, a, shopping 207\n\n\n Nelly Wearne, the story of 38\n\n Nicknames 198\n\n Night's ride, a, to Scilly 233\n\n Noy, Mr. William, in a fairy dwelling 97\n\n Noy, Madam, and the witch 63\n\n ---- family of 274\n\n\n Olaf, the first Christian king of Norway, his\n conversion at Scilly 275\n\n\n Parchapel well 148\n\n Parcurnow, traditions of 140\n\n Pargwartha, legend of 149\n\n Parish clerks sixty years ago 169\n\n Pellars, or wise-men 76, 191\n\n Penance, doing in Buryan Church 55\n\n Penberth, a cottage dwelling at 111\n\n Pendar, Madam, receiving a Queen 68\n\n ------ family of 72, 95, 119, 223\n\n Pendeen of old 166, 279\n\n Pengersec, legends of 251\n\n -------- the magician 264\n\n Penrose, the smugglers of 212\n\n ------ family 223\n\n Phantom lover, a, takes off his affianced 152\n\n Piskey, how he left Boslow 168\n\n ------ led 160\n\n ------ threshing 159\n\n Plan-an-guarre, St. Just 268\n\n Polkinghorne, Parson, an exorcist 125\n\n\n Queen's, a, visit to Baranhuel 67\n\n\n Robbers, the, and merchants of Treen 87\n\n Roskestal, Garrack-zans in 148, 151\n\n Rosmoddrass, monuments of 27\n\n\n Sanctuary men of Buryan 260\n\n \"Sancras,\" miracle-play at 269\n\n Scilly, a night's ride to 233\n\n ---- visited by King Olaf 275\n\n Selena Moor, a fairy dwelling on 94\n\n Shovel, Admiral Sir Cloudesly, his wreck at\n Scilly 231\n\n -------- his grave 233\n\n Slighted damsel, the, of Gwinear 229\n\n Small-people, see fairies.\n\n Smugglers 57, 106\n\n -------- the, of Penrose 212\n\n Spinning 5, 25, 105\n\n Sweethearts' Cove, the 149\n\n Sun, the, never shines on a person that has\n sworn way a life 249\n\n\n Tarraway, the spinning demon 16\n\n Tinners' stories 185\n\n Tolmen of Constantine, the 280\n\n Tom Trenoweth's bewitched sow 61\n\n ---- of Chyannor, the tin-streamer 77\n\n -------- gets three pieces of wisdom in lieu of\n wages 80\n\n -------- his welcome home 89\n\n Tredrill, the changeling 201\n\n Treen, a market town, in old times 78\n\n ------ the I'an's house of 103\n\n ------ Dynas 127\n\n Tregagle bound to Gwenvor 224\n\n -------- the roaring of 226\n\n\n Uncle Will Ben's fiddle and sayings 170\n\n\n Vellan Dreath, the burning of 279\n\n Vow, the, of Pendeen 28, 167\n\n ---- spirit of the 167\n\n\n Weddings, old fashioned customs at 237, 239\n\n Wells, holy 128, 148, 239, 201\n\n Wetherel, Capt., his grave and ghostly\n ship's-bell 277\n\n White hare, an injured woman's spirit takes the\n form of a 253\n\n Wise-woman, the, of Buryan Church-town 47\n\n Witches 12, 59, 63, 65, 75, 139, 255, 265\n\n\n Zennor man's will, a 210\n\n ------ mermaid of 288\n\n [Illustration: FINIS]\n\n\n\n\n SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES.\n\n\n Akerman, H. J., _Hanover Square, London_.\n\n Astley, Rev. R., _Perran_.\n\n\n Bannister, Rev. John., LL.D., _St. Day_, 2 copies.\n\n Barham, C., M.D., _Truro_.\n\n Barnicoat, Christopher, _St. Levan_.\n\n Bate, C. Spence, F.R.S., _Plymouth_.\n\n Batten, J. Hallet, F.R.G.S., _Havitree, Exeter_.\n\n Batten, John, _Penzance_.\n\n Blackwell, H., _ditto_.\n\n Bence, Rev. J. B., _Cribbs Lodge, near Bristol_.\n\n Berry, Rev. Aubrey, _West Cowes, Isle of Wight_.\n\n Blewett, J. P., _Penzance_, 2 copies.\n\n Blight, John, F.S.A., _ditto_.\n\n Blight Joseph, _London_.\n\n Blight, Miss, _ditto_.\n\n Boase, Francis, M.R.C.S.E., _Penzance_.\n\n Boase, J. J. A., _Alverton_.\n\n Boase, Rev. Charles William, _Exeter College, Oxford_.\n\n Boase, George Clement, _London_.\n\n Bolitho, William, _Polwithan_, 3 copies.\n\n Bolitho, William, _Ponsandane_.\n\n Bodilly, James Broad, M.R.C.S.E., _Harrold, Beds._\n\n Bodilly, Ralph H., _Penzance_.\n\n Borlase, John, _Castle Horneck_.\n\n Borlase, W. Copeland, F.S.A., _ditto_.\n\n Boyns, Edwin, _Penzance_.\n\n Boyns, Nicholas, _Bosanketh, Buryan_.\n\n Boyns, Nicholas, _Hendra, St. Just_.\n\n Brokenshire, Mrs., _Withington, near Manchester_.\n\n Brune, Charles G. Prideaux, _Prideaux Place, Padstow_, 2 copies.\n\n Bull, E., _Telegraph Station, Porthcurnow_.\n\n Buonaparte, His Imperial Highness Prince Louis Lucien.\n\n\n Carpenter, Mrs., _Falmouth_.\n\n Cardew, Cornelius, _Exeter_.\n\n Champion, James, C. and M. E., _Nevada-county, California_.\n\n Child, Josiah, _London_.\n\n Chirgwin, R. W. and Co., _St. Just_.\n\n Code, Theophilus, _Marazion_.\n\n Cock, William, _Penzance_.\n\n Colenso, Richard, _ditto_.\n\n \"Cornish Telegraph\" proprietors, 4 copies.\n\n Cornish, Thomas, _Penzance_, 2 copies.\n\n Cornish, H. R., _Trewey, Zennor_.\n\n Cornish, William, _Penzance_.\n\n Cornish, Cyrus Henry, _London_.\n\n Cornish, Thomas R., _Buenos Ayres_.\n\n Cornish, John Hewett, _Penzance_.\n\n Cornish, James Mitchell, _ditto_.\n\n Cornish, Miss, _ditto_.\n\n Coulson, William, late, _Madron_.\n\n Coulson, James Bevan, _Penzance_.\n\n Coulson, W. H., H.M.C., _Liverpool_.\n\n Courtney, Leonard H., _London_, 2 copies.\n\n Courtenay, James, _Trevening House, Bristol_.\n\n Crocker, Rev. James, _Felsted, Essex_.\n\n Crocker, F. H., _Penzance_.\n\n Curgeven, J. Brendon, M.R.C.S.E., _London_.\n\n Curnow, John, M.D., M.R.C.P., _London_.\n\n Curnow, Stephen, _St. Hillary_.\n\n\n Davies-Brown, Mrs., _St. John's-wood, London_.\n\n Davies, Rev. J. D., _Llanmadoc Rectory, near Swansea_.\n\n Davy, Edmund, _Madron_.\n\n Delapierre, Octave, Belgian Consul-General, _London_.\n\n Douglass, James N., C.E., _Trinity House, London_.\n\n Douglass, William, C.E., _Ceylon_.\n\n Dusting, Mrs. W., _Penzance_, 2 copies.\n\n Drake, Rev. W. H., _Halestown_, 2 copies.\n\n Dunkin, Edwin, F.R.A.S., _Blackheath_.\n\n\n Ellis, C. A., _Penzance_.\n\n\n Fisher, Charles, _ditto_.\n\n Fisher, Edward, _Ashby-de-la-Zouch_.\n\n Farquharson, Mrs., _Penzance_.\n\n Ford, J. W., _Petrolia_, 2 copies.\n\n Foss, Thomas, C.E., _Mexico_.\n\n Francis, James A., _Penzance_.\n\n Francis, H., _Charlestown, St. Austell_.\n\n Freel, C., _Penzance_.\n\n\n Geffroi, H. M., _School of Science and Art, ditto_.\n\n Genn, J. H., _Liverpool_.\n\n Gilbert, Hon. Mrs., _Trelissick_.\n\n Grenfell, William, _Birmingham_.\n\n Grylls, Thomas, _Penzance_.\n\n\n Harvey, William G., M.R.C.S.E., _ditto_, 3 copies.\n\n Harvey, Miss, _ditto_.\n\n Harvey, Joseph H., _ditto_.\n\n Harvey, James, _ditto_.\n\n Harvey, Miss Ellen Davies, _ditto_.\n\n Harvey, R. Trewavas, H.M.C., _Liverpool_.\n\n Hattam, Thomas, _St. Anthony Lighthouse_.\n\n Hedgeland, Rev. Preb., _Penzance_.\n\n Henwood, W. J., _ditto_, 2 copies.\n\n Higgs, Samuel, Jun., F.G.S., _Wallaroo mines, Australia_.\n\n Hirst, John, Jun., _Dobcross, Manchester_.\n\n Holmes, Robert, _Penzance_.\n\n Hutchens, Thomas, _Salisbury_.\n\n Hunt, Robert, F.G.S., _Chelsea_, 2 copies.\n\n\n Jackson, Capt. P., _Little Eppington, Barnstaple_.\n\n James, J., _Penzance_.\n\n James, J. H., _ditto_.\n\n James, Hamilton, _Truro_.\n\n James, S. H., _Alma Villa, St. Just_.\n\n Jenkins, Isaac, _London_.\n\n John, Miss, _Penzance_.\n\n\n Kennedy, Patrick, _Anglesea Street, Dublin_.\n\n Kevern, J. T., _Penzance_, 2 copies.\n\n King, Henry, H.M.C., _ditto_.\n\n Kistler, Matthias, _ditto_.\n\n Kneebone, W. E., _Pensylva, Liskeard_.\n\n\n Lanyon, J. J., _Penzance_.\n\n Liebrecht, Dr. Felix, _Liege_.\n\n Lovell, James, jun., _Chyandour_.\n\n Luxmore, Capt., _Witherden, Devon_.\n\n\n Maclean, Sir John, F.S.A., _Pallingswick Lodge, Hammersmith_.\n\n Marrack, R. M., _London_.\n\n Martin, Thomas, _Exeter_.\n\n Mathews, Martin, _Penzance_.\n\n Mathews, T., _ditto_.\n\n Mathews, W., C.E., _London_.\n\n Mauleverer, Miss, _The Mall, Armagh_.\n\n Milton, J. P., _Penzance_.\n\n Michell, Stephen, _ditto_.\n\n Mitchell, William, _ditto_.\n\n Millett, J. N., _ditto_.\n\n Montgomery, J. B., M.D., M.R.C.P., _ditto_.\n\n Morewood, R. D., _Trinity House, London_.\n\n Morgan, G. V., _London_.\n\n Morris, George T., _Bengal Staff Corps_.\n\n M\u00fcller, Professor Max., _Oxford_, 2 copies.\n\n\n Nance, Capt. Francis, _St. Martins, Scilly_.\n\n Napier, James, F.C.S., _Camlachie, Glasgow_.\n\n Nelson, Major-Gen., R.E., _Devonport_.\n\n Nicholas, John, _Gamberton, South Australia_.\n\n Noy, William D., _London_.\n\n Nunn, John, Euston Square, _ditto_.\n\n\n Pascoe, J. R. Cardwell, late, H.M.C., _Hayle_.\n\n Paul, Nicholas, _Penzance_.\n\n Paull, Alexander, M.R.C.S.E., _Truro_.\n\n Pearse, W. H., _St. Paul's-road, London_.\n\n Pease, William, jun., _Loswithiel_.\n\n Pengelly, Mrs., _Penzance_.\n\n Pentreath, Richard, H.M.C., _London_, 2 copies.\n\n Pentreath, Capt. Wm., _Mousehole_.\n\n Pentreath, Capt. Edwin, _Torpoint_.\n\n Pentreath, Rev. Edwyn Sandys, _New York_.\n\n Penzance Public Library.\n\n Phillips, Henry L., _London_.\n\n Pollard, James Glasson, _Charlotte Town, Michigan_.\n\n Pooley, Miss Annie, _Penzance_.\n\n\n Quick, Richard, _St. Ives_.\n\n Quick, Vivian, _ditto_.\n\n Quick, William Bottrell, _ditto_.\n\n\n Ralfs, John, M.R.C.S.E., _Penzance_, 2 copies.\n\n Ransom, E., Kempstone, _Bedford_.\n\n Rawlings, W. J., _Downes, Hayle_.\n\n Read, John Herbert, _California_.\n\n Richards, John, _St. Buryan_.\n\n Rigby, Samuel, _Warrington_, 5 copies.\n\n Rodd, E. H., _Penzance_.\n\n Roscorla, John, _ditto_.\n\n Rothschild, Baroness, M. de, 2 copies.\n\n\n Sandys, William, F.S.A., _London_.\n\n Sherriff, J. D., C.E., _Truro_.\n\n Smith, Augustus, late, _Tresco Abbey, Scilly_.\n\n Spratt, G. E., _Porthcurnow_.\n\n\n Tetley, Edward, _Sydenham_.\n\n Thomas, Henry, _Penzance_.\n\n Thomas, Henry, late, F.G.S., _London_.\n\n Thomas, Stephen, _School of Art, Northampton_.\n\n Tipping, George B., _London_.\n\n Tonkin, Charles, _ditto_.\n\n Tonkin, Rev. John, _Trevervyn, Buryan_.\n\n Tredrea, E., _Cape Town, South Africa_.\n\n Trevithick, Francis, C.E., _The Cliff, Penzance_.\n\n Trounson, John, _London_.\n\n Truran, J. Jameson, _Gresham House, London_.\n\n Trythall, W., _Melbourne, Australia_.\n\n Trythall, William, _Penzance_.\n\n\n Uren, J. G., Post-master, _Penzance_.\n\n\n Van de Weyer, His Excellency, M.S., _London_.\n\n Victor, Henry R., _Penzance_.\n\n Vingoe, John, _Exeter_.\n\n Vingoe, W. H., _Penzance_.\n\n Vosper-Thomas, Samuel, _Wimborne, Dorset_.\n\n Vosper-Thomas, M. G., _ditto_.\n\n\n Wallis, William, _Penzance_.\n\n Wathen, Hulbert, _Himalaya_.\n\n Wellington, Richard, _ditto_.\n\n White, W. N., _London_.\n\n Whitley, H. Michell, C.E., _ditto_.\n\n Willan, L. R., M.D., M.R.C.P., _Penzance_.\n\n Wildman, Albert C., _ditto_, 2 copies.\n\n Wildman, Henry, _ditto_.\n\n Williams, Henry, _ditto_.\n\n Williams, Capt., _Ding Dong_, 2 copies.\n\n Williams, T., _Trinity House, London_.\n\n [Illustration]\n\n PENZANCE:\n BEARE AND SON, STEAM PRINTERS, BOOKBINDERS, ETC.\n\n\n\n\n ERRATA.\n\n\n Page 11, line 21, for _flow_ read _flour_.\n\n -- 33, -- 29, -- _king_ read _kind_.\n\n -- 38, -- 25, -- _sevant_ read _servant_.\n\n -- 41, -- 7, -- _candlelight_ read _candlelighting_.\n\n -- 45, -- 23, -- _cairns_ read _carns_.\n\n -- 54, -- 16, -- _the farming_ read _farming_.\n\n -- 57, -- 1, read _and they, with a crew of such dare-devils\n as suited them, set sail, &c._\n\n -- 63, -- 13, for _crops_ read _cops_.\n\n -- 75, -- 35, -- _shakened_ read _shaken_.\n\n -- 76, -- 20, -- _a much_ read _much_.\n\n -- 92, -- 21, -- _in_ read _into_.\n\n -- 106, -- 1, -- _comrades_ read _comrade_.\n\n -- 114, -- 3, omit _with_.\n\n -- 115, -- 12, for _such_ read _much_.\n\n -- 127, -- 36, omit _heap of_.\n\n -- 196, -- 15, for _there_ read _their_.\n\n -- 213, -- 45, -- _cairns_ read _carns_.\n\n -- 235, -- 42, -- _stag_ read _the stag_.\n\n -- 235, -- 24, -- _strait_ read _straight_.\n\n -- 265, -- 26, -- _wisewom_ read _wise-woman_.\n\n -- 272, -- 20, -- _with the_ read _which_.\n\n -- 273, -- 1, -- _was_ read _were_.\n\n -- 273, -- 11, -- _boat_ read _coat_.\n\n -- 273, -- 16, -- _or_ read _ar_.\n\n -- 274, -- 32, -- _Trevedern_ read _Trevervyn_.\n\n -- 274, -- 37, -- _Herbrides_ read _Hebrides_.\n\n -- 275, -- 2, -- _Snorro_ read _Snorri_.\n\n\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nCorrections from the list of ERRATA on page 299 have been incorporated\nin the text.\n\nObvious typographical errors were corrected, as listed below. Other\napparent inconsistencies or errors, including different or missing\nentries in the Table of Contents, have been retained. Missing\npunctuation has been restored and hyphenation has been made consistent.\nPeriod spellings and grammatical uses have been kept.\n\nText enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\nPage 4, \"dinnner\" changed to \"dinner\". (Now you needn't eat any bread\nand cheese, as dinner will be ready soon.)\n\nPage 4, 24 and 25, \"seive\" changed to \"sieve\" for consistency. (Duffy\nseated, carding and making rolls of wool, which were placed in a cayer\n(winnowing sieve.))\n\nPage 8, \"Joan\" changed to \"Jone\" for consistency. (\"Jone, take up the\npie, if its ready or raw. I'm as hungry as a hound.\")\n\nPage 21, \"ftom\" changed to \"from\". (Madam watched her good man spurring\nhis Dobbin till he was clear of Trove town-place, then down she ran to\nMill and told old Betty that unless she got a speedy release from her\nirksome task she would drown herself in the mill-pool.)\n\nPage 26, \"its\" changed to \"it's\" twice. (\"Though it's comforting to have\ncompanions in affliction,\" said she, after a pull at the flaggon, \"yet\nfrom the regard I have for your honour and mistress there, I have spoke\nof my ailment to warn 'e that as sure as I sit here with a broken\ntwadling-string it will soon be the same with my lady there, if it's\ntrue, what I do hear, that you keep her to spin from morn till night\nmost every day of the year.)\n\nPage 29, [+] represents a typographical dagger, or obelisk symbol.\n\nPage 33, \"ninteen\" changed to \"nineteen\". (The legend that the\n(originally) nineteen posts were damsels ...)\n\nPage 35, \"of of\" changed to \"of\". (... would sooner or later overtake\nthe sacrilegious destroyer of the ancient holy stones.)\n\nPage 35, \"alter-like\" changed to \"altar-like\". (In many of the oldest\nvillages there were formerly altar-like stones, known by the name of\ngarrac zans, (the holy stones) which were protected by the fear of the\ngoddess of Bad Luck;)\n\nPage 43, \"the the\" changed to \"the\". (\"And have ye been lawfully\nmarried, my darling?\" asked the old dame.)\n\nPage 60, \"her's\" changed to \"hers\". (That while, one Tom Trenoweth, a\ncousin of hers, offered a trifle more and purchased the sow.)\n\nPage 60, \"to\" changed to \"too\". (\"You're too late, cousin,\" said Tom,\n\"I've bought her.\")\n\nPage 70, \"and and\" changed to \"and\". (She was, above all, elated when\nher royal guest smacked her lips after a sip of brandy, and swore, \"by\ncock and pie,\" that \"true as she was a sinner, never before, in all her\nborn days, had she so much enjoyed a repast.\")\n\nPage 72, \"is\" changed to \"it\". (The shell-room was built after, and some\nsay it was intended to commemorate that honour.)\n\nPage 78, \"an an\" changed to \"an\". (Tom, having placed his tin in one of\nthe hollows of this stone, inquired the news, and asked how work was\naway in the East Country, of merchants from Market-jew, who brought\ngoods in their vessels to Parcurnow, which was then clear of sand, and\nthe tide flowed in a deep channel up to an old caunse (paved road)\nstill to be seen.)\n\nPage 91, \"to to\" changed to \"to\". (Next day, Tom and his wife, being\nalone together, she said to him, \"Now, whilst the maid is out, tell me,\nmy son, what dost thee think of her sweetheart and of their being\nmarried soon?\")\n\nPage 112, \"the the\" changed to \"the\". (... besides the black kerchief or\nscarf, over your head, shades your face.)\n\nPage 113, \"Hear\" changed to \"Here\". (\"Here, dears, drink this, and help\nyourselves to more while I get something for 'e to eat before I hear\nanother word.\")\n\nPage 113, \"choral\" has been changed to \"coral\". (On the chimney-piece\nthey might have noticed an hour-glass between tall brass candlesticks,\nbranches of coral, sea-birds' eggs, sea-urchins, and foreign shells.)\n\nPage 128, \"Armonican\" changed to \"Armorican\" for consistency. (We can't\nfollow the old guide through the long story he used to relate of what\npassed between him and the Armorican gentleman.)\n\nPage 128, \"butno thing\" changed to \"but nothing\". (Service was over and\nthe congregation dispersed, but the church-door key being kept at the\ninn, they inspected the church to see if any memorial of the I'ans was\nto be found, but nothing connected with them was observed in carved\nshields or bench-ends, nor elsewhere.)\n\nPage 157, \"left\" changed to \"let\". (... how he put out her eye, because\nshe let him know, and other people too, that she was up to his tricks,\nand had found out which way he managed to live so easy without working\nlike an honest man.)\n\nPage 184, \"showind\" changed to \"showing\". (She could no more endure her\nold home--and, showing but little regard for its inmates, loathed their\nhomely fare and old fashioned ways.)\n\nPage 196, \"its\" changed to \"it's\". (The rest I don't remember; it's\nsomething about sceptred king's and beggar's dust coming to the same\npass.)\n\nPage 199, \"aulf\" changed to \"aulfe\". (Says that the fairy left this\naulfe, ...)\n\nPage 233, \"parence\" changed to \"parece\". (no parece sino que no nos\nmovemos de un lugar.)\n\nPage 233, \"Bein\" changed to \"Bien\". (Bien es verdad que sent\u00ed que pasaba\npor la region del aire, y aun que tocaba \u00e1 la del fuego;)\n\nPage 242, \"scatica\" changed to \"sciatica\". (In a croft belonging to\nLanyon farm, and about half a mile north of the town-place, there is a\nremarkable group of three stones, the centre one of which is called by\nantiquaries the Men-an-tol (holed stone), and by country folk the\nCrick-stone, from an old custom--not yet extinct--of \"crameing\"\n(crawling on all fours) nine times through the hole in the centre stone,\ngoing against the sun's course, for the cure of lumbago, sciatica, and\nother \"cricks\" and pains in the back.)\n\nPage 273, missing \"in\" added. (The former of these subsequently married\nJoseph Marke, of Woodhill, near Liskeard, gentleman, and jointly with\nher sister in 1699, disposed of the property, contrary to the wish of\ntheir cousin, Mr. Vosper, of Liskeard and Launcells.)\n\nPage 276, \"Ola\" changed to \"Olaf\". (... he retained no more of his name\nthan that he was called Olaf, and was Russian.)\n\nPage 279, \"hisown\" changed to \"his own\". (The Rev. Dr. William Borlase,\nthe celebrated antiquary and historian of his own county, who, by his\nelaborate work, has raised to his own memory an enduring monument, was\nborn here.)\n\nPage 282, \"cicles\" changed to \"circles\". (The holed stones at Kenidjac,\nSt. Just, are near ancient circles;)\n\nPage 288, \"wierd\" changed to \"weird\". (We would gladly go many miles to\nsee the weird-looking, yet picturesque, dancers around the flames on a\ncarn, or high hill top, as we have seen them some forty years ago.)\n\nPage 288, \"apears\" changed to \"appears\". (We are sorry to find that\nanother pleasing Midsummer's observance, which also appears to be\nancient, has almost died out.)\n\nPage 293, \"drive\" changed to \"driven\". (Fairies, how they may be driven\naway.)\n\nFootnote 3 was originally unnumbered. Footnote numbers were added next\nto the three stories which the footnote referred to.","title":"Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall, Second Series","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":132853}