{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_54637/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_54637","id":"gutenberg_54637","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54637","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Cooking & Drinking","Category: History - Other","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Cornwall (England : County) -- Social life and customs","Fasts and feasts -- England -- Cornwall (County)","Folklore -- England -- Cornwall (County)","Legends -- England -- Cornwall (County)"],"text":"CORNISH\n\n                         FEASTS AND FOLK-LORE.\n\n                                   BY\n\n                          MISS M. A. COURTNEY,\n\n          AUTHOR OF \"GLOSSARY OF WORDS USED IN WEST CORNWALL.\"\n\n                       REVISED AND REPRINTED FROM\n                THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY JOURNALS, 1886-87.\n\n\n\n                               PENZANCE:\n                    BEARE AND SON, 21, MARKET PLACE.\n                                 1890.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nFew Cornish people are probably aware how wide-spread still with us is\nthe belief in charms and charmers, ghosts, and all other superstitions;\nnor that there are witches in our county, shunned and dreaded by some\nwho fear their supposed power to ill-wish those who offend them, and\nsought out by others who want by their aid to avert the evil eye,\nor by their incantations to remove the spells already cast on them\nand their cattle by an ill-wisher who has \"overlooked\" them.\n\nFolk-lore is an almost inexhaustible subject. There must be many\ncharms in use here that have not come under my notice; a few are too\ncoarse to record, as are some of the tales.\n\nA book on folk-lore cannot in this century contain original matter;\nit must be compiled from various sources. I have when quoting from\nother writers given my authority, and to communications from friends\ngenerally appended their names. To \"One and All\" I beg leave to tender\nmy sincere thanks.\n\n\n                                                         M. A. Courtney.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCORNISH FEASTS AND \"FEASTEN\" CUSTOMS.\n\n\nCornwall has always been a county largely given to hospitality, and,\nas \"all Cornish gentlemen are cousins,\" they have from time immemorial\nmade it a practice to meet at each other's houses to celebrate their\nfeasts and saints' days.\n\nSince \"there are more saints in Cornwall than there are in heaven,\"\nthese friendly gatherings must necessarily be very numerous. Each\nparish has its own particular saint to which its church is\ndedicated. The feasts held in their honour, probably dating from the\nfoundation of the churches, are kept on the nearest Sunday and Monday\nto dedication day, called by the people \"feasten\" Sunday and Monday.\n\nEvery family, however poor, tries to have a better dinner than usual\non feasten Sunday; generally a joint of meat with a \"figgy-pudden\"\n(a baked or boiled suet-pudding with raisins in it).\n\nOn the preceding Saturdays large quantities of \"plum cake\" are baked;\nlight currant cakes raised with barm (yeast), and coloured bright\nyellow with saffron (as dear as \"saffern\" is a very common simile\nin Cornwall). This \"saffern cake\" at tea is often supplemented with\n\"heavy cake\" (a delicacy peculiar to the county), a rich currant paste,\nabout an inch thick, made with clotted cream, and eaten hot.\n\nThe Western hounds meet in all the villages situated at a convenient\ndistance from their kennel, at ten o'clock on feasten Mondays, and,\nafter a breakfast given by the squire of the parish to the huntsmen,\nstart for their run from somewhere near the parish church (the \"church\ntown\"). Three or four houses clustered together, and even sometimes\na single house, is called in Cornwall \"a town,\" a farmyard is \"a town\nplace,\" and London is often spoken of as \"Lunnon church town.\"\n\nThe first of the West Penwith feasts is that of Paul, a parish close to\nPenzance, which has not the Apostle Paul but St. Pol-de-Lion for its\npatron saint. It falls on the nearest Sunday to 10th of October. An\nold proverb says, \"Rain for Paul, rain for all,\" therefore, should\nthe day be wet, it is of course looked upon by the young people as\na bad sign for their future merry-makings. An annual bowling-match\nwas formerly held on feasten Monday, between Paul and Mousehole men\n(Mousehole is a fishing village in the same parish); the last of\nthem took place sixty years ago. Up to that time the bowling-green,\nan artificially raised piece of ground, was kept in order by the\nparishioners. No one in the neighbourhood now knows the game; the\nchurch schools are built on a part of the site, and the remainder\nis the village playground. If there were ever any other peculiar\ncustoms celebrated at Paul feast they are quite forgotten, and the\nMonday night's carousal at the public-houses has here, as elsewhere,\ngiven place to church and chapel teas, followed by concerts in the\nschool-rooms, although there are still a few \"standings\" (stalls)\nin the streets, for the sale of gingerbread nuts and sweetmeats, and\none or two swings and merry-go-rounds, largely patronised by children.\n\nOctober 12th. A fair, called Roast Goose Fair, is held at Redruth.\n\nOn the nearest Saturday to Hallowe'en, October 31st, the fruiterers\nof Penzance display in their windows very large apples, known locally\nas \"Allan\" apples. These were formerly bought by the inhabitants and\nall the country people from the neighbourhood (for whom Penzance is\nthe market-town), and one was given to each member of the family to\nbe eaten for luck. The elder girls put theirs, before they ate them,\nunder their pillows, to dream of their sweethearts. A few of the apples\nare still sold; but the custom, which, I have lately been told, was\nalso observed at St. Ives, is practically dying out. On \"Allantide,\"\nat Newlyn West, two strips of wood are joined crosswise by a nail in\nthe centre; at each of the four ends a lighted candle is stuck, with\napples hung between them. This is fastened to a beam, or the ceiling of\nthe kitchen, and made to revolve rapidly. The players, who try to catch\nthe apples in their mouths, often get instead a taste of the candle.\n\nIn Cornwall, as in other parts of England, many charms were tried on\nHallowe'en to discover with whom you were to spend your future life,\nor if you were to remain unmarried, such as pouring melted lead\nthrough the handle of the front door key. The fantastic shapes it\nassumed foretold your husband's profession or trade.\n\nRolling three names, each written on a separate piece of paper,\ntightly in the centre of three balls of earth. These were afterwards\nput into a deep basin of water, and anxiously watched until one of\nthem opened, as the name on the first slip which came to the surface\nwould be that of the person you were to marry.\n\nTying the front door key tightly with your left leg garter between the\nleaves of a Bible at one particular chapter in the Song of Solomon. It\nwas then held on the forefinger, and when the sweetheart's name was\nmentioned it turned round.\n\nSlipping a wedding-ring on to a piece of cotton, held between the\nforefinger and thumb, saying, \"If my husband's name is to be ----\nlet this ring swing!\" Of course, when the name of the person preferred\nwas spoken, the holder unconsciously made the ring oscillate. I have,\nwhen a school-girl, assisted at these rites, and I expect the young\npeople still practise them.\n\nIn St. Cubert's parish, East Cornwall, is a celebrated Holy well, so\nnamed, the inhabitants say, from its virtues having been discovered\non All Hallows-day. It is covered at high spring tides.\n\nSt. Just feast (which, when the mines in that district were prosperous,\nwas kept up with more revelry than almost any other) is always held\non the nearest Sunday to All Saints'-day. Formerly, on the Monday,\nmany games were played, viz.--\"Kook, a trial of casting quoits farthest\nand nearest to the goal, now all but forgotten\" (Bottrell), wrestling,\nand kailles, or keels (ninepins), &c. Much beer and \"moonshine\" (spirit\nthat had not paid the duty) were drunk, and, as the St. Just men are\nproverbially pugnacious, the sports often ended with a free fight. A\nparagraph in a local paper for November, 1882, described a St. Just\nfeast in those days as \"A hobble, a squabble, and a 'hubbadullion'\naltogether.\" Rich and poor still at this season keep open house, and\nall the young people from St. Just who are in service for many miles\naround, if they can possibly be spared, go home on the Saturday and\nstay until the Tuesday morning. A small fair is held in the streets\non Monday evening, when the young men are expected to treat their\nsweethearts liberally, and a great deal of \"foolish money\" that can\nbe ill afforded is often spent.\n\nIn many Cornish parishes the bells are rung on November 4th,\n\"Ringing night.\"\n\nThe celebration of Gunpowder Plot has quite died out in West Cornwall,\nbut in Launceston, and in other towns in the eastern part of the\ncounty, it is still observed. As regularly as the 5th of November\ncomes around, fireworks are let off, and bonfires lit, to lively\nmusic played by the local bands.\n\n\"This year, 1884, 'Young Stratton' celebrated the Fifth with much\nmore than his customary enthusiasm. A good sum was raised by public\nsubscription by the energy of Mr. C. A. Saunders. The Bude fife and\ndrum band headed a grotesque procession, formed at Howl's Bridge,\nand second in order came a number of equestrian torch-bearers in all\nkinds of costumes, furnished by wardrobes of Her Majesty's navy, the\nRoyal Marines, the Yeomanry, and numerous other sources. 'Guido Faux'\nfollowed in his car, honoured by a postilion and a band of Christy\nMinstrels; then came foot torch-bearers, and a crowd of enthusiastic\ncitizens, who 'hurraed' to their hearts' content. Noticeable were\nthe banners, 'Success to Young Stratton,' the Cornish arms, and\n'God save the Queen.' The display of fireworks took place from a\nfield overlooking the town, and the inhabitants grouped together\nat points of vantage to witness the display. The bonfire was lit on\nStamford Hill, where the carnival ended. Good order and good humour\nprevailed.\"--(Western Morning News.)\n\nWhen I was a girl, I was taught the following doggerel rhymes, which\nwere on this day then commonly chanted:--\n\n\n   \"Please to remember the fifth of November!\n    A stick or a stake, for King George's sake.\n    A faggot or rope, to hang the Pope.\n    For Gunpowder Plot, shall never be forgot,\n    Whilst Castle Ryan stands upon a rock.\"\n\n\nThis was in Victoria's reign; where Castle Ryan stands I have never\nbeen able to learn.\n\nThe old custom formerly practised in Camborne, of taking a marrow-bone\nfrom the butchers on the Saturday before the feast, which is held on\nthe nearest Sunday to Martinmas, was, in 1884, revived in its original\nform. \"A number of gentlemen, known as the 'Homage Committee,'\nwent round the market with hampers, which were soon filled with\nmarrow-bones, and they afterwards visited the public-houses as\n'tasters.'\"--(Cornishman.)\n\nOne night in November is known in Padstow as \"Skip-skop night,\" when\nthe boys of the place go about with a stone in a sling; with this\nthey strike the doors, and afterwards slily throw in winkle-shells,\ndirt, &c. Mr. T. Q. Couch says: \"They strike violently against the\ndoors of the houses and ask for money to make a feast.\"\n\nAt St. Ives, on the Saturday before Advent Sunday, \"Fair-mo\" (pig\nfair) is held. This town is much celebrated locally for macaroons;\na great many are then bought as \"fairings.\" The St. Ives fishing\n(pilchard) season generally ends in November, consequently at this\ntime there is often no lack of money.\n\nThe feast of St. Maddern, or Madron feast, which is also that of\nPenzance (Penzance being until recently in that parish), is on\nAdvent Sunday.\n\nThe last bull-baiting held here was on the \"feasten\" Monday of 1813,\nand took place in the field on which the Union is now built. The\nbull was supplied by a squire from Kimyel, in the neighbouring parish\nof Paul. A ship's anchor, which must have been carried up hill from\nPenzance quay, a distance of nearly three miles, was firmly fixed in\nthe centre of the field, and to it the bull was tied. Bull-baiting was\nsoon after discontinued in Cornwall. The following account of the last\nI had from a gentleman who was well known in the county. He said, \"This\nI think took place in a field adjoining Ponsandane bridge, in Gulval\nparish, at the east of Penzance, in the summer of 1814. I remember the\nblack bull being led by four men. The crowd was dispersed early in the\nevening by a severe thunderstorm, which much alarmed the people, who\nthought it (I was led to believe) a judgment from heaven.\"--(T.S.B.)\n\nThe second Thursday before Christmas is in East Cornwall kept by\nthe \"tinners\" (miners) as a holiday in honour of one of the reputed\ndiscoverers of tin. It is known as Picrous-day. Chewidden Thursday\n(White Thursday), another \"tinners'\" holiday, falls always on the\nlast clear Thursday before Christmas-day. Tradition says it is the\nanniversary of the day on which \"white tin\" (smelted tin) was first\nmade or sold in Cornwall.\n\nOn Christmas-eve, in East as well as West Cornwall, poor women,\nsometimes as many as twenty in a party, call on their richer neighbours\nasking alms. This is \"going a gooding.\"\n\nAt Falmouth the lower classes formerly expected from all the\nshopkeepers, of whom they bought any of their Christmas groceries, a\nslice of cake and a small glass of gin. Some of the oldest established\ntradespeople still observe this custom; but it will soon be a thing\nof the past.\n\nIn some parts of the county it is customary for each household to make\na batch of currant cakes on Christmas-eve. These cakes are made in\nthe ordinary manner, coloured with saffron, as is the custom in these\nparts. On this occasion the peculiarity of the cakes is, that a small\nportion of the dough in the centre of each top is pulled up and made\ninto a form which resembles a very small cake on the top of a large\none, and this centre-piece is usually called \"the Christmas.\" Each\nperson in a house has his or her especial cake, and every person\nought to taste a small piece of every other person's cake. Similar\ncakes are also bestowed on the hangers-on of the establishment, such\nas laundresses, sempstresses, charwomen, &c.; and even some people who\nare in the receipt of weekly charity call, as a matter of course, for\ntheir Christmas cakes. The cakes must not be cut until Christmas-day,\nit being probably \"unlucky to eat them sooner.\"--(Geo. C. Boase,\nNotes and Queries, 5th series, Dec. 21st, 1878.)\n\nThe materials to make these and nearly all the cakes at this season\nwere at one time given by the grocers to their principal customers.\n\nIn Cornwall, as in other English counties, houses are at Christmas\n\"dressed up\" with evergreens, sold in small bunches, called \"Penn'orths\nof Chris'mas\"; and two hoops fastened one in the other by nails at\nthe centres are gaily decorated with evergreens, apples, oranges,\n&c., and suspended from the middle beam in the ceiling of the best\nkitchen. This is the \"bush,\" or \"kissing bush.\" At night a lighted\ncandle is put in it, stuck on the bottom nail; but once or twice\nlately I have seen a Chinese lantern hanging from the top one.\n\nIn a few remote districts on Christmas-eve children may be, after\nnightfall, occasionally (but rarely) found dancing around painted\nlighted candles placed in a box of sand. This custom was very\ngeneral fifty years ago. The church towers, too, are sometimes\nilluminated. This of course, on the coast can only be done in very\ncalm weather. The tower of Zennor church (Zennor is a village on the\nnorth coast of Cornwall, between St. Ives and St. Just) was lit up\nin 1883, for the first time since 1866.\n\nWhen open chimneys were universal in farmhouses the Christmas stock,\nmock, or block (the log), on which a rude figure of a man had been\nchalked, was kindled with great ceremony; in some parts with a piece\nof charred wood that had been saved from the last year's \"block.\" A\nlog in Cornwall is almost always called a \"block.\" \"Throw a block on\nthe fire.\"\n\nCandles painted by some member of the family were often lighted at\nthe same time.\n\nThe choir from the parish church and dissenting chapels go from house\nto house singing \"curls\" (carols), for which they are given money or\nfeasted; but the quaint old carols, \"The first good joy that Mary\nhad,\" \"I saw three ships come sailing in,\" common forty years ago,\nare now never heard. The natives of Cornwall have been always famous\nfor their carols; some of their tunes are very old. Even the Knockers,\nSprig-gans, and all the underground spirits that may be always heard\nworking where there is tin (and who are said to be the ghosts of the\nJews who crucified Jesus), in olden times held mass and sang carols\non Christmas-eve.\n\nIn the beginning of this century at the ruined baptistery of St. Levan,\nin West Cornwall (Par-chapel Well), all the carol-singers in that\ndistrict, after visiting the neighbouring villages, met and sang\ntogether many carols. Mr. Bottrell says, \"One was never forgotten,\nin which according to our West Country version, Holy Mary says to\nher dear Child:--\n\n\n   'Go the wayst out, Child Jesus,\n    Go the wayst out to play;\n    Down by God's Holy Well\n    I see three pretty children,\n    As ever tongue can tell.'\n\n\n\"This for its sweet simplicity is still a favourite in the west.\"\n\nAn old carol or ballad,\n\n\n    \"Come and I will sing you,\" etc.,\n\n\nknown to many old people in all parts of the county, has been thought\nby some to be peculiar to Cornwall; but this is an error, as it has\nbeen heard elsewhere.\n\nAt the plentiful supper always provided on this night, [1] egg-hot,\nor eggy-hot, was the principal drink. It was made with eggs, hot beer,\nsugar, and rum, and was poured from one jug into another until it\nbecame quite white and covered with froth. A sweet giblet pie was one\nof the standing dishes at a Christmas dinner--a kind of mince-pie,\ninto which the giblets of a goose, boiled and finely chopped, were\nput instead of beef. Cornwall is noted for its pies, that are eaten on\nall occasions; some of them are curious mixtures, such as squab-pie,\nwhich is made with layers of well-seasoned fat mutton and apples,\nwith onions and raisins. Mackerel pie: the ingredients of this are\nmackerel and parsley stewed in milk, then covered with a paste and\nbaked. When brought to table a hole is cut in the paste, and a basin of\nclotted cream thrown in it. Muggetty pie, made from sheep's entrails\n(muggets), parsley, and cream. \"The devil is afraid to come into\nCornwall for fear of being baked in a pie.\"\n\nThere is a curious Christmas superstition connected with the Fogo,\nVug, or Vow (local names for a cove) at Pendeen, in North St. Just.\n\n\"At dawn on Christmas-day the spirit of the 'Vow' has frequently\nbeen seen just within the entrance near the cove, in the form of a\nbeautiful lady dressed in white, with a red rose in her mouth. There\nwere persons living a few years since who had seen the fair but\nnot less fearful vision; for disaster was sure to visit those who\nintruded on the spirit's morning airing.\"--(Bottrell, Traditions,\n&c., West Cornwall, 2nd series.)\n\nThe following is an account by an anonymous writer of a Christmas\ncustom in East Cornwall:--\n\n\"In some places the parishioners walk in procession, visiting the\nprincipal orchards in the parish. In each orchard one tree is selected,\nas the representative of the rest; this is saluted with a certain form\nof words, which have in them the form of an incantation. They then\nsprinkle the tree with cider, or dash a bowl of cider against it, to\nensure its bearing plentifully the ensuing year. In other places the\nfarmers and their servants only assemble on the occasion, and after\nimmersing apples in cider hang them on the apple-trees. They then\nsprinkle the trees with cider; and after uttering a formal incantation,\nthey dance round it (or rather round them), and return to the farmhouse\nto conclude these solemn rites with copious draughts of cider.\n\n\"In Warleggan, on Christmas-eve, it was customary for some of the\nhousehold to put in the fire (bank it up), and the rest to take a jar\nof cider, a bottle, and a gun to the orchard, and put a small bough\ninto the bottle. Then they said:--\n\n\n   \"Here's to thee, old apple-tree!\n    Hats full, packs full, great bushel-bags full!\n    Hurrah! and fire off the gun.\"\n\n                       --(Old Farmer, Mid Cornwall, through T. Q. Couch,\n                                              Sept. 1883, W. Antiquary.)\n\n\nThe words chanted in East Cornwall were:--\n\n\n   \"Health to thee, good apple-tree,\n    Pocket-fulls, hat-fulls, peck-fulls, bushel-bag fulls.\"\n\n\nAn old proverb about these trees runs as follows:--\n\n\n   \"Blossom in March, for fruit you may search,\n    Blossom in April, eat you will,\n    Blossom in May, eat night and day.\"\n\n\n\"At one time small sugared cakes were laid on the branches. This\ncurious custom has been supposed to be a propitiation of some\nspirit.\"--(Mrs. Damant, Cowes, through Folk-Lore Society.)\n\nFrom Christmas to Twelfth-tide parties of mummers known as 'Goose or\nGeese-dancers' paraded the streets in all sorts of disguises, with\nmasks on. They often behaved in such an unruly manner that women and\nchildren were afraid to venture out. If the doors of the houses were\nnot locked they would enter uninvited and stay, playing all kinds of\nantics, until money was given them to go away. \"A well-known character\namongst them, about fifty years ago (1862), was the hobby-horse,\nrepresented by a man carrying a piece of wood in the form of a horse's\nhead and neck, with some contrivance for opening and shutting the\nmouth with a loud snapping noise, the performer being so covered\nwith a horse-cloth or hide of a horse as to resemble the animal,\nwhose curvetings, biting and other motions he imitated. Some of these\n'guise-dancers' occasionally masked themselves with the skins of the\nhead of bullocks having the horns on.\"--(The Land's End District,\nby R. Edmonds.)\n\nSometimes they were more ambitious and acted a version of the old\nplay, \"St. George and the Dragon,\" which differed but little from\nthat current in other countries.\n\nBottrell, in his Traditions in W. Cornwall (2nd series), gives large\nextracts from another Christmas-play, \"Duffy and the Devil.\" It turns\nupon the legend, common in all countries, of a woman who had sold\nherself to a devil, who was to do her knitting or spinning for her. He\nwas to claim his bargain at the end of three years if she could not\nfind out his name before the time expired. Of course, she gets it by\nstratagem; her husband, who knows nothing of the compact, first meets\nthe devil, whilst out hunting, the day before the time is up, and makes\nhim half-drunk. An old woman in Duffy's pay (Witch Bet) completes\nthe work, and in that state the devil sings the following words,\nending with his name, which Bet remembers and tells her mistress:--\n\n\n   \"I've 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\nBet and some other witches then sing in chorus:--\n\n\n   \"By night and by day\n    We will dance and play\n    With our noble captain,\n    Tarraway! Tarraway!\"\n\n\nMr. Robert Hunt in his Romances and Drolls of Old Cornwall has a\nvariation of this play, in which the devil sings--\n\n\n   \"Duffy my lady, you'll never know--what?\n    That my name is Ferry-top, Ferry-top--top.\"\n\n\nThese \"goose-dancers\" became such a terror to the respectable\ninhabitants of Penzance that the Corporation put them down about ten\nyears since, and every Christmas-eve a notice is posted in conspicuous\nplaces forbidding their appearance in the streets, but they still\nperambulate the streets of St. Ives. Guise-dancing wit must have\nvery much deteriorated since the beginning of the present century,\nas writers before that time speak of the mirth it afforded; and the\nsaying, \"as good as a Christmas-play,\" is commonly used to describe\na very witty or funny thing.\n\nIt was the custom in Scilly eighty years ago for girls to go to\nchurch on Christmas morning dressed all in white, verifying the old\nproverb--\"pride is never a-cold.\"\n\n\"On Porthminster Beach on Christmas-day, as seen from the Malakoff,\nSt. Ives, at nine o'clock in the morning the boys began to assemble\non the beach with their bats and balls. As soon as twelve youths\narrived a game commenced, called 'Rounders.' The first thing to be\ndone was to right up the 'bickens.' This accomplished, the sides\nwere chosen in the following manner:--Two of the best players,\nwhom we will call Matthew and Phillip, went aside and selected two\nobjects--the new and old pier. The old pier was Matthew and the new\npier was Phillip. After this was arranged the 'mopper' selected the\nold pier, which meant he would rather have Matthew his side than\nPhillip. Then Phillip selected some one for his side; and so it went\non until the whole twelve were elected one side or the other. Then\nthey tossed up for the first innings. Phillip's side won the toss,\nand it was their luck to go in first. While they are taking off their\njackets and getting ready to go in I will briefly describe the game.\n\n\"The bickens, four in number, were piles of sand thrown up; each one\nbeing about ten yards from one another, and arranged so as to form\na square. In the centre of the square the bowler was placed with\nball in hand. Behind the batsman stands the 'tip,' while the other\nfour were off a long way waiting for the long hits. The coats off, in\nwent the first batsman. The ball was thrown towards him and he tipped\nit. The tip instantly took the ball and threw it at the batsman, and\nhit him before he arrived at the first bicken, and he was consequently\nout. The second batsman had better luck; for on the ball being thrown\nto him he sent it out to sea, and by that means he ran a rounder,\nor in other words he ran around the four bickens without being hit by\nthe ball. The next batsman went in. The ball was thrown to him, when,\nlo! it went whizzing into the bowler's hands and was caught. This\nunlucky hit and lucky catch got the whole side out, before three of\nthem had a chance to show their skill. The other side then went in,\nlaughing at the discomfiture of their opponents. The tables, however,\nwere very soon turned; for the very first hit was caught, and this\nproduced a row, and the game was broken up!\n\n\"I then went to the next lot: They were playing 'catchers.' There is\nonly one bicken required in this game, and at this stood a lad called\nWatty, with bat and ball in hand. At last he hit the ball, and up it\nwent flying in the air, descended, and passed through the hands of a\nboy named Peters. Peters took the ball from the sand and asked Watty,\n'How many?' Watty replied--\n\n\n   'Two a good scat, [2]\n    Try for the bat.'\n\n\n\"Peters threw the ball to the bicken, but it stopped about\nthree lengths short. Watty took the ball up and again sent it a\ngreat way. The question was again asked, and Watty gave the same\nanswer. Again the ball was thrown to the bicken, but this time with\nbetter success; for it stopped at the distance of the length of the\nbat and so was within the distance named. Williams then went in. He\nwas a strong lusty fellow, and the ball was sent spinning along the\nsand. It was picked up by Curnow, who asked, 'How many?'\n\n\n   'Three a good scat,\n    Try for the bat.'\n\n\n\"The ball was thrown home and rolled about three bats from the\nbicken. This point, however, was the breaking-up of the game,\nfor Williams said it was more than three bats off, whilst Curnow\nmaintained that it was not three bats off, and there being no chance\nof a compromise being arrived at the game was broken up.\n\n\"The next party was one of young men. They were playing rounders\nwith a wooden ball, instead of an india-rubber one, as is generally\nused. They were twelve each side, and the bickens were about 20 yards\ndistant. By this time the tide was out a great way, so that there was\nno fear of the ball being knocked to sea, as was the case with the\nother boys. When I got there they had been playing for about an hour,\nand the side that was in had been in about half of that time. The\nfirst hit I saw was 'a beauty!' The ball was sent about 75 yards,\nand the result was a rounder. Two or three other persons went in and\ndid the same thing, and so the game went on for about an hour longer,\nwhen one of the fellows knocked up a catcher and was caught. This\nside had stayed in for about one hour and a half. The other side went\nin at about a quarter to three, and after playing about another hour\nthey went home to tea.\n\n\"I went to tea also, but was soon up in the Malakoff again. It was so\ndark that the play was stopped for the time. At about seven o'clock the\nolder part of the town began to congregate, and about a quarter-past\nseven they began to play 'Thursa.' This game is too well known to\nneed description, and I need only say that it was played about one\nhour, when they began to form a ring with the intention, I supposed,\nof playing that best of all games, 'Kiss-in-the-Ring'.\"--(Cornishman,\n1881.)\n\nOn St. Stephen's-day, 26th December, before the days of gun-licences,\nevery man or boy who could by any means get a gun went out shooting,\nand it was dangerous to walk the lanes. The custom is said to have had\nits origin in the legend of one of St. Stephen's guards being awakened\nby a bird just as his prisoner was going to escape. A similar practice\nprevailed in the neighbourhood of Penzance on \"feasten Monday,\" the\nday after Advent Sunday; but on that day I have never heard of any\nreligious idea connected with it.\n\nIn the week after Christmas-day a fair is held at Launceston (and\nalso at Okehampton in Devonshire), called \"giglet fair\" (a \"giglet or\ngiglot\" is a giddy young woman). It is principally attended by young\npeople. \"At this 'giglet market,' or wife-market, the rustic swain was\nprivileged with self-introduction to any of the nymphs around him,\nso that he had a good opportunity of choosing a suitable partner if\ntired of a single life.\"--(Britton and Brayley's Devon and Cornwall.)\n\nIt is unlucky to begin a voyage on Childermas (Innocents'-day),\nalso to wash clothes, or to do any but necessary household work.\n\nOn New Year's-eve in the villages of East Cornwall, soon after dusk,\nparties of men, from four to six in a party, carrying a small bowl\nin their hands, went from house to house begging money to make a\nfeast. They opened the doors without knocking, called out Warsail,\nand sang,--\n\n\n   \"These poor jolly Warsail boys\n    Come travelling through the mire.\"\n\n\nThis custom was common fifty years since, and may still be observed\nin remote rural districts. There is one saint whose name is familiar\nto all in Cornwall, but whose sex is unknown. This saint has much to\nanswer for; promises made, but never intended to be kept, are all\nto be fulfilled on next St. Tibbs's-eve, a day that some folks say\n\"falls between the old and new year;\" others describe it as one that\ncomes \"neither before nor after Christmas.\"\n\nParties are general in Cornwall on New Year's-eve to watch in the New\nYear and wish friends health and happiness; but I know of no peculiar\ncustoms, except that before retiring to rest the old women opened their\nBibles at hap-hazard to find out their luck for the coming year. The\ntext on which the fore-finger of the right hand rested was supposed to\nforetell the future. And money, generally a piece of silver, was placed\non the threshold, to be brought in the first thing on the following\nday, that there might be no lack of it for the year. Nothing was ever\nlent on New Year's-day, as little as possible taken out, but all that\ncould be brought into the house. \"I have even known the dust of the\nfloor swept inwards.\"--(T. Q. Couch, W. Antiquary, September, 1883.)\n\nDoor-steps on New Year's-day were formerly sanded for good luck,\nbecause I suppose people coming into the house were sure to bring\nsome of it in with them sticking to their feet.\n\nMany elderly people at the beginning of the present century still kept\nto the \"old style,\" and held their Christmas-day on Epiphany. On the\neve of that day they said \"the cattle in the fields and stalls never\nlay down, but at midnight turned their faces to the east and fell on\ntheir knees.\"\n\nTwelfth-day (old Christmas-day) was a time of general feasting\nand merriment. Into the Twelfth-day cake were put a wedding-ring,\na sixpence, and a thimble. It was cut into as many portions as there\nwere guests; the person who found the wedding-ring in his (or her)\nportion would be married before the year was out; the holder of the\nthimble would never be married, and the one who got the sixpence would\ndie rich. After candlelight many games were played around the open\nfires. I will describe one:--\"Robin's alight.\" A piece of stick was\nset on fire, and whirled rapidly in the hands of the first player,\nwho repeated the words--\n\n\n   \"Robin's alight, and if he go out I'll saddle your back.\"\n\n\nIt was then passed on, and the person who let the spark die had to\npay a forfeit.--(West Cornwall.)\n\nThis game in East Cornwall was known as \"Jack's alive.\"\n\n\n   \"Jack's alive and likely to live,\n    If he die in my hand a pawn I'll give.\"\n\n\nIn this county forfeits are always called \"pawns\"; they are cried by\nthe holder of them, saying,--\n\n\n   \"Here's a pawn and a very pretty pawn!\n    And what shall the owner of this pawn do?\"\n\n\nAfter the midnight supper, at which in one village in the extreme West\na pie of four-and-twenty blackbirds always appeared, many spells to\nforecast the future were practised. The following account of them was\ngiven to me by a friend. He says--\"I engaged in them once at Sennen\n(the village at the Land's End) with a lot of girls, but as my object\nwas only to spoil sport and make the girls laugh or speak, it was\nnot quite satisfactory. I suppose the time to which I refer is over\nforty years ago. After making up a large turf fire, for hot 'umers'\n(embers) and pure water are absolutely necessary in these divinations,\nthe young people silently left the house in single file, to pull the\nrushes and gather the ivy-leaves by means of which they were to learn\nwhether they were to be married, and to whom; and if any, or how many,\nof their friends were to die before the end of the year. On leaving\nand on returning each of these Twelfth-night diviners touched the\n'cravel' with the forehead and 'wished.' The cravel is the tree that\npreceded lintels in chimney corners, and its name from this custom may\nhave been derived from the verb 'to crave.' Had either of the party\ninadvertently broken the silence before the rushes and ivy-leaves\nhad been procured they would all have been obliged to retrace their\nsteps to the house and again touch the cravel; but this time all went\nwell. When we came back those who wished to know their fate named the\nrushes in pairs, and placed them in the hot embers: one or two of\nthe engaged couples being too shy to do this for themselves, their\nfriends, amidst much laughing, did it for them. The manner in which\nthe rushes burned showed if the young people were to be married to\nthe person chosen or not: some, of course, burnt well, others parted,\nand one or two went out altogether. The couples that burnt smoothly\nwere to be wedded, and the one named after the rush that lasted longest\noutlived the other. This settled, one ivy-leaf was thrown on the fire;\nthe number of cracks it made was the number of years before the wedding\nwould take place. Then two were placed on the hot ashes; the cracks\nthey gave this time showed how many children the two would have. We\nthen drew ivy-leaves named after present or absent friends through\na wedding ring, and put them into a basin of water which we left\nuntil the next morning. Those persons whose leaves had shrivelled or\nturned black in the night were to die before the next Twelfth-tide,\nand those who were so unfortunate as to find their leaves spotted\nwith red, by some violent death, unless a 'pellar' (wise man) could\nby his skill and incantations grant protection. These prophecies\nthrough superstition sometimes unluckily fulfilled themselves.\"\n\nDuring the twelve days of Christmas card-playing was a very favourite\namusement with all classes. Whilst the old people enjoyed their game\nof whist with 'swabbers,' the young ones had their round games. I will\nappend the rules of two or three for those who would like to try them.\n\nWhist (or whisk, as I have heard an old lady call it and maintain\nthat that was its proper name) with \"swabbers.\"\n\nThis game, which was played as recently as 1880, nightly, by\nfour maiden ladies at Falmouth, is like ordinary whist; but each\nplayer before beginning to play puts into the pool a fixed sum for\n\"swabs.\" The \"swab-cards\" are--ace and deuce of trumps, ace of hearts\nand knave of clubs. The four cards are of equal value; but should\nhearts be trumps the ace would count double.\n\n\"Board-'em,\" a round game that can be played by any number of players,\nfrom two to eight; it is played for fish, and there must never be\nless than six fish in the pool. Six cards are dealt to each person;\nand the thirteenth, if two are playing, the nineteenth if three, and\nso on, is turned up for trumps. The fore-hand plays; the next player,\nif he has one, must follow suit, if not, he may play another suit, or\ntrump. The highest card of the original suit, if not trumped, takes\nthe trick and one or more fish, according to the number staked. If\nyou have neither card in your hand that you think will make a trick\nyou may decline to play, in which case you only lose your stake;\nbut should you play and fail to take a trick you pay for the whole\ncompany, and are said to \"be boarded.\"\n\n\"Ranter-go-round\" was formerly played in four divisions marked with\nchalk upon a tea-tray; or even, in some cases, on a bellows--it is now\nplayed on a table, and is called \"Miss Joan.\" Any number of players\nmay join in it. The first player throws down any card of any suit,\nand says:--\n\n\n                 \"Here's a ---- as you may see.\n    2nd Player--Here's another as good as he.\n    3rd Player--And here's the best of all the three.\n    4th Player--And here's Miss Joan, come tickle me.\"\n\n\nThe holder of the fourth card wins the trick. He sometimes added the\nwords wee-wee; but these are now generally omitted. If the person\nsitting next to the fore-hand has neither one of the cards demanded\n(one of the same value as the first played, in another suit), he\npays one to the pool, as must all in turn who fail to produce the\nright cards. The player of the third may have the fourth in his hand,\nin which case all the others pay. The holder of the most tricks wins\nthe game and takes the pool.\n\nI once, about thirty years since, at this season of the year, joined\nsome children at Camborne who were playing a very primitive game called\nby them \"pinny-ninny.\" A basin turned upside down was placed in the\ncentre of a not very large round table. The players were supplied\nwith small piles of pins--not the well-made ones sold in papers,\nbut clumsy things with wire heads--\"pound-pins.\" A large bottle full\nof them might, then, always be seen in the general shop window of\nevery little country village. Each in turn dropped a pin over the\nside of the basin, and he whose pin fell and formed a cross on the\ntop of the heap was entitled to add them to his own pile. This went\non until one player had beggared all the others. Poor children before\nChristmas often begged pins to play this game, and their request was\nalways granted by the gift of two.\n\nA wishing-well, near St. Austell, was sometimes called Pennameny\nWell, from the custom of dropping pins into it. Pedna-a-mean is the\nold Cornish for \"heads-and-tails.\"--(See Divination at St. Roche and\nMadron Well.)\n\nAll Christmas-cakes must be eaten by the night of Twelfth-tide,\nas it is unlucky to have any left, and all decorations must be\ntaken down on the next day, because for every forgotten leaf of\nevergreen a ghost will be seen in the house in the course of the\nensuing year. This latter superstition does not prevail, however,\nin all parts of Cornwall, as in some districts a small branch is kept\nto scare away evil spirits.\n\nJanuary 24th, St. Paul's-eve, is a holiday with the miners, and is\ncalled by them 'Paul pitcher-day,' from a custom they have of setting\nup a water-pitcher, which they pelt with stones until it is broken\nin pieces. A new one is afterwards bought and carried to a beer-shop\nto be filled with beer.\n\n\"There is a curious custom prevalent in some parts of Cornwall of\nthrowing broken pitchers and other earthen vessels against the doors\nof dwelling-houses on the eve of the conversion of St. Paul, thence\nlocally called 'Paul pitcher-night.' On that evening parties of young\npeople perambulate the parishes in which the custom is retained,\nexclaiming as they throw the sherds, 'St. Paul's-eve and here's a\nheave.' According to the received notions the first heave cannot\nbe objected to; but, upon its being repeated, the inhabitants of\nthe house whose door is thus attacked may, if they can, seize the\noffenders and inflict summary justice upon them.\"--(F.M., Notes and\nQueries, March, 1874.)\n\nI have heard of this practice from a native of East Cornwall, who\ntold me the pitchers were filled with broken sherds, filth, &c.\n\nThe weather on St. Paul's-day still, with the old people, foretells\nthe weather for the ensuing year, and the rhyme common to all England\nis repeated by them:--\n\n\n    \"If St. Paul's-day be fine and clear,\" &c.\n\n\nSt. Blazey, a village in East Cornwall, is so named in honour of\nSt. Blaize, who is said to have landed at Par, a small neighbouring\nseaport, when he came on a visit to England. His feast, which is\nheld on 3rd February, would not be worth mentioning were it not for\nthe fact that--\"This saint is invoked in the county for toothache,\nwhile applying to the tooth the candle that burned on the altar of the\nchurch dedicated to him. The same candles are good for sore-throats\nand curing diseases in cattle.\"--(Mrs. Damant, Cowes.)\n\nOn the Monday after St. Ives feast, which falls on Quinquagesima\nSunday, an annual hurling-match is held on the sands. Most writers\non Cornwall have described the old game. The following account is\ntaken from The Land's End District, 1862, by R. Edmonds:--\n\n\"A ball about the size of a cricket-ball, formed of cork, or light\nwood, and covered with silver, was hurled into the air, midway\nbetween the goals. Both parties immediately rushed towards it, each\nstriving to seize and carry it to its own goal. In this contest,\nwhen any individual having possession of the ball found himself\noverpowered or outrun by his opponents, he hurled it to one of his\nown side, if near enough, or, if not, into some pool, ditch, furze,\nbrake, garden, house, or other place of concealment, to prevent his\nadversaries getting hold of it before his own company could arrive.\"\n\nThe hurlers, quaintly says Carew (Survey of Cornwall, p. 74), \"Take\ntheir next way ouer hills, dales, hedges, ditches--yea, and thorou\nbushes, briers, mires, plashes, and rivers whatsoever--so as you\nshall sometimes see twenty or thirty lie tugging together in the\nwater, scrambling and scratching for the ball. A play verily both\nrude and rough.\"\n\nHurling between two or more parishes, and between one parish and\nanother, has long ceased in Cornwall: but hurling by one part of a\nparish against another is still played at St. Ives, as well as other\nplaces in Cornwall. At St. Ives all the Toms, Wills, and Johns are on\none side, while those having other Christian names range themselves on\nthe opposite. At St. Columb (East Cornwall) the townspeople contend\nwith the countrymen; at Truro, the married men with the unmarried;\nat Helston, two streets with all the other streets; on the 2nd of May,\nwhen their town-bounds are renewed.\n\n\"Fair-play is good play,\" is the hurlers' motto. This is sometimes\nengraven on their balls in the old Cornish language. Private families\npossess some of these balls won by their ancestors early in the last\ncentury that are religiously handed down as heirlooms.\n\nA Druidic circle at St. Cleer, in East Cornwall, is known as the\nHurlers, from a tradition that a party of men hurling on a Sunday\nwere there for their wickedness turned into stone.\n\n'Peasen or Paisen Monday' is the Monday before Shrove Tuesday; it is so\ncalled in East Cornwall from a custom of eating pea-soup there on this\nday. This practice was once so universal in some parishes that an old\nfarmer of Lower St. Columb, who had a special aversion to pea-soup,\nleft his home in the morning, telling his wife that he should not\ncome back to dinner, but spend the day with a friend. He returned\ntwo or three hours after in great disgust, as at every house in the\nvillage he had been asked to stay and taste their delicious pea-soup.\n\n\"This day also in East Cornwall bears the name of 'Hall Monday,'\nwhy, I know not. And at dusk on the evening of the same day it is the\ncustom for boys, and in some cases for those above the age of boys,\nto prowl about the streets with short clubs, and to knock loudly at\nevery door, running off to escape detection on the slightest sign of a\nmotion within. If, however, no attention be excited, and especially if\nany article be discovered, negligently exposed or carelessly guarded,\nthen the things are carried away, and on the following morning are\nseen displayed in some conspicuous place, to disclose the disgraceful\nwant of vigilance supposed to characterise the owner. The time when\nthis is practised is called 'Nicky Nan' night, and the individuals\nconcerned are supposed to represent some imps of darkness, that seize\non and expose unguarded moments.\"--(Polperro, p. 151, by T. Q. Couch.)\n\nA custom nearly similar to this was practised in Scilly in the last\ncentury.\n\nThe dinner on Shrove Tuesday in many Cornish houses consists of fried\neggs and bacon, or salt pork, followed by the universal pancake,\nwhich is eaten by all classes. It is made the full size of the pan,\nand currants are put into the batter.\n\nIn Penzance large quantities of limpets and periwinkles are gathered\nin the afternoon by poor people, to be cooked for their supper. This\nthey call \"going a-trigging.\" Any kind of shell-fish picked up at\nlow water in this district is known as \"trig-meat.\"\n\nMany other customs were formerly observed in Penzance on Shrove\nTuesday, peculiar, I believe, to this town.\n\nWomen and boys stood at the corners of the streets, with well-greased,\nsooty hands, which they rubbed over people's faces. I remember, not\nmore than thirty years ago, seeing a little boy run into a house in\na great hurry, and ask for what was he wanted. He had met a woman who\nhad put her hands affectionately on each side of his face, and said,\n\"Your father has been looking for you, my dear.\" She had left the\nmarks of her dirty fingers.\n\nThe butchers' market was always thoroughly cleaned in the afternoon,\nto see if the town hose were in perfect repair, and great merriment\nwas often excited by the firemen turning the full force of the water\non some unwary passer-by.\n\nPeople, too, were occasionally deluged by having buckets of water\nthrown over them. Every Shrove Tuesday after dusk men and boys went\nabout and threw handfuls of shells, bottles of filth, etc., in at the\ndoors. It was usual then for drapers to keep their shops open until\na very late hour; and I have been told that boys were occasionally\nbribed by the assistants to throw something particularly disagreeable\nin on the floors, that the masters might be frightened, and order the\nshops to be shut. Still later in the evening signs were taken down,\nknockers wrenched off, gates unhung and carried to some distance. This\nlast was done even as far down as 1881. Pulling boats up and putting\nthem in a mill-pool (now built over) was a common practice at Mousehole\nin the beginning of the century.\n\n\"In Landewednack, on Shrove Tuesday, children from the ages of six\nto twelve perambulate the parish begging for 'Col-perra' (probably\nan old Cornish word); but, whatever be its meaning, they expect to\nreceive eatables or half-pence. As few refuse to give, they collect\nduring the day a tolerable booty, in the shape of money, eggs, buns,\napples, etc. The custom has existed from time immemorial, but none\nof the inhabitants are acquainted with its origin.\"--(A Week in the\nLizard, by Rev. C. A. Johns, B.B., F.L.S.)\n\nI have been favoured by the Rev. S. Rundle, Godolphin, with the formula\nrepeated by the children on this occasion (now almost forgotten):\n\"Hen-cock, han-cock, give me a 'tabban' (morsel), or else 'Col-perra'\nshall come to your door.\"\n\nBoys at St. Ives, Scilly, and other places, went about with stones\ntied to strings, with which they struck the doors, saying:--\n\n\n   \"Give me a pancake, now! now! now!\n    Or I'll knock in your door with a row, tow, tow!\"\n\n\nThis custom has only lately (if it has yet) quite died out. The rhyme\nat Polperro ran thus:--\n\n\n   \"Nicky, Nicky, Nan,\n    Give me some pancake, and then I'll be gone,\n    But if you give me none\n    I'll throw a great stone,\n    And down your door shall come.\"\n\n                                        T. Q. Couch.\n\n\nCock-fighting at Shrovetide was once a very favourite amusement in\nCornwall, and in some of the most remote western villages has until\nrecently been continued. \"The Cock-pit\" at Penzance, a small part\nof which still remains as a yard at the Union Hotel, belonged to and\nwas kept up by the Corporation until (I think) the beginning of the\npresent century.\n\n\"Sir Rose Price, when young, was a great patron of the pit between\nthe years 1780-1790. His father disapproved, and in consideration\nof his son giving up cock-fighting bought him a pack of hounds,\nthe first foxhounds west of Truro.\"--(T.S.B.)\n\n\"At St. Columb, about sixty years ago, on Shrove Tuesday, each child\nin a dame's school was expected by the mistress to bring an egg,\nand at twelve o'clock the children had an egg-battle. Two children\nstood facing each other, each held an egg, and struck the end of it\nagainst that of the opponent lengthwise, the result being that one\nor both were broken.\n\n\"An unbroken egg was used again and again to fight the rest, and\nso the battle raged until all, or all but one, of the eggs were\nbroken. The child who at the end of the fight held a sound egg was\nconsidered to be the conqueror, and was glorified accordingly. To\nsave the contents of the eggs, which were the perquisite of the\nmistress, she held a plate beneath; and at the end of the battle\nthe children were dismissed. And the old lady having picked out all\nthe broken shells, proceeded to prepare her pancakes, of which she\nmade her dinner.\"--(Fred. W. P. Jago, M.B., Plymouth, W. Antiquary,\nMarch, 1884.)\n\n\"It must be now about thirty years ago that I was a day-scholar at\nthe National School of St. Columb, and it was the custom then for each\nboy and girl to bring an egg. One of the senior boys stood at a table\nand wrote the name of the donor upon each. At about eleven o'clock the\nschoolmaster would produce a large punchbowl, and as he took up each\negg he read the name, and broke the egg into the bowl. Eggs at that\ntime were sold at three for a penny.\"--(W. B., Bodmin, W. Antiquary,\nMarch, 1884.)\n\nIn the eastern part of the county at the beginning of Lent a straw\nfigure dressed in cast-off clothes, and called \"Jack-o'-lent,\" was not\nlong since paraded through the streets and afterwards hung. Something\nof this kind is common on the Continent.\n\nThe figure is supposed to represent Judas Iscariot. A slovenly ragged\nperson is sometimes described as a \"Jack-o'-lent.\"\n\n1st March.--In Mid-Cornwall, people arise before the sun is up, and\nsweep before the door to sweep away fleas.--(T. Q. Couch, W. Antiquary,\nSeptember, 1883.)\n\n5th March.--St. Piran's day is a miners' holiday. St. Piran is the\npatron saint of \"tinners,\" and is popularly supposed to have died\ndrunk. \"As drunk as a Piraner\" is a Cornish proverb.\n\nThe first Friday in March is another miners' holiday, \"Friday in\nLide.\" It is marked by a serio-comic custom of sending a young man\non the highest \"bound,\" or hillock, of the \"works,\" and allowing him\nto sleep there as long as he can, the length of his siesta being the\nmeasure of the afternoon nap of the \"tinners\" throughout the ensuing\ntwelve months.--(T. Q. Couch.) Lide is an obsolete term for the month\nof March still preserved in old proverbs, such as \"Ducks won't lay\n'till they've drunk Lide water.\n\nOf a custom observed at Little Colan, in East Cornwall, on Palm Sunday,\nCarew says: \"Little Colan is not worth observation, unlesse you will\nderide or pity their simplicity, who sought at our Lady Nant's well\nthere to foreknowe what fortune should betide them, which was in this\nmanner. Upon Palm Sunday these idle-headed seekers resorted thither\nwith a Palme cross in one hand and an offring in the other. The offring\nfell to the Priest's share, the crosse they threwe into the well;\nwhich if it swamme the party should outliue the yeere; if it sunk a\nshort ensuing death was boded; and perhaps not altogether vntimely,\nwhile a foolish conceite of this 'halsening' myght the sooner helpe\nit onwards.\"\n\nHoly Thursday.--On that Thursday, and the two following Thursdays,\ngirls in the neighbourhood of Roche, in East Cornwall, repair to\nhis holy or wishing well before sunrise. They throw in crooked pins\nor pebbles, and, by the bubbles that rise to the surface, seek to\nascertain whether their sweethearts will be true or false. There was\nonce a chapel near this well, which was then held in great repute for\nthe cure of all kinds of diseases, and a granite figure of St. Roche\nstood on the arch of the building that still covers it.\n\n\"Goody Friday\" (Good Friday) was formerly kept more as a feast than a\nfast in Cornwall. Every vehicle was engaged days beforehand to take\nparties to some favourite place of resort in the neighbourhood, and\nlabourers in inland parishes walked to the nearest seaport to gather\n\"wrinkles\" (winkles), &c.\n\nOn the morning of Good Friday at St. Constantine, in West Cornwall,\nan old custom is still observed of going to Helford river to gather\nshell-fish (limpets, cockles, &c.); this river was once famous for\noysters, and many were then bought and eaten on this day.\n\n\"Near Padstow, in East Cornwall, is the tower of an old church\ndedicated to St. Constantine. In its vicinity the feast of\nSt. Constantine used to be annually celebrated, and has only\nbeen discontinued of late years. Its celebration consisted in the\ndestruction of limpet-pies, and service in the church, followed\nby a hurling match.\"--(Murray's Cornwall.) Another writer says:\n\"The festival of St. Constantine\" (March 9th) \"was until very lately\nkept at St. Merran\" (Constantine and Merran are now one parish) \"by an\nannual hurling match, on which occasion the owner of Harlyn\" (a house\nin the neighbourhood) \"had from time immemorial supplied the silver\nball. We are informed, on good authority, that a Shepherd's family,\nof the name of Edwards, held one of the cottages in Constantine for\nmany generations under the owners of Harlyn, by the annual render\nof a Cornish pie, made of limpets, raisins, and sweet herbs, on the\nfeast of St. Constantine.\"--(Lysons' Magna Britannia.)\n\nAt St. Day a fair was formerly held on Good Friday, now changed to\nEaster Monday.\n\n\"On Good Friday, 1878, I saw a brisk fair going on in the little\nvillage of Perran Porth, Cornwall, not far from the curious oratory of\nSt. Piran, known as Perranzabuloe.\"--(W. A. B. C., Notes and Queries,\nApril 23rd, 1881.)\n\nBut, although many still make this day a holiday, the churches are\nnow much better attended. Good Friday cross-buns of many kinds are\nsold by the Cornish confectioners; some, highly spiced, are eaten\nhot with butter and sugar; a commoner bun is simply washed over the\ntop with saffron, and has a few currants stuck on it. There is one\npeculiar, I believe, to Penzance: it is made of a rich currant paste\nhighly covered with saffron; it is about an eighth of an inch thick,\nand four inches in diameter, and is marked with a large cross that\ndivides it into four equal portions.\n\n\"In some of our farmhouses the Good Friday bun may be seen hanging\nto a string from the bacon-rack, slowly diminishing until the return\nof the season replaces it by a fresh one. It is of sovereign good in\nall manners of diseases afflicting the family or cattle. I have more\nthan once seen a little of this cake grated into a warm mash for a\nsick cow.\"--(T. Q. Couch, Polperro.) There is a superstition that\nbread made on this day never gets mouldy.\n\nMany amateur gardeners sow their seeds on Good Friday; superstition\nsays then they will all grow. \"There is a widely known belief\nin West Cornwall, that young ravens are always hatched on Good\nFriday.\"--(T. Cornish, W. Antiquary, October, 1887.)\n\nOn Easter Monday, at Penzance, it was the custom within the last twenty\nyears to bring out in the lower part of the town, before the doors,\ntables, on which were placed thick gingerbread cakes with raisins in\nthem, cups and saucers, etc., to be raffled for with cups and dice,\ncalled here \"Lilly-bangers.\" Fifty years since a man, nicknamed\nHarry Martillo, with his wife, the \"lovelee,\" always kept one of\nthese \"lilly-banger stalls\" at Penzance on market day. He would call\nattention to his gaming-table by shouting--\n\n\n   \"I've been in Europe, Ayshee, Afrikee, and Amerikee,\n    And come back and married the lovelee.\"\n\n\nI have heard that both used tobacco in three ways, and indulged\nfreely in rum, also \"tom-trot\" (hardbake), strongly flavoured with\npeppermint. Of course a lively market would influence the dose, and\nas for \"lovelee,\" it must have been in Harry's partial eyes.--(H.R.C.)\n\n\"Upon little Easter Sunday, the freeholders of the towne and mannour\nof Lostwithiel, by themselves or their deputies, did there assemble,\namongst whom one (as it fell to his lot by turne), bravely apparelled,\ngallantly mounted, with a crowne on his head, a scepter in his hand,\na sword borne before him, and dutifully attended by all the rest\nalso on horseback, ride thorow the principal streete to the Church;\nthere the Curate in his best 'beseene' solemne receiud him at the\nChurch-yard stile, and conducted him to heare diuine seruice; after\nwhich he repaired with the same pompe to a house fore-prouided for\nthat purpose, made a feast to his attendants, kept the table's end\nhimselfe, and was serued with kneeling, assay, and all other rites\ndue to the estate of a Prince; with which dinner the ceremony ended,\nand every man returned home again.\"--(Carew.)\n\nThe ancient custom of choosing a mock mayor was observed at\nLostwithiel, on 10th October, 1884, by torchlight, in the presence of\nnearly a thousand people. The origin of both these customs is now quite\nforgotten. \"A custom still existing at St. John's, Helston, and also at\nBuryan. The last mayor of the Quay, Penzance, was Mr. Robinson, a noted\nauthority on sea fishing, etc. He died about ten years ago.\"--(H.R.C.)\n\nApril 1st. The universal attempts at fooling on this day are carried on\nin Cornwall as elsewhere, and children are sent by their schoolfellows\nfor penn'orths of pigeon's milk, memory powder, strap-oil, etc., or\nwith a note telling the receiver \"to send the fool farther.\" When one\nboy succeeds in taking in another, he shouts after him, Fool! fool! the\n\"guckaw\" (cuckoo).\n\nTowednack's (a village near St. Ives) \"Cuckoo\" or \"Crowder\" feast is on\nthe nearest Sunday to the 28th April. Tradition accounts for the first\nname by the story of a man who there gave a feast on an inclement\nday in the end of April. To warm his guests he threw some faggots\non the fire (or some furze-bushes), when a cuckoo flew out of them,\ncalling \"Cuckoo! cuckoo!\" It was caught and kept, and he resolved\nevery year to invite his friends to celebrate the event. This, too,\nis said to be the origin of the feast.\n\n\"Crowder\" in Cornwall means a fiddler, and the fiddle is called a\n\"crowd.\" In former days the parishioners of Towednack were met at\nthe church door on \"feasten\" day by a \"crowder,\" who, playing on his\n\"crowd,\" headed a procession through the village street, hence its\nsecond name.\n\nThe only May-pole now erected in Cornwall is put up on April 30th,\nat Hugh Town, St. Mary's, Scilly. Girls dance round it on May-day with\ngarlands of flowers on their heads, or large wreaths of flowers from\nshoulder to waist. Dr. Stephen Clogg, of Looe, says that \"May-poles\nare still to be seen on May-day, at Pelynt, Dulver, and East and\nWest Looe.\"--(W. Antiquary, August, 1884.) In the beginning of this\ncentury, boys and girls in Cornwall sat up until twelve o'clock on the\neve of May-day, and then marched around the towns and villages with\nMusical Instruments, collecting their friends to go a-maying. May-day\nis ushered in at Penzance by the discordant blowing of large tin\nhorns. At daybreak, and even earlier, parties of boys, five or six in\nnumber, assemble at the street corners, from whence they perambulate\nthe town blowing their horns and conchshells. They enter the gardens\nof detached houses, stop and bray under the bed-room windows, and\nbeg for money. With what they collect they go into the country, and\nat one of the farmhouses they breakfast on bread and clotted cream,\njunket, &c. An additional ring of tin (a penn'orth) is added to his\nhorn every year that a boy uses it.\n\nFormerly, on May-morn, if the boys succeeded in fixing a \"May bough\"\nover a farmer's door before he was up, he was considered bound to\ngive them their breakfasts; and in some parts of the county, should\nthe first comer bring with him a piece of well-opened hawthorn,\nhe was entitled to a basin of cream.\n\n\"In West Cornwall it is the custom to hang a piece of furze to a door\nearly in the morning of May-day. At breakfast-time the one who does\nthis appears and demands a piece of bread and cream with a basin of\n'raw-milk' (milk that has not been scalded and the cream taken off).\n\n\"In Landrake, East Cornwall, it was the custom to give the person\nwho plucked a fern as much cream as would cover it. It was also a\npractice there to chastise with stinging nettles any one found in\nbed after six on May-morning.\"--(Rev. S. Rundle, Vicar, Godolphin.)\n\nYoung shoots of sycamore, as well as white thorn, are known as May in\nCornwall, and from green twigs of the former and from green stalks\nof wheaten corn the children of this county make a rude whistle,\nwhich they call a \"feeper.\"\n\nUntil very lately parties of young men and women rose betimes on\nMay-day and went into the country to breakfast; going a \"a junketing\"\nin the evening has not yet been discontinued.\n\nAt Hayle, on May-day (1883), as usual, groups of children, decorated\nwith flowers and gay with fantastic paper-clothes, went singing through\nthe streets. In the evening bonfires were lit in various parts of the\ntown, houses were illuminated with candles, torches and fire-balls\nburnt until a late hour. The last is a new and dangerous plaything:\na ball of tow or rags is saturated with petroleum, set fire to,\nand then kicked from one place to another; it leaves a small track\nof burning oil wherever it goes.\n\n\"On May-morning, in Polperro, the children and even adults go\nout into the country and fetch home branches of the narrow-leaved\nelm, or flowering boughs of white thorn, both of which are called\n'May.' At a later hour all the boys sally forth with bucket, can,\nor other vessel, and avail themselves of a license which the season\nconfers--to 'dip' or wellnigh drown, without regard to person or\ncircumstance, the passenger who has not the protection of a piece of\n'May' conspicuously stuck in his dress; at the same time they sing,\n'The first of May is Dipping-day.' This manner of keeping May-day is,\nI have heard, common in Cornwall. We are now favoured with a call\nfrom the boy with his pretty garland, gay with bright flowers and\ngaudily-painted birds'-eggs, who expects some little gratuity for\nthe sight.\"--(T. Q. Couch.)\n\n\"At East and West Looe the boys dress their hats with flowers, furnish\nthemselves with bullocks' horns, in which sticks of two feet long are\nfixed, and with these filled with water they parade the streets and\ndip all persons who have not the sprig of May in their hats.\"--(Bond.)\n\n\"First of May you must take down all the horse-shoes (that are nailed\nover doors to keep out witches, &c.) and turn them, not letting them\ntouch the ground.\"--(Old farmer, Mid-Cornwall, through T. Q. Couch,\nW. Antiquary, September, 1883.)\n\nMay-day at Padstow is Hobby-horse day. A hobby-horse is carried through\nthe streets to a pool known as Traitor's-pool, a quarter of a mile\nout of the town. Here it is supposed to drink: the head is dipped\ninto the water, which is freely sprinkled over the spectators. The\nprocession returns home, singing a song to commemorate the tradition\nthat the French, having landed in the bay, mistook a party of mummers\nin red cloaks for soldiers, hastily fled to their boats and rowed away.\n\n\"The May-pole on the first of May at Padstow has only been discontinued\nwithin the last six or eight years (1883). It was erected in connection\nwith the 'Hobby-horse' festival by the young men of the town, who on\nthe last eve of April month would go into the country, cut a quantity\nof blooming yellow furze, and gather the flowers then in season, make\ngarlands of the same; borrow the largest spar they could get from\nthe shipwright's yard, dress it up with the said furze and garlands,\nwith a flag or two on the top, and hoist the pole in a conspicuous\npart of the town, when the 'Mayers,' male and female, would dance\naround it on that festival-day, singing--\n\n\n   'And strew all your flowers, for summer is come in to-day.\n    It is but a while ago since we have strewed ours\n    In the merry morning of May,' &c.\n\n\n\"The May-pole was allowed to remain up from a week to a fortnight,\nwhen it was taken down, stripped, and the pole returned.\"--(Henry\nHarding, Padstow, W. Antiquary, August, 1883.)\n\n\"Formerly all the respectable people at Padstow kept this anniversary,\ndecorated with the choicest flowers; but some unlucky day a number of\nrough characters from a distance joined in it, and committed some sad\nassaults upon old and young, spoiling all their nice summer clothes,\nand covering their faces and persons with smut. From that time--fifty\nyears since--(1865) the procession is formed of the lowest.\n\n\"The May-pole was once decorated with the best flowers, now with\nonly some elm-branches and furze in blossom. The horse is formed\nas follows: The dress is made of sackcloth painted black--a fierce\nmask--eyes red, horse's head, horse-hair mane and tail; distended\nby a hoop--some would call it frightful. Carried by a powerful man,\nhe could inflict much mischief with the snappers, &c. No doubt it is\na remnant of the ancient plays, and it represents the devil, or the\npower of darkness. They commence singing at sunrise.\n\n\n   'THE MORNING-SONG.\n\n   'Unite and unite, and let us all unite,\n        For summer is comen to-day;\n    For whither we are going we all will unite,\n        In the merry morning of May.\n\n   'Arise up, Mr. ----, and joy you betide,\n        For summer is comen to-day;\n    And bright is your bride that lays by your side,\n        In the merry morning of May.\n\n   'Arise, up Mrs. ----, and gold be your ring,\n        For summer is comen to-day;\n    And give us a cup of ale, the merrier we shall sing\n        In the merry morning of May.\n\n   'Arise up, Miss ----, all in your smock of silk,\n        For summer is comen to-day;\n    And all your body under as white as any milk,\n        In the merry morning of May.\n\n   'The young men of Padstow might if they would,\n        For summer is comen to-day;\n    They might have built a ship and gilded her with gold,\n        In the merry morning of May.\n\n   'Now fare you well, and we bid you good cheer,\n        For summer is comen to-day;\n    He will come no more unto your house before another year,\n        In the merry morning of May.'\"\n\n                          (George Rawlings, September 1st, 1865, through\n                            R. Hunt, F.R.S., Droles, &c., Old Cornwall.)\n\n\nMr. Rawlings all through his song has written \"For summer has come\nunto day,\" but this is clearly a mistake. He also gives another which\nhe calls the \"May-Song,\" but it is not as well worth transcribing:\nit bears in some parts a slight resemblance to that sung at the\nHelston Hal-an-tow.\n\nMr. George C. Boase, in an article on \"The Padstow May-Songs,\" has many\nadditional verses in \"The Morning-Song.\" He also gives \"The Day-Song,\"\nsung in honour of St. George, of which I will quote the first verse,\nand the last paragraph of his paper.\n\n\n   \"Awake, St. George, our English knight O!\n    For summer is a-come and winter is a-go,\n    And every day God give us His grace,\n    By day and by night O!\n    Where is St. George, where is he O!\n    He is out in his long boat, all on the salt sea O!\n    And in every land O! the land that ere we go.\n\n    Chorus--And for to fetch the summer home, the summer and the May O!\n            For the summer is a-come and the winter is a-go,\n            etc.\"\n\n\nThe only account of \"The Hobby-horse\" found in the Cornish histories is\nin Hitchins and Drew's Cornwall (vol. i., p. 720; vol. ii., pp. 525,\n529), where it is stated that there is a tradition of St. George\non horseback having visited the neighbourhood of Padstow, where\nthe indentation of his horse's hoofs caused a spring of water to\narise. The spot is still known as St. George's well, and water is\nsaid to be found there even in the hottest summer.--(W. Antiquary.)\n\nIn East Cornwall they have a custom of bathing in the sea on the\nthree first Sunday mornings in May. And in West Cornwall children\nwere taken before sunrise on those days to the holy wells, notably to\nthat of St. Maddern (Madron), near Penzance, to be there dipped into\nthe running water, that they might be cured of the rickets and other\nchildish disorders. After being stripped naked they were plunged three\ntimes into the water, the parents facing the sun, and passed round the\nwell nine times from east to west. They were then dressed, and laid\nby the side of the well, or on an artificial mound re-made every year,\ncalled St. Maddern's bed, which faced it, to sleep in the sun: should\nthey do so and the water bubble it was considered a good sign. Not\na word was to be spoken the whole time for fear of breaking the spell.\n\nA small piece torn (not cut) from the child's clothes was hung\nfor luck (if possible out of sight) on a thorn which grew out of\nthe chapel wall. Some of these bits of rag may still sometimes be\nfound fluttering on the neighbouring bushes. I knew two well-educated\npeople who in 1840, having a son who could not walk at the age of two,\ncarried him and dipped him in Madron well (a distance of three miles\nfrom their home,) on the first two Sundays in May; but on the third\nthe father refused to go. Some authorities say this well should be\nvisited on the first three Wednesdays in May; as was for the same\npurpose another holy well at Chapel Euny (or St. Uny) near Sancred.\n\nThe Wesleyans hold an open-air service on the first three Sunday\nafternoons in May, at a ruined chapel near Madron well, in the south\nwall of which a hole may be seen, through which the water from the\nwell runs into a small baptistry in the south-west corner.\n\nParties of young girls to this day walk there in May to try for\nsweethearts. Crooked pins, or small heavy things, are dropped into the\nwell in couples; if they keep together the pair will be married; the\nnumber of bubbles they make in falling shows the time that will elapse\nbefore the event. Sometimes two pieces of straw formed into a cross,\nfastened in the centre by a pin, were used in these divinations. An old\nwoman who lived in a cottage at a little distance formerly frequented\nthe well and instructed visitors how to work the charms; she was never\npaid in money, but small presents were placed where she could find\nthem. Pilgrims from all parts of England centuries ago resorted to\nSt. Maddern's well: that was famed, as was also her grave, for many\nmiraculous cures. The late Rev. R. S. Hawker, Vicar of Morwenstow, in\nEast Cornwall, published a poem, called \"The Doom Well of St. Madron,\"\non one of the ancient legends connected with it.\n\n\"A respectable tradesman's wife in Launceston tells me that the\ntownspeople here say that a swelling in the neck may be cured by the\npatients going before sunrise on the first of May to the grave of\nthe last young man (if the patient be a woman), to that of the last\nyoung woman (if a man) who had been buried in the churchyard, and\napplying the dew, gathered by passing the hand three times from the\nhead to the foot of the grave, to the part affected by the ailment. I\nmay as well add that the common notion of improving the complexion by\nwashing the face with the early dew in the fields on the first of May\nprevails in these parts (East Cornwall), and they say that a child\nwho is weak in the back may be cured by drawing him over the grass\nwet with the morning dew. The experiment must be thrice performed,\nthat is, on the mornings of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd of May.\"--(H. G. T.,\nNotes and Queries, 14th December, 1850.)\n\nThe 8th of May is at Helston given up to pleasure, and is known as\nFlora-day, Flurry-day, Furry-day, and Faddy. To \"fade\" meant in old\nEnglish to dance from country to town. A legend says this day was\nset apart to commemorate a fight between the devil and St. Michael,\nin which the first was defeated. The name Helston has been fancifully\nderived from a large block of granite which until 1783 was to be seen\nin the yard of the Angel hotel, the principal inn of the place. This\nwas the stone that sealed Hell's mouth, and the devil was carrying\nit when met by St. Michael. Why he should have burdened himself with\nsuch a \"large pebble\" (as Cornish miners call all stones) is quite\nunknown. The fight and overthrow are figured on the town-seal.\n\nThe week before Flora-day is in Helston devoted to the \"spring-clean,\"\nand every house is made \"as bright as a new pin,\" and the gardens\nstripped of their flowers to adorn them.\n\nThe revelry begins at day-break, when the men and maidservants\nwith their friends go into the country to breakfast; these are the\n\"Hal-an-tow.\" They return about eight, laden with green boughs,\npreceded by a drum and singing an old song, the first verses of which\nran thus:--\n\n\n   \"Robin Hood and Little John\n    They both are gone to fair, O!\n    And we will to the merry greenwood\n    To see what they do there, O!\n    And for to chase--O!\n    To chase the buck and doe.\n\n    Refrain--With Hal-an-tow! Rumbelow!\n             For we are up as soon as any O!\n             And for to fetch the summer home,\n             The summer and the May O!\n             For summer is a-come O!\n             And winter is a-gone O!\n\n\nThe whole of this song may be found with the music in the Rev. Baring\nGould's \"Songs of the West,\" and the first verse set to another\ntune in Specimens of Cornish Provincial Dialect, by Uncle Jan\nTrenoodle. (Sandys.)\n\nThe Hal-an-tow are privileged to levy contributions on strangers\ncoming into the town.\n\nEarly in the morning merry peals are rung on the church-bells,\nand at nine a prescriptive holiday is demanded by the boys at the\ngrammar-school. At noon the principal inhabitants and visitors dance\nthrough the town. The dancers start from the market-house, and go\nthrough the streets; in at the front doors of the houses that have\nbeen left open for them, ringing every bell and knocking at every\nknocker, and out at the back, but if more convenient they dance\naround the garden, or even around a room, and return through the\ndoor by which they entered. Sometimes the procession files in at one\nshop-door, dances through that department and out through another,\nand in one place descends into a cellar. All the main streets are\nthus traversed, and a circuit is made of the bowling-green, which\nat one end is the extreme limit of the town. Two beadles, their\nwands wreathed with flowers, and a band with a gaily-decorated\ndrum, head the procession. The dance ends with \"hands across\" at\nthe assembly room of the Angel hotel, where there is always a ball\nin the evening. Non-dancers are admitted to this room by a small\npayment (which must be a silver coin), paid as they go up the stairs\neither to the landlord or a gentleman,--one stands on each side of\nthe door. The gentlemen dancers on entering pay for their partners,\nand by established custom, should they be going to attend the evening\nball, they are bound to give them their tickets, gloves, and the\nfirst dance. The tradespeople have their dance at a later hour,\nand their ball at another hotel.\n\nThe figure of the Furry dance, performed to a very lively measure,\nis extremely simple. To the first half of the tune the couples dance\nalong hand-in-hand; at the second the first gentleman turns the second\nlady and the second gentleman the first. This change is made all down\nthe set. Repeat.\n\nI have appended the tune, to which children have adopted the following\ndoggerel:--\n\n\n   \"John the bone (beau) was walking home,\n      When he met with Sally Dover,\n    He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,\n      And he kissed her three times over.\"\n\n\nSome writers have made the mistake of imagining that the tune sung\nto the Hal-an-tow and the Furry dance are the same.\n\nFormerly, should any person in Helston be found at work on Flora-day,\nhe was set astride on a pole, then carried away on men's shoulders to\na wide part of the Cober (a stream which empties itself into Loe-pool\nclose by), and sentenced to leap over it. As it was almost impossible\nto do this without jumping into the water, the punishment was remitted\nby the payment of a small fine towards the day's amusement. Others\nsay the offender was first made to jump the Cober and then set astride\non a pole to dry.\n\nIn many of the villages around Helston the children, on Flora-day, deck\nthemselves with large wreaths, which they wear over one shoulder and\nunder the other arm; and at Porthleven I observed, in 1884, in addition\nto these wreaths, several children with large white handkerchiefs\narranged as wimples, kept on their heads with garlands of flowers.\n\nOne of the first objects on entering the village of St. Germans\n(East Cornwall) is the large walnut-tree, at the foot of what is\ncalled Nut-tree Hill. Many a gay May-fair has been witnessed by\nthe old tree. In the morning of the 28th of the month splendid fat\ncattle from some of the largest and best farms in the county quietly\nchewed the cud around its trunk; in the afternoon the basket-swing\ndangled from its branches filled with merry, laughing boys and girls\nfrom every part of the parish. On the following day the mock mayor,\nwho had been chosen with many formalities, remarkable only for their\nrude and rough nature, starting from some \"bush-house\" where he had\nbeen supping too freely of the fair-ale, was mounted on wain or cart,\nand drawn around it, to claim his pretended jurisdiction over the\nancient borough, until his successor was chosen at the following\nfair. Leaving the nut-tree, which is a real ornament to the town, we\npass by a spring of water running into a large trough, in which many\na country lad has been drenched for daring to enter the town on the\n29th of May without the leaf or branch of oak in his hat.--(R. Hunt,\nF.R.S., Drolls, &c., Old Cornwall.)\n\nThe wrestlers of Cornwall and their wrestling-matches are still famous,\nand in the May of 1868 4,000 assembled one day on Marazion Green,\nand 3,000 the next, to see one. The wrestlers of this county have a\npeculiar grip, called by them \"the Cornish-hug.\"\n\nAny odd, foolish game is in West Cornwall called a May-game\n(pronounced May-gum), also a person who acts foolishly; and you\nfrequently hear the expression--\"He's a reg'lar May-gum!\" There is a\nproverb that says--\"Don't make mock of a May-gum, you may be struck\ncomical yourself one day.\"\n\nWhit-Sunday.--It was formerly considered very unlucky in Cornwall to\ngo out on this day without putting on some new thing. Children were\ntold that should they do so \"the birds would foul them as they walked\nalong.\" A new ribbon, or even a shoe-lace, would be sufficient to\nprotect them. Whit-Monday is generally kept as a holiday, and is often\nmade an excuse for another country excursion, which, if taken in the\nafternoon, ends at some farm-house with a tea of Cornish \"heavy-cream\ncake,\" followed (in the evening) by a junket with clotted-cream.\n\nCarew speaks of a feast kept in his time on Whit-Monday at the\n\"Church-house\" of the different parishes called a \"Church-ale.\" It was\na sort of large picnic, for which money had been previously collected\nby two young men--\"wardens,\" who had been previously appointed the\npreceding year by their last \"foregoers.\" This custom has long ceased\nto exist.\n\nThe Wesleyans (Methodists) in Cornwall hold an open-air service\non Whit-Monday at Gwennap-pit. The pit is an old earth-round,\nexcavated in the hill-side of Carn Marth, about three miles from the\nsmall village of Gwennap, and one from Redruth. This amphitheatre,\nwhich is then usually filled, is capable of holding from four to\nfive thousand people, and is in shape like a funnel. It is encircled\nfrom the bottom to the top with eighteen turf-covered banks, made by\ncutting the earth into steps. It is admirably adapted for sound, and\nthe voice of the preacher, who stands on one side, about half way up,\nis distinctly heard by the whole congregation. Wesley, when on a visit\nto Cornwall, preached in Gwennap-pit to the miners of that district,\nand this was the origin of the custom. Many excursion-trains run to\nRedruth on Whit-Monday, and a continuous string of vehicles of every\ndescription, as well as pedestrians, may be seen wending their way\nfrom the station to the pit, which is almost surrounded by \"downs,\"\nand in a road close by rows of \"standings\" (stalls) are erected for\nthe sale of \"fairings.\" An annual pleasure-fair goes on at the same\ntime at Redruth, and many avail themselves of the excursion-trains\nwho have not the least intention of attending the religious service.\n\n\"In Mid-Cornwall, in the second week of June, at St. Roche and in one\nor two adjacent parishes, a curious dance is performed at their annual\n'feasts.' It enjoys the rather undignified name of 'Snails' creep,'\nbut would be more properly called 'The Serpent's Coil.'\n\n\"The following is scarcely a perfect description of it:--The young\npeople being all assembled in a large meadow, the village band\nstrikes up a simple but lively air, and marches forward, followed by\nthe whole assemblage, leading hand-in-hand (or more closely linked\nin case of engaged couples), the whole keeping time to the tune\nwith a lively step. The band or head of the serpent keeps marching\nin an ever-narrowing circle, whilst its train of dancing followers\nbecomes coiled around it in circle after circle. It is now that the\nmost interesting part of the dance commences, for the band, taking\na sharp turn about, begins to retrace the circle, still followed as\nbefore, and a number of young men with long, leafy branches in their\nhands as standards, direct this counter-movement with almost military\nprecision.\"--(W. C. Wade, W. Antiquary, April, 1881.)\n\nA game similar to the above dance is often played by Sunday-school\nchildren in West Cornwall, at their out-of-door summer-treats, called\nby them \"roll-tobacco.\" They join hands in one long line, the taller\nchildren at the head. The first child stands still, whilst the others\nin ever-narrowing circles dance around singing, until they are coiled\ninto a tight mass. The outer coil then wheels sharply in a contrary\ndirection, followed by the remainder, retracing their steps.\n\n23rd of June. In the afternoon of Midsummer-eve little girls may be\nstill occasionally met in the streets of Penzance with garlands of\nflowers on their heads, or wreaths over one shoulder.\n\nThis custom was, within the last fifty years, generally observed\nin West Cornwall. And in all the streets of our towns and villages\ngroups of graceful girls, rich as well as poor, all dressed in white,\ntheir frocks decorated with rows of laurel-leaves (\"often spangled\nwith gold-leaf\"--Bottrell), might in the afternoon have been seen\nstanding at the doors, or in the evening dancing along with their\nbrothers or lovers.\n\nIn Penzance, and in nearly all the parishes of West Penwith,\nimmediately after nightfall on the eves of St. John and St. Peter,\nthe 23rd and 28th of June, lines of tar-barrels, occasionally broken\nby bonfires, were simultaneously lighted in all the streets, whilst,\nat the same time, bonfires were kindled on all the cairns and hills\naround Mount's Bay, throwing the outlines in bold relief against\nthe sky. \"Then the villagers, linked in circles hand-in-hand,\ndanced round them to preserve themselves against witchcraft, and,\nwhen they burnt low, one person here and there detached himself from\nthe rest and leaped through the flames to insure himself from some\nspecial evil. The old people counted these fires and drew a presage\nfrom them.\"--(Bottrell.)\n\nRegularly at dusk the mayor of Penzance sent the town-crier through\nthe streets to give notice that no fireworks were allowed to be let\noff in the town; but this was done simply that he should not be held\nresponsible if any accident happened, for he and all in Penzance knew\nquite well that the law would be set at defiance. Large numbers of men,\nwomen, and boys came up soon after from the quay and lower parts of\nthe town swinging immense torches around their heads; these torches\n(locally known as \"to'ches\") were made of pieces of canvas about\ntwo feet square, fastened in the middle either to a long pole or a\nstrong chain, dipped until completely saturated in tar. Of course\nthey required to be swung with great dexterity or the holder would\nhave been burnt. The heat they gave out was something dreadful,\nand the smoke suffocating. Most of the inhabitants dressed in their\noldest clothes congregated in groups in the street, and a great part\nof the fun of the evening consisted in slyly throwing squibs amongst\nthem, or in dispersing them by chasing them with hand-rockets. The\ngreatest good humour always prevailed, and although the revellers\nwere thickest in a small square surrounded by houses, some of them\nthatched, very few accidents have ever happened. A band stationed\nhere played at intervals. No set-pieces were ever put off, but there\nwere a few Roman-candles. Between ten and eleven a popular mayor might\noften have been seen standing in the middle of this square (the Green\nMarket), encircled by about a dozen young men, each holding a lighted\nhand-rocket over the mayor's head. The sparks which fell around him\non all sides made him look as if he stood in the centre of a fountain\nof fire. The proceedings finished by the boys and girls from the\nquay, whose torches had by this time expired, dancing in a long line\nhand in hand through the streets, in and out and sometimes over the\nnow low burning tar-barrels, crying out, \"An eye, an eye.\" At this\nshout the top couple held up their arms, and, beginning with the\nlast, the others ran under them, thus reversing their position. A\nyear or two ago, owing to the increasing traffic at Penzance,\nthe practice of letting off squibs and crackers in the streets was\nformally abolished by order of the mayor and corporation. Efforts\nare still made and money collected for the purpose of reviving it,\nwith some little success; but the Green Market is no longer the\nscene of the fun. A few boys still after dusk swing their torches,\nand here and there some of the old inhabitants keep up the custom of\nlighting tar-barrels or bonfires before their doors. A rite called\nthe Bonfire Test was formerly celebrated on this night. Mr. R. Hunt,\nF.R.S., has described it in his Drolls, &c. Old Cornwall:--\"A bonfire\nis formed of faggots of furze, ferns, and the like. Men and maidens,\nby locking hands, form a circle, and commence a dance to some wild\nnative song. At length, as the dancers become excited, they pull each\nother from side to side across the fire. If they succeed in treading\nout the fire without breaking the chain, none of the party will die\nduring the year. If, however, the ring is broken before the fire\nis extinguished, 'bad luck to the weak hands,' as my informant said\n(1865). All the witches in West Cornwall used to meet at midnight on\nMidsummer-eve at Trewa (pronounced Troway), in the parish of Zennor,\nand around the dying fires renewed their vows to their master, the\nDevil. Zennor boasts of some of the finest coast scenery in Cornwall,\nand many remarkable rocks were scattered about in this neighbourhood;\nseveral of them (as does the cromlech) still remain, but others have\nbeen quarried and carted away, amongst them one known as Witches'\nRock, which if touched nine times at midnight kept away ill-luck,\nand prevented people from being 'over-looked' (ill-wished).\"\n\nOn Midsummer-day (June 24th) two pleasure fairs are held in Cornwall:\none at Pelynt, in the eastern part of the county, where in the evening,\nfrom time immemorial, a large bonfire has been always lighted in an\nadjoining field by the boys of the neighbourhood (some writers fix on\nthe summer solstice as the date of Pelynt fair, but this, I believe,\nis an error); and the second on the old quay at Penzance. It is called\n\"Quay Fair,\" to distinguish it from Corpus Christi fair, another and\nmuch larger one held at the other extremity of the town, and which\nlasts from the eve of Corpus Christi until the following Saturday. Quay\nfair was formerly crowded by people from the neighbouring inland towns\nand villages; their principal amusement was to go out for a short row,\na great number in one boat, the boatmen charging a penny a head. This\nwas taking a \"Pen'nord of Say.\" When not paid for, a short row is a\n\"Troil.\" (Troil is Old-Cornish for a feast).\n\nAlthough this fair has not yet been discontinued, the number of those\nattending it grows less and less every year, and not enough money is\ntaken to encourage travelling showmen to set up their booths. The\nold charter allowed the public-houses at the quay to keep open all\nnight on the 24th of June, but such is no longer the case. Quay\nfair was sometimes known as Strawberry fair, and thirty years ago\nmany strawberries were sold at it for twopence a quart. They were\nnot brought to market in pottles, but in large baskets containing\nsome gallons, and were measured out to the customers in a tin pint\nor quart measure. They were eaten from cabbage-leaves. Before the\nend of the day, unless there were a brisk sale, the fruit naturally\ngot much bruised. They are still sold in the same way, but are not\nnearly as plentiful. Many of the strawberry fields, through which the\npublic footpaths often went, have been turned up, and are now used\nfor growing early potatoes. On St. John's-day Cornish miners place\na green bough on the shears of the engine-houses in commemoration of\nhis preaching in the wilderness.\n\nThis day is with Cornish as with other maidens a favourite one for\ntrying old love-charms. Some of them rise betimes, and go into the\ncountry to search for an even \"leafed\" ash, or an even \"leafed\"\nclover. When found, the rhymes they repeat are common to all England.\n\nAn old lady, a native of Scilly, once gave me a most graphic\ndescription of her mother and aunt laying a table, just before midnight\non St. John's-day, with a clean white cloth, knives and forks, and\nbread and cheese, to see if they should marry the men to whom they\nwere engaged. They sat down to it, keeping strict silence--\n\n\n   \"For, if a word had been spoken,\n    The spell would have been broken.\"\n\n\nAs the clock struck twelve, the door (which had purposely been left\nunbarred) opened, and their two lovers walked in, having, as they\nsaid, met outside, both compelled by irresistible curiosity to go\nand see if there were anything the matter with their sweethearts.\n\nIt never entered the old lady's head that the men probably had an\ninkling of what was going on, and to have hinted that such was the\ncase would, I am quite sure, have given dire offence.\n\nThe following charm is from the W. Antiquary:--Pluck a rose at\nmidnight on St. John's-day, wear it to church, and your intended\nwill take it out of your button-hole.--(Old Farmer, Mid-Cornwall,\nthrough T. Q. Couch.)\n\n\"It was believed that if a young maiden gathered a rose on\nMidsummer-day, and folding it in white paper, forbore to look at\nit or mention what she had done until the following Christmas-day,\nshe would then find the flower fresh and bright; and further if she\nplaced it in her bosom and wore it at church, the person most worthy\nof her hand would be sure to draw near her in the porch, and beseech\nher to give him the rose.\"--Neota--Launcells. Charlotte Hawkey.\n\nIn connection with Midsummer bonfires, I mentioned those on\nSt. Peter's-eve; although they are no longer lighted at Penzance,\nthe custom (never confined to West Cornwall) is in other places still\nobserved. Many of the churches in the small fishing villages on the\ncoast are dedicated to this saint, the patron of fishermen, and on\nhis tide the towers of these churches were formerly occasionally\nilluminated.\n\nOn St. Peter's-eve, at Newlyn West, in 1883, many of the men were\naway fishing on the east coast of England, and the celebration of the\nfestival was put off until their return, when it took place with more\nthan usual rejoicings. The afternoon was given up to aquatic sports,\nand in the evening, in addition to the usual bonfires and tar-barrels,\nsquibs, hand and sky-rockets were let off. The young people finished\nthe day with an open-air dance, which ended before twelve. In this\nvillage effigies of objectionable characters, after they have been\ncarried through the streets, are sometimes burnt in the St. Peter's\nbonfire. I have often in Cornwall heard red-haired people described\n\"as looking as if they were born on bonfire night.\" At Wendron, and\nmany other small inland mining villages, the boys at St. Peter's-tide\nfire off miniature rock batteries called \"plugs.\"\n\nI must now again quote from Mr. T. Q. Couch, and give his account of\nhow this day is observed at Polperro.\n\n\"The patron saint of Polperro is St. Peter, to whom the church, built\non the seaward hill (still called chapel hill) was dedicated. His\nfestival is kept on the 10th of July (old style). At Peter's-tide is\nour annual feast or fair. Though a feeble and insignificant matter,\nit is still with the young the great event of the year. On the eve of\nthe fair is the prefatory ceremony of a bonfire. The young fishermen go\nfrom house to house and beg money to defray the expenses. At nightfall\na large pile of faggots and tar-barrels is built on the beach, and,\namid the cheers of a congregated crowd of men, women, and children\n(for it is a favour never denied to children to stay up and see the\nbonfire), the pile is lighted. The fire blazes up, and men and boys\ndance merrily round it, and keep up the sport till the fire burns\nlow enough, when they venturously leap through the flames. It is a\nmost animated scene, the whole valley lit up by the bright red glow,\nbringing into strong relief front and gable of picturesque old houses,\neach window crowded with eager and delighted faces, while around the\nfire is a crowd of ruddy lookers-on, shutting in a circle of impish\nfigures leaping like salamanders through the flames.\n\n\"The next day the fair begins, a trivial matter, except to the\nchildren, who are dressed in their Sunday clothes, and to the\nvillage girls in their best gowns and gaudiest ribbons. Stalls, or\n'standings,' laden with fairings, sweetmeats, and toys, line the\nlower part of Lansallos Street, near the strand. There are, besides,\nstrolling Thespians; fellows who draw unwary youths into games\nof hazard, where the risk is mainly on one side; ballad-singers;\npenny-peep men, who show and describe to wondering boys the most\nhorrid scenes of the latest murder; jugglers and tumblers also display\ntheir skill. In the neighbouring inn the fiddler plays his liveliest\ntunes at twopence a reel, which the swains gallantly pay. The first\nday of the fair is merely introductory, for the excitement is rarely\nallayed under three. The second day is much livelier than the first,\nand has for its great event the wrestling-match on the strand, or\nperhaps a boat-race. On the third day we have the mayor-choosing,\nnever a valid ceremony, but a broad burlesque. The person who is\nchosen to this post of mimic dignity is generally some half-witted or\ndrunken fellow, who, tricked out in tinsel finery, elects his staff\nof constables, and these, armed with staves, accompany his chariot\n(some jowster's huckster's cart, dressed with green boughs) through\nthe town, stopping at each inn, where he makes a speech full of large\npromises to his listeners, of full work, better wages, and a liberal\nallowance of beer during his year of mayoralty. He then demands a\nquart of the landlord's ale, which is gauged with mock ceremony,\nand if adjudged short of measure is, after being emptied, broken on\nthe wheel of the car. Having completed the perambulation of the town,\nhis attendants often make some facetious end of the pageant by wheeling\nthe mayor in his chariot with some impetus into the tide.\"--Polperro,\n1871, pp. 156-159.\n\nThe ceremony of choosing a mock mayor was also observed at Penryn (near\nFalmouth), but it took place in the autumn, on a day in September or\nOctober, when hazel-nuts were ripe, and \"nutting day\" was kept by the\nchildren and poor people. The journeymen tailors went from Penryn and\nFalmouth to Mylor parish, on the opposite side of the river Fal. There\nthey made choice of the wittiest among them to fill that office. His\ntitle was the \"Mayor of Mylor.\" When chosen, he was borne in a chair\nupon the shoulders of four strong men from his \"goode towne of Mylor\"\nto his \"anciente borough of Penryn.\" He was preceded by torch-bearers\nand two town-sergeants, in gowns and cocked hats, with cabbages instead\nof maces, and surrounded by a guard armed with staves. Just outside\nPenryn he was met with a band of music, which played him into the\ntown. The procession halted at the town-hall, where the mayor made a\nburlesque speech, often a clever imitation of the phrases and manners\nof their then sitting parliamentary representative. This speech was\nrepeated with variations before the different inns, the landlords of\nwhich were expected to provide the mayor and his numerous attendants\nliberally with beer. The day's proceedings finished with a dinner at\none of the public-houses in Penryn. Bonfires, &c., were lighted, and\nfireworks let off soon after dusk. It was popularly believed that this\nchoosing of a mock mayor was permitted by a clause in the town charter.\n\nA festival, supposed to have been instituted in honour of\nThomas-\u00e0-Beckett, called \"Bodmin-Riding,\" was (although shorn of its\nformer importance) until very recently held there on the first Monday\nand Tuesday after the 7th of July.\n\nIn the beginning of this century all the tradespeople of the town,\npreceded by music and carrying emblems of their trades, walked in\nprocession to the Priory. They were headed by two men, one with a\ngarland and the other with a pole, which they presented and received\nback again from the master of the house as the then representative\nof the Prior. Mr. T. Q. Couch had the following description of this\nceremony from those who took part in its latest celebration:--\n\n\"A puncheon of beer having been brewed in the previous October,\nand duly bottled in anticipation of the time, two or more young\nmen, who were entrusted with the chief management of the affair,\nand who represented 'the Wardens' of Carew's Church-ales, went\nround the town (Bodmin) attended by a band of drummers and fifers,\nor other instruments. The crier saluted each house with--'To the\npeople of this house, a prosperous morning, long life, health,\nand a merry riding.' The musicians then struck up the riding-tune,\na quick and inspiriting measure, said by some to be as old as the\nfeast itself. The householder was solicited to taste the riding-ale,\nwhich was carried round in baskets. A bottle was usually taken in,\nand it was acknowledged by such a sum as the means or humour of the\ntownsmen permitted, to be spent on the public festivities of the\nseason. Next morning a procession was formed (all who could afford to\nride mounted on horse or ass, smacking long-lashed whips), first to\nthe Priory to receive two large garlands of flowers fixed on staves,\nand then in due order to the principal streets to the town-end, where\nthe games were formerly opened. The sports, which lasted two days,\nwere of the ordinary sort--wrestling, foot-racing, jumping in sacks,\n&c. It is worthy of remark that a second or inferior brewing from the\nsame wort was drunk at a minor merry-making at Whitsuntide.\"--(Popular\nAntiquities, Journal Royal Institute of Cornwall, 1864.)\n\nIn former days the proceedings ended in a servants'-ball, at which\ndancing was kept up until the next morning's breakfast-hour.\n\nA very curious carnival was originally held under a Lord of Misrule,\nin July, on Halgaver Moor, near Bodmin, thus quaintly described\nby Carew:--\n\n\"The youthlyer sort of Bodmin townsmen vse to sport themselves by\nplaying the box with strangers whom they summon to Halgauer. The name\nsignifieth the Goat's Moore, and such a place it is, lying a little\nwithout the towne, and very full of quauemires. When these mates meet\nwith any rawe seruing-man or other young master, who may serue and\ndeserue to make pastime, they cause him to be solemnely arrested,\nfor his appearance before the Maior of Halgauer, where he is charged\nwith wearing one spurre, or going vntrussed, or wanting a girdle,\nor some such felony. After he had been arraygned and tryed, with\nall requisite circumstances, iudgement is given in formal terms, and\nexecuted in some one vngracious pranke or other, more to the skorne\nthan hurt of the party condemned. Hence is sprung the prouerb when we\nsee one slouenly appareled to say he shall be presented at Halgauer\nCourt (or take him before the Maior of Halgauer).\n\n\"But now and then they extend this merriment with the largest, to\npreiudice of ouer-credulous people, persuading them to fight with\na dragon lurking in Halgauer, or to see some strange matter there,\nwhich concludeth at least with a trayning them into the mire.\"--(Survey\nof Cornwall.)\n\nHeath says in his Description of Cornwall, \"These sports and pastimes\nwere so liked by King Charles II., when he touched at Bodmin on his\nway to Scilly, that he became a brother of the jovial society.\"\n\n\"Taking-day.\"--\"An old custom, about which history tells us nothing,\nis still duly observed at Crowan, in West Cornwall. Annually, on\nthe Sunday evening previous to Praze-an-beeble fair (July 16th)\nlarge numbers of the young folk repair to the parish church, and at\nthe conclusion of the service they hasten to Clowance Park, where\nstill large crowds assemble, collected chiefly from the neighbouring\nvillages of Leeds-town, Carnhell-green, Nancegollan, Blackrock, and\nPraze. Here the sterner sex select their partners for the forthcoming\nfair, and, as it not unfrequently happens that the generous proposals\nare not accepted, a tussle ensues, to the intense merriment of passing\nspectators. Many a happy wedding has resulted from the opportunity\nafforded for selection on 'Taking-day' in Clowance Park.\"--(Cornishman,\nJuly, 1882.)\n\nAt St. Ives, on the 25th July, St. James's-day, they hold a quiennial\ncelebration of the \"Knillian-games.\" These have been fully described\nby the late J. S. Courtney in his Guide to Penzance, as follows:--\n\n\"Near St. Ives a pyramid on the summit of a hill attracts\nattention. This pyramid was erected in the year 1782, as a place of\nsepulture for himself, by John Knill, Esq., some time collector of\nthe Customs at St. Ives, and afterwards a resident in Gray's Inn,\nLondon, where he died in 1811. The building is commonly called\n'Knill's Mausoleum'; but Mr. Knill's body was not there deposited,\nfor, having died in London, he was, according to his own directions,\ninterred in St. Andrew's church, Holborn. The pyramid bears on its\nthree sides respectively the following inscriptions, in relief, on the\ngranite of which it is built: 'Johannes Knill, 1782.' 'I know that my\nRedeemer liveth.' 'Resurgam.' On one side there is also Mr. Knill's\ncoat-of-arms, with his motto, 'Nil desperandum.'\n\n\"In the year 1797, Mr. Knill, by a deed of trust, settled upon the\nmayor and capital burgesses of the borough of St. Ives, and their\nsuccessors for ever, an annuity of ten pounds, as a rent-charge,\nto be paid out of the manor of Glivian, in the parish of Mawgan,\nin this county, to the said mayor and burgesses in the town-hall\nof the said borough, at twelve o'clock at noon, on the feast of the\nNativity of St. John (Midsummer-day) in every year; and, in default,\nto be levied by the said mayor and burgesses by distress on the said\nmanor. The ten pounds then received are to be immediately paid by the\nmayor and burgesses to the mayor, the collector of customs, and the\nclergyman of the parish for the time being, to be by them deposited\nin a chest secured by three locks, of which each is to have a key;\nand the box is left in the custody of the mayor.\n\n\"Of this annuity a portion is directed to be applied to the repair and\nsupport of the mausoleum; another sum for the establishment of various\nceremonies to be observed once every five years; and the remainder\n'to the effectuating and establishing of certain charitable purposes.'\"\n\nThe whole affair has, however, been generally treated with ridicule. In\norder, therefore, to show that Mr. Knill intended a considerable\nportion of his bequest to be applied to really useful purposes,\nwe annex a copy of his regulations for the disposal of the money:\n\n\"First. That, at the end of every five years, on the feast-day of\nSt. James the Apostle, Twenty-five pounds shall be expended as follows,\nviz. Ten pounds in a dinner for the Mayor, Collector of Customs,\nand Clergyman, and two persons to be invited by each of them, making\na party of nine persons, to dine at some tavern at the borough. Five\npounds to be equally divided among ten girls, natives of the borough,\nand daughters of seamen, fishermen, or tinners, each of them not\nexceeding ten years of age, who shall between ten and twelve o'clock\nin the forenoon of that day dance, for a quarter of hour at least,\non the ground adjoining the Mausoleum, and after the dance sing the\n100th Psalm of the Old Version, 'to the fine old tune' to which the\nsame was then sung in St. Ives church.\n\n\"One pound to the fiddler who shall play to the girls while dancing\nand singing at the Mausoleum, and also before them on their return\nhome therefrom.\n\n\"Two pounds to two widows of seamen, fishermen, or tinners of the\nborough, being 64 years old or upwards, who shall attend the dancing\nand singing of the girls, and walk before them immediately after the\nfiddler, and certify to the Mayor, Collector, and Clergyman that the\nceremonies have been duly performed.\n\n\"One pound to be laid out in white ribbons for breast-knots for\nthe girls and widows, and a cockade for the fiddler, to be worn by\nthem respectively on that day and the Sunday following. One pound\nto purchase account-books from time to time and pay the Clerk of the\nCustoms for keeping the accounts. The remaining Five pounds to be paid\nto a man and wife, widower, or widow, 60 years of age or upwards,\nthe man being an inhabitant of St. Ives, and a seaman, fisherman,\ntinner, or labourer, who shall have bred up to the age of ten years\nand upwards, the greatest number of legitimate children by his or\nher own labour, care, and industry, without parochial assistance,\nor having become entitled to any property in any other manner.\n\n\"Secondly. When a certain sum of money shall have accumulated in\nthe chest, over and above what may have been required for repairs\nof the Mausoleum and the above payments, it is directed that on\none of the fore-mentioned days of the festival 'Fifty' pounds\nshall be distributed in addition to the 'Twenty-five' pounds spent\nquiennially in the following manner; that is Ten pounds to be given\nas a marriage-portion to the woman between 26 and 36 years old,\nbeing a native of St. Ives, who shall have been married to a seaman,\nfisherman, tinner, or labourer, residing in the borough, between the\n31st of December previously, and that day following the said feast-day,\nthat shall appear to the Mayor, Collector, and Clergyman, the most\nworthy, 'regard being had to her duty and kindness to her parents,\nor to her friends who have brought her up.'\n\n\"Five pounds to any woman, single or married, being an inhabitant of\nSt. Ives, who in the opinion of the aforesaid gentlemen shall be the\nbest knitter of fishing-nets.\n\n\"Five pounds to be paid to the woman, married or single, inhabitant\nof St. Ives, or otherwise, who shall, by the same authorities, be\ndeemed to be the best curer and packer of pilchards for exportation.\n\n\"Five pounds to be given between such two follower-boys as shall\nby the same gentlemen be judged to have best conducted themselves\nof all the follower-boys in the several concerns, in the preceding\nfishing-season. (A follower is a boat that carries a tuck-net in\npilchard-fishing.)\n\n\"And Twenty-five pounds, the remainder of the said Fifty, to be\ndivided among all the Friendly Societies in the borough, instituted\nfor the support of the Members in sickness or other calamity, in\nequal shares. If there be no such Society, the same to be distributed\namong ten poor persons, five men and five women, inhabitants of\nthe borough, of the age of 64 years or upwards, and who have never\nreceived parochial relief.\"\n\nThe first celebration of the Knillian games, which drew a large\nconcourse of people, took place in Knill's lifetime on July 25th, 1801.\n\nThe chorus then sung by the 10 virgins was as follows:--\n\n\n   'Quit the bustle of the bay,\n    Hasten, virgins, come away:\n    Hasten to the mountain's brow,\n    Leave, oh! leave, St. Ives below.\n    Haste to breathe a purer air,\n    Virgins fair, and pure as fair.\n    Quit St. Ives and all her treasures,\n    Fly her soft voluptuous pleasures,\n    Fly her sons and all the wiles\n    Lurking in their wanton smiles;\n    Fly her splendid midnight halls,\n    Fly the revels of her balls,\n    Fly, oh! fly, the chosen seat\n    Where vanity and fashion meet!\n    Thither hasten: form the ring,\n    Round the tomb in chorus sing.'\n\n\nThese games have been repeated every five years up to the present time.\n\nMorvah feast, which is on the nearest Sunday to the 1st August, is said\nto have been instituted in memory of a wrestling-match, throwing of\nquoits, &c., which took place there one Sunday, \"when there were giants\nin the land.\" On the following Monday there was formerly a large fair,\nand although Morvah is a very small village without any attractions,\nthe farmers flocked to it in great numbers to drink and feast, sitting\non the hedges of the small fields common in West Cornwall. \"Three on\none horse, like going to Morvah Fair,\" is an old proverb.\n\nOn August 5th a large cattle-fair is held in the village of\nGoldsithney, in the parish of Perran-Uthnoe. Lysons, in 1814,\nsays:--\"There is a tradition that this fair was originally held in\nSithney, near Helston, and that some persons ran off with the glove, by\nthe suspension of which to a pole the charter was held, and carried it\noff to this village, where, it is said, the glove was hung out for many\nyears at the time of the fair. As some confirmation of the tradition\nof its removal it should be mentioned that the lord of the manor, a\nproprietor of the fair, used to pay an acknowledgment of one shilling\nper annum to the churchwardens of Sithney.\" The same author makes the\nstatement that Truro fair, on November 19th, belongs to the proprietors\nof Truro Manor, as high lords of the town, and that a glove is hung\nout at this fair as at Chester; he also says that these same lords\nclaim a tax called smoke-money from most of the houses in the borough.\n\nIn Cornwall the last sheaf of corn cut at harvest-time is \"the\nneck.\" This in the West is always cut by the oldest reaper, who\nshouts out, \"I hav'et! I hav'et! I hav'et!\" The others answer, \"What\nhav'ee? What hav'ee? What hav'ee?\" He replies, \"A neck! A neck! A\nneck!\" Then altogether they give three loud hurrahs. The neck is\nafterwards made into a miniature sheaf, gaily decorated with ribbons\nand flowers; it is carried home in triumph, and hung up to a beam in\nthe kitchen, where it is left until the next harvest. Mr. Robert Hunt\nsays that \"after the neck has been cried three times they (the reapers)\nchange their cry to 'we yen! we yen!' which they sound in the same\nprolonged and slow manner as before, with singular harmony and effect\nthree times.\" After this they all burst out into a kind of loud, joyous\nlaugh, flinging up their hats and caps into the air, capering about,\nand perhaps kissing the girls. One of them gets the \"neck,\" and runs\nas hard as he can to the farm-house, where the dairy-maid or one of\nthe young female domestics stands at the door prepared with a pail of\nwater. If he who holds the \"neck\" can manage to get into the house in\nany way unseen, or openly by any other way than the door by which the\ngirl stands with the pail of water, then he may lawfully kiss her; but\nif otherwise he is regularly soused with the contents of the bucket.\n\nThe object of crying the \"neck\" is to give notice to the surrounding\ncountry of the end of the harvest, and the meaning of \"we yen\" is we\nhave ended.\n\nThe last sheaf of the barley-harvest (there is now but little grown)\nwas the \"crow-sheaf,\" and when cut the same ceremony was gone through;\nbut instead of \"a neck,\" the words \"a crow\" were substituted.\n\nWhen \"the neck\" is cut at the house of a squire, the reapers sometimes\nassemble at the front of the mansion and cry \"the neck,\" with the\naddition of these words, \"and for our pains we do deserve a glass of\nbrandy, strong beer, and a bun.\"--(John Hills, Penryn, W. Antiquary,\nOctober, 1882.)\n\nIn East Cornwall \"the neck,\" which is made into a slightly different\nshape, is carried to the mowhay (pronounced mo-ey) before it is cried\n(a mowhay is an inclosure for ricks of corn and hay). One of the\nmen then retires to a distance from the others and shouts the same\nformula. It is hung up in the kitchen until Christmas-day, when it\nis given to the best ox in the stalls.\n\nThe harvest-home feast in the neighbourhood of Penzance goes by the\nname of \"gool-dize,\" or \"gool-an-dize.\" In Scilly it is known as the\n\"nickly thize.\" Farmers there at that season of the year formerly\nkilled a sheep, and as long as any portion of it was left the feast\nwent on.\n\nRicks of corn in Cornwall are often made, and left to stand in the\n\"arish-fields\" (stubble-fields) where they were cut. These are all\ncalled \"arish-mows,\" but from their different shapes they have also\nthe names of \"brummal-mows\" and \"pedrack-mows.\"\n\nProbus and Grace fair is held on the 17th of September, through a\ncharter granted by Charles II. after his restoration, to a Mr. Williams\nof that neighbourhood, with whom he had lived for some time during\nthe Civil Wars.\n\nProbus is in East Cornwall, and its church is famed for its beautiful\ntower. Tradition has it that this church was built by Saint Probus,\nbut for want of funds he could not add the tower, and in his need\nasked St. Grace to help him.\n\nShe consented, but when the church was consecrated Probus praised\nhimself, but made no mention of her. Then a mysterious voice was heard,\nrepeating the following distich:--\n\n\n   \"St. Probus and Grace,\n    Not the first but the la-ast.\"\n\n\nThis town, consequently, has two patron saints.\n\nI know of no other feasten ceremonies in this month; but here,\nas elsewhere, the children of the poor make up parties \"to go a\nblackberrying.\" This fruit, by old people, was said not to be good\nafter Michaelmas, kept by them 10th October (old style); after that\ndate they told you the devil spat on them, and birds fouled them.\n\nI knew an old lady whose birthday falling on that day she religiously\nkept it by eating for the last time that year blackberry-tart with\nclotted cream.\n\nThis brings me round to the month from which I started. Many of the\nfeasts are of course omitted, as no local customs are now connected\nwith them. There must be one for nearly every Sunday in the year,\nand a mere record of their names would be most wearisome. I cannot\ndo better, therefore, than finish this portion of my work with two\nquotations. The first, from \"Parochalia,\" by Mr. T. Q. Couch, Journal\nRoyal Institute of Cornwall, 1865, runs thus:--\n\n\"The patron saint of Lanivet feast is not known; it is marked\nby no particular customs, but is a time for general visiting and\nmerry-making, with an occasional wrestling-match. A local verse says:--\n\n\n   \"On the nearest Sunday to the last Sunday in A-prel,\n        Lanivet men fare well.\n    On the first Sunday after the first Tuesday in May,\n        Lanivrey men fare as well as they.\"\n\n\nIn some parishes the fatted oxen intended to be eaten at these feasts\nwere, the day before they were killed, led through the streets,\ngarlanded with flowers and preceded by music.\n\nQuotation number two is what Carew wrote in 1569:--\n\n\"The saints' feast is kept upon dedication-day by every householder\nof the parish within his own doors, each entertayning such forrayne\nacquaintance as will not fayle when their like time cometh about to\nrequite him with the like kindness.\"\n\nThese remarks, and the jingling couplets, could be equally well\napplied to all the unmentioned feasts.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF PARISHES, ETC.\n\n\nCornish people possess in a marked degree all the characteristics of\nthe Celts. They are imaginative, good speakers and story-tellers,\ndescribing persons and things in a style racy and idiomatical,\noften with appropriate gestures. Their proverbs are quaint and\nforcible, they are never at a lack for an excuse, and are withal\nvery superstitious. Well-educated people are still to be met with\nin Cornwall who are firm believers in apparitions, pixies (fairies,\ncalled by the peasantry pisgies), omens, and other supernatural\nagencies. Almost every parish has a legend in connection with its\npatron saint, and haunted houses abound; but of the ghosts who\ninhabit them, unless they differ from those seen elsewhere, I shall\nsay but little.\n\nThis county was once the fabled home of a race of giants, who in\ntheir playful or angry moments were wont to hurl immense rocks at\neach other, which are shown by the guides at this day as proofs of\ntheir great strength. To illustrate how in the course of time truth\nand fiction get strangely mingled, I will mention the fact that\nold John of Gaunt is said to have been the last of these giants,\nand to have lived in a castle on the top of Carn Brea (a high hill\nnear Redruth). He could stride from thence to another neighbouring\ntown, a distance of four miles. I do not know if he is supposed to\nbe the one that lies buried under this mighty carn, and whose large\nprotruding hand and bony fingers time has turned to stone. Here,\ntoo, in the dark ages, a terrific combat took place between Lucifer\nand a heavenly host, which ended in the former's overthrow. A small\nmonument has been erected on Carn Brea, to the memory of Lord de\nDunstanville; and I once heard an old woman, after cleaning a room,\nsay, \"It was fine enough for Lord de Dunstanville.\" Every child has\nheard of Jack the Giant Killer, who, amongst his other exploits,\nkilled by stratagem the one who dwelt at St. Michael's Mount:\n\n\n   \"I am the valiant Cornishman\n    Who slew the giant Cormoran.\"\n\n\nHe did not however confine himself to this neighbourhood, for of\nan ancient earth-work near Looe, known as the \"Giant's Hedge,\" it\nis said:--\n\n\n   \"Jack the giant had nothing to do,\n    So he made a hedge from Lerrin to Looe.\"\n\n\nBut the sayings and doings of these mighty men have been told far\nbetter than I could tell them in Mr. Halliwell Phillipps' book, Rambles\nin West Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants; Mr. Robert Hunt's\nDrolls, Traditions, and Superstitions of West Cornwall; Mr. Bottrell's\nHearthside Stories of West Cornwall; and by many other writers.\n\nTourists visit West Cornwall to see the Land's End and its fine coast\nscenery, and express themselves disappointed that none of the country\npeople in that district know anything of King Arthur. They forget that\nUther's [3] heir was washed up to Merlin's feet by a wave at the base\nof \"Tintagel Castle by the Cornish sea,\" which is in the eastern part\nof the county. This castle was built on one of the grandest headlands\nin Cornwall (slate formation).\n\nThe ruins of King Arthur's Castle are most striking. They are situated\npartly on the mainland and partly on a peninsula, separated by a\nravine, once said to have been spanned by a drawbridge connecting\nthe two.\n\nThe ascent of this promontory, owing to the slippery nature of the path\ncut in the friable slate, is far from pleasant; and, as there was a\nstiff breeze blowing when I mounted it, I thought old Norden was right\nwhen he said: \"Those should have eyes who would scale Tintagel.\" You\nare, however, amply repaid for your trouble when you get to the top.\n\nIn addition to telling you of the grandeur of the castle in good\nKing Arthur's days, the guides show you some rock basins to which\nthey have given the absurd names of \"King Arthur's cups and saucers.\"\n\nTradition assigns to this king another Cornish castle as a\nhunting-seat, viz.--the old earth-round of Castle-an-dinas, near\nSt. Columb, from whence it is said he chased the wild deer on Tregoss\nDowns.\n\nA dreary drive through slate-quarries takes you from Tintagel to\nCamelford. Near that town is Slaughter Bridge, the scene of a great\nbattle between King Arthur and his nephew Modred, whom by some writers\nhe is said to have killed on the spot; others have it that Arthur died\nhere of a wound from a poisoned arrow shot by Modred, and that, after\nreceiving his death wound at Camelford, he was conveyed to Tintagel\nCastle, where, surrounded by his knights, he died. All the time he\nlay a-dying supernatural noises were heard in the castle, the sea and\nwinds moaned, and their lamentations never ceased until our hero was\nburied at Glastonbury. Then, in the pauses of the solemn tolling of the\nfuneral bells, sweet voices came from fairy-land welcoming him there,\nfrom whence one day he will return and again be king of Cornwall. No\nluck follows a man who kills a Cornish chough (a red legged crow),\nas, after his death, King Arthur was changed into one.\n\n\"In the parish of St. Mabyn, in East Cornwall, and on the high road\nfrom Bodmin to Camelford, is a group of houses (one of them yet\na smith's shop), known by the name of Longstone. The legend which\nfollows gives the reason of the name:\n\n\"In lack of records I may say: 'In the days of King Arthur there\nlived in Cornwall a smith. This smith was a keen fellow, who made and\nmended the ploughs and harrows, shod the horses of his neighbours,\nand was generally serviceable. He had great skill in farriery, and\nin the general management of sick cattle. He could also extract the\nstubbornest tooth, even if the jaw resisted, and some gyrations around\nthe anvil were required.\n\n\"'There seems ever to have been ill blood between devil and smith,\nand so it was between the fiend and the smith-farrier-dentist of\nSt. Mabyn. At night there were many and fierce disputes between\nthem in the smithy. The smith, as the rustics tell, always got the\nadvantage of his adversary, and gave him better than he brought. This\nsuccess, however, only fretted Old Nick, and spurred him on to further\nencounters. What the exact matter of controversy on this particular\noccasion was is not remembered, but it was agreed to settle it by some\nwager, some trial of strength and skill. A two-acred field was near;\nand the smith challenged the devil to the reaping of each his acre\nin the shortest time. The match came off, and the devil was beaten,\nfor the smith had beforehand stealthily stuck here and there over\nhis opponent's acre some harrow-tines or teeth.\n\n\"'The two started well, but soon the strong swing of the fiend's scythe\nwas brought up frequently by some obstruction, and as frequently he\nrequired the whetstone. The dexterous and agile smith went on smoothly\nwith his acre, and was soon unmistakeably gaining. The devil, enraged\nat his certain discomfiture, hurled his whetstone at his rival, and\nflew off. The whetstone, thrown with great violence, after sundry\nwhirls in the air, fell upright into the soil at a great depth, and\nthere remained a witness against the Evil One for ages. The devil\navoided the neighbourhood whilst it stood, but in an evil hour the\nfarmer at Treblethick, near, threw it down. That night the enemy\nreturned, and has haunted the neighbourhood ever since.\n\n\"'This monolith was of granite, and consequently brought hither from\na distance, for the local stone is a friable slate. It yielded four\nlarge gate-posts, gave spans to a small bridge, and left much granite\nremaining.'\"--T. Q. Couch, Notes and Queries, April, 1883.\n\nUpon St. Austell Down is an upright block of granite, called \"the\ngiant's staff, or longstone,\" to which this legend is attached:--\"A\ngiant, travelling one night over these hills, was overtaken by a\nstorm, which blew off his hat. He immediately pursued it; but, being\nimpeded by a staff which he carried in his hand, he thrust this into\nthe ground until his hat could be secured. After wandering, however,\nfor some time in the dark, without being able to find his hat, he gave\nover the pursuit and returned for the staff; but this also he was\nunable to discover, and both were irrevocably lost. In the morning,\nwhen the giant was gone, his hat and staff were both found by the\ncountry people about a mile asunder. The hat was found on White-horse\nDown, and bore some resemblance to a mill-stone, and continued in its\nplace until 1798, when, some soldiers having encamped around it, they\nfancied, it is said, as it was a wet season, this giant's hat was the\ncause of the rain, and therefore rolled it over the cliff. The staff,\nor longstone, was discovered in the position in which it remains;\nit is about twelve feet high, and tapering toward the top, and is\nsaid to have been so fashioned by the giant that he might grasp it\nwith ease.\"--Murray's Guide.\n\nThere is another longstone in the parish of St. Cleer, [4] about\ntwo miles north of Liskeard, which bears an inscription to Doniert\n(Dungerth), a traditional king of Cornwall, who was drowned in 872. In\nfact, these \"menhirs,\" supposed to be sepulchral monuments, are to\nbe found scattered all over the county.\n\nThe following curious bit of folk-lore appeared in the Daily News\nof March 8th, 1883, communicated by the Rev. J. Hoskyns Abrahall,\nCoombe Vicarage, near Woodstock:--\"A friend of mine, who is vicar of\nSt. Cleer, in East Cornwall, has told me that at least one housemaid\nof his--I think his servants in general--very anxiously avoided\nkilling a spider, because Parson Jupp, my friend's predecessor (whom\nhe succeeded in 1844), was, it was believed, somewhere in the vicarage\nin some spider--no one knew in which of the vicarage spiders.\" Spiders\nare often not destroyed because of the tradition that one spun a web\nover Christ in the manger, and hid him from Herod.\n\nThere are other superstitions current in Cornwall somewhat similar\nto the above. Maidens who die of broken hearts, after they have been\ndeceived by unfaithful lovers, are said to haunt their betrayers\nas white hares. The souls of old sea-captains never sleep; they are\nturned into gulls and albatrosses. The knockers (a tribe of little\npeople), who live underground in the tin-mines, are the spirits of\nthe Jews who crucified our Saviour, and are for that sin compelled\non Christmas morning to sing carols in his honour. \"Jew\" is a name\nalso given to a black field-beetle (why, I know not). It exudes\na reddish froth: country children hold it on their hands and say,\n\"Jew! Jew! spit blood!\" \"A ghost at Pengelly, in the parish of Wendron,\nwas compelled by a parson of that village after various changes of\nform to seek refuge in a pigeonhole, where it is confined to this\nday.\"--Through Rev. S. Rundle.\n\nAfter this digression I will return to St. Cleer, and, beginning with\nits holy well, briefly notice a few others. It is situated not far from\nthe church, and was once celebrated as a \"boussening,\" or ducking-well\nfor the cure of mad people. Considerable remains of the baptistery,\nwhich formerly enclosed it, are still standing, and outside, close\nby, is an old stone cross. Carew says,--\"There were many bowssening\nplaces in Cornwall for curing mad people, and amongst the rest one\nat Alter Nunne, in the hundred of Trigges, called S. Nunne's well,\nand because the manner of this bowssening is not so vnpleasing to\nheare as it was vneasie to feele, I wil (if you please) deliuer you\nthe practise, as I receyued it from the beholders. The water running\nfrom S. Nunne's well fell into a square and close-walled plot, which\nmight be filled at what depth they listed. Vpon this wall was the\nfranticke person set to stand, his backe toward the poole, and from\nthence with a sudden blow in the brest, tumbled headlong into the\npond, where a strong fellowe, provided for the nonce, tooke him and\ntossed him vp and downe, alongst and athwart the water, vntill the\npatient by foregoing his strength had somewhat forgot his fury. Then\nwas hee conueyed to the church and certain Masses sung ouer him; vpon\nwhich handling if his wits returned S. Nunne had the thanks: but if\nthere appeared small amendment, he was bowssened againe and againe,\nwhile there remayned in him any hope of life for recouery.\" The same\nwriter says of Scarlet's \"well neare vnto Bodmin, howbeit the water\nshould seem to be healthfull, if not helpfull: for it retaineth this\nextraordinary quality, that the same is waightier than the ordinary of\nhis kind, and will continue the best part of a yeere without alteration\nor sent or taste, only you shall see it represent many colours,\nlike the Rain-bowe which (in my conceite) argueth a running throu\nsome minerall veine and therewithall a possessing of some vertue.\" I\nmust give one more quotation from Carew before I finish with him,\nabout a well at Saltash:--\"I had almost forgotten to tell you that\nthere is a well in this towne whose water will not boyle peason to\na seasonable softnes.\"\n\nThe holy wells in Cornwall are very numerous; the greater part were\nin olden times enclosed in small baptisteries. Luckily the poor people\nbelieve that to remove any of the stones of the ruins of these chapels\nwould be fatal to them and to their children, and for that reason a\ngreat number yet remain. It is considered unlucky, too, to cart away\nany of the druidical monuments (\"pieces of ancientcy\"), and many\nare the stories told of the great misfortunes that have fallen on\nmen who have so done. The innocent oxen or horses who drag them away\nare always sure to die, and their master never prosper. Persistent\nill-luck also follows any one defiling these wells; and a tradition\nis current in one of the \"West Country\" parishes, of a gentleman,\nwho, after he had washed his dogs, afflicted with the mange, in its\nholy well, fell into such poverty that his sons were obliged to work\nas day labourers. Mr. T. Q. Couch, in Notes and Queries, vol. x.,\ngives this legend in connection with St. Nunn's well in Pelynt:--\"An\nold farmer once set his eyes upon the granite basin and coveted it;\nfor it was not wrong in his eyes to convert the holy font to the base\nuses of the pig's stye; and accordingly he drove his oxen and wain to\nthe gateway above for the purpose of removing it. Taking his beasts\nto the entrance of the well, he essayed to drag the trough from its\nancient bed. For a long time it resisted the efforts of the oxen,\nbut at length they succeeded in starting it, and dragged it slowly\nup the hill-side to where the wain was standing. Here, however, it\nburst away from the chains which held it, and, rolling back again to\nthe well, made a sharp turn and regained its old position, where it\nhas remained ever since. Nor will any one again attempt its removal,\nseeing that the farmer, who was previously well-to-do in the world,\nnever prospered from that day forward. Some people say, indeed,\nthat retribution overtook him on the spot, the oxen falling dead,\nand the owner being struck lame and speechless.\"\n\nThis St. Nunn's well is not the \"boussening\" well formerly mentioned,\nbut another dedicated to the same saint, and is resorted to as a\ndivining and wishing well; it is commonly called by the people of that\ndistrict the \"Piskies' well.\" Pins are thrown into it, not only to\nsee by the bubbles which rise on the water whether the wisher will get\nwhat he desires, but also to propitiate the piskies and to bring the\nthrower good luck. This county has many other divining wells which were\nvisited at certain seasons of the year by those anxious to know what\nthe future would bring them. Amongst them the Lady of Nant's well, in\nthe parish of Colan, was formerly much frequented on Palm Sunday, when\nthose who wished to foretell their fate threw into the water crosses\nmade of palms. There was once in Gulval parish, near Penzance, a well\nwhich was reported to have had great repute as a divining well. People\nrepaired to it to ask if their friends at a distance were well or ill,\nliving or dead. They looked into the water and repeated the words:\n\n\n   \"Water, water, tell me truly,\n    Is the man that I love duly\n    On the earth, or under the sod,\n    Sick or well? in the name of God.\"\n\n\nShould the water bubble up quite clear, the one asked for was in\ngood health; if it became puddled, ill; and should it remain still,\ndead. Of the wells of St. Roche, St. Maddern (now Madron), and St. Uny,\nI have spoken in the first part of this work.\n\nThe waters from several wells are used for baptismal rites (one near\nLaneast is called the \"Jordan\"), and the children baptized with water\nfrom the wells of St. Euny (at the foot of Carn Brea, Redruth) and\nof Ludgvan (Penzance), &c., it was asserted could never be hanged\nwith a hempen rope; but this prophecy has unfortunately been proved\nto be false. The water from the latter was famed too as an eye-wash,\nuntil an evil spirit, banished for his misdeeds by St. Ludgvan, to\nthe Red Sea, spat into it from malice as he passed. The Red Sea is the\nfavourite traditional spot here for the banishment of wicked spirits,\nand I have been told stories of wicked men whose souls, immediately\nafter their death, were carried off to well-known volcanoes.\n\nAlmost all these holy wells were once noted for the curing of diseases,\nbut the water from St. Jesus' well, in Miniver, was especially famed\nfor curing whooping-cough. St. Martin's well, in the centre of Liskeard\nat the back of the market, known as \"Pipe Well,\" from the four iron\npipes through which four springs run into it, was formerly not only\nvisited for the healing qualities of its chief spring, but for a\nlucky stone that stood in it. By standing on this stone and drinking\nof the well's water, engaged couples would be happy and successful in\ntheir married life. It also conferred magical powers on any person\nwho touched it. The stone is still there, but has now been covered\nover and has lost its virtue.\n\nThe saints sometimes lived by the side of the holy wells named after\nthem, notably St. Agnes (pronounced St. Ann), who dyed the pavement\nof her chapel with her own blood. St. Neot in whose pool were always\nthree fish on which he fed, and whose numbers never grew less. [5]\nSt. Piran, the titular saint of tin-miners, who lived 200 years and\nthen died in perfect health. Of these three saints many miraculous\ndeeds are related; but they would be out of place in this work, and\nI will end my account of the wells by a description of St. Keyne's,\nmore widely known outside Cornwall through Southey's ballad than\nany of the others. It is situated in a small valley in the parish\nof St. Neot, and was in the days of Carew and Norden arched over\nby four trees, which grew so closely together that they seemed but\none trunk. Both writers say the trees were withy, oak, elm, and ash\n(by withy I suppose willow was meant). They were all blown down by a\nstorm, and about 150 years ago, Mr. Rashleigh, of Menabilly, replaced\nthem with two oaks, two elms, and one ash. I do not know if they are\nliving, but Mr. J. T. Blight in 1858, in his book on Cornish Crosses,\nspeaks of one of the oaks being at that time so decayed that it had to\nbe propped. The reputed virtue of the water of St. Keyne's well is,\n(as almost all know), that after marriage \"whether husband or wife\ncome first to drink thereof they get the mastery thereby.\"--Fuller.\n\n\n   \"In name, in shape, in quality,\n    This well is very quaint;\n    The name, to lot of 'Kayne' befell,\n    No ouer--holy saint.\n\n   \"The shape, four trees of diuers kinde,\n    Withy, oke, elme, and ash,\n    Make with their roots an arched roofe,\n    Whose floore this spring doth wash.\n\n   \"The quality, that man or wife,\n    Whose chance or choice attaines,\n    First of this sacred streame to drinke,\n    Thereby the mastry gaines.\"--Carew.\n\n\nSouthey makes a discomfited husband tell the story, who ends thus:\n\n\n   \"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,\n    And left my wife in the porch;\n    But i'faith she had been wiser than me,\n    For she took a bottle to church.\"\n\n\nSt. Keyne not only thus endowed her well, but during her stay at\nSt. Michael's Mount she gave the same virtue to St. Michael's\nchair. This chair is the remains of an old lantern on the\nsouth-west angle of the tower, at a height of upwards of 250\nfeet from low water. It is fabled to have been a favourite seat of\nSt. Michael's. Whittaker, in his supplement to Polwhele's History of\nCornwall, says, \"It was for such pilgrims as had stronger heads and\nbolder spirits to complete their devotions at the Mount by sitting\nin this St. Michael's chair and showing themselves as pilgrims to\nthe country round;\" but it most probably served as a beacon for\nships at sea. To get into it you must climb on to the parapet, and\nyou sit with your feet dangling over a sheer descent of at least\nseventy feet; but to get out of it is much more difficult, as the\nsitter is obliged to turn round in the seat. Notwithstanding this,\nand the danger of a fall through giddiness, which, of course, would be\ncertain death, for there is not the slightest protection, I have seen\nladies perform the feat. Curiously enough Southey has also written a\nballad on St. Michael's chair, but it is not as popular as the one\nbefore quoted; it is about \"Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife,\"\n\"a terrible shrew was she.\" In pursuance of a vow made when Richard\n\"fell sick,\" they went on a pilgrimage to the Mount, and whilst he\nwas in the chapel,\n\n\n   \"She left him to pray, and stole away\n    To sit in St. Michael's chair.\n\n   \"Up the tower Rebecca ran,\n    Round and round and round;\n    'Twas a giddy sight to stand atop\n    And look upon the ground.\n\n  \"'A curse on the ringers for rocking\n    The tower!' Rebecca cried,\n    As over the church battlements\n    She strode with a long stride.\n\n  \"'A blessing on St. Michael's chair!'\n    She said as she sat down:\n    Merrily, merrily rung the bells,\n    And out Rebecca was thrown.\n\n   \"Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought\n    That his good wife was dead;\n    'Now shall we toll for her poor soul\n    The great church bell?' they said.\n\n  \"'Toll at her burying,' quoth Richard Penlake,\n   'Toll at her burying,' quoth he;\n   'But don't disturb the ringers now\n    In compliment to me.'\"\n\n\nOld writers give the name of \"Caraclowse in clowse\" to St. Michael's\nMount, which means the Hoar Rock in the Wood; and that it was at one\ntime surrounded by trees is almost certain, as at very low tides in\nMount's Bay a \"submarine forest,\" with roots of large trees, may still\nbe clearly seen. At these seasons branches of trees, with leaves,\nnuts, and beetles, have been picked up.\n\nOld folks often compared an old-fashioned child to St. Michael's Mount,\nand quaintly said, \"she's a regular little Mount, St. Michael's Mount\nwill never be washed away while she's alive.\"\n\nFolk-lore speaks of a time when Scilly was joined to the mainland,\nwhich does not seem very improbable when we remember that within the\nlast twenty-five years a high road and a field have been washed away\nby the sea between Newlyn and Penzance. An old lady, whose memory went\nback to the beginning of the present century, told me that she had\noften seen boys playing at cricket in some fields seaward of Newlyn,\nof which no vestige in my time remained.\n\nBut the Lyonnesse, as this tract of land (containing 140 parish\nchurches) between the Land's End and Scilly was called, and where,\naccording to the Poet Laureate, King Arthur met his death-wound,\n\n\n   \"So all day long the noise of battle roll'd\n    Among the mountains by the winter sea,\n    Until King Arthur's Table, man by man,\n    Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their lord,\n    King Arthur....\"\n\n\nis reputed to have been suddenly overwhelmed by a great flood. Only\none man of all the dwellers on it is said to have escaped death, an\nancestor of the Trevilians (now Trevelyan). He was carried on shore by\nhis horse into a cove at Perran. Alarmed by the daily inroad of the\nsea, he had previously removed his wife and family. Old fishermen of\na past generation used to declare that on clear days and moonlight\nnights they had often seen under the water the roofs of churches,\nhouses, &c., of this submerged district.\n\nWhether the memory of this flood is perpetuated by the old proverb,\n\"As ancient as the floods of Dava,\" once commonly current in West\nCornwall, but which I have not heard for years, I know not, as I have\nnever met with any one who could tell me to what floods it referred.\n\nTradition also speaks of a wealthy city in the north of Cornwall,\ncalled Langarrow, which for its wickedness was buried in sand, driven\nin by a mighty storm. All that coast as far west as St. Ives is sand,\nknown as \"Towans,\" and the sand is always encroaching.\n\nThere is a little church now near Padstow, dedicated to St. Enodock,\nwhich is often almost covered by the shifting drifts. It is in a\nsolitary situation, and service is only held there once a year,\nwhen a path to it has to be cut through the sand. It is said that\nthe clergyman, in order to keep his emoluments and fees, has been\nsometimes obliged to get into it through a window or hole in the roof.\n\nAbout eight miles from Truro is the lost church of Perranzabuloe,\nwhich for centuries was supposed to have been a myth, but the shifting\nof the sand disclosed it in 1835.\n\nIn Hayle Towans is buried the castle of Tendar, the Pagan chief who\npersecuted the Christians, and in the neighbouring parish of Lelant\nthat of King Theodrick, who, after beheading, in Ireland, many saints,\ncrossed over to Cornwall on a millstone.\n\nMany of the Cornish saints are reputed to have come into Cornwall in\nthe same way as this king; but St. Ia, the patron saint of St. Ives,\nchose a frailer vessel. She crossed from Ireland on a leaf.\n\nThe afore-mentioned lost city was most likely a very small place,\nas I asked an old woman three or four years ago, who lived not far\nfrom the little village of Gwithian, where I could get something I\nwanted, and she told me, \"In the city.\"\n\nThe bay between this place and St. Ives (St. Ives Bay) has the\nreputation of being haunted at stormy times before a shipwreck by a\nlady in white, who carries a lantern.\n\nAt Nancledra, a village near St. Ives, was formerly a logan rock,\nwhich could only be moved at midnight; and children were cured of\nrickets by being placed on it at that hour. It refused to rock for\nthose who were illegitimate.\n\nNot far from here is Towednack, and there is a legend to the\neffect that the devil would never allow the tower of its church to\nbe completed, pulling down at night what had been built up in the\nday. When a person makes an incredible statement he is in West Cornwall\ntold \"To go to Towednack quay-head where they christen calves.\" (No\npart of this parish touches the sea.)\n\nMr. Robert Hunt records a curious test of innocency which, not long\nsince, was practised in this parish. \"A farmer in Towednack having been\nrobbed of some property of no great value was resolved, nevertheless,\nto employ a test which he had heard the 'old people' resorted to for\nthe purpose of catching the thief. He invited all his neighbours into\nhis cottage, and, when they were assembled, he placed a cock under the\n'brandice' (an iron vessel, formerly much employed by the peasantry\nin baking when this process was carried out on the hearth, the fuel\nbeing furze and ferns). Every one was directed to touch the brandice\nwith his, or her, third finger, and say: 'In the name of the Father,\nSon, and Holy Ghost, speak.' Every one did as they were directed,\nand no sound came from beneath the brandice. The last person was a\nwoman, who occasionally laboured for the farmer in his fields. She\nhung back, hoping to pass unobserved amongst the crowd. But her very\nanxiety made her a suspected person. She was forced forward, and\nmost unwillingly she touched the brandice, when, before she could\nutter the words prescribed, the cock crew. The woman fell faint\non the floor, and when she recovered, she confessed herself to be\nthe thief, restored the stolen property, and became, it is said,\n'a changed character from that day.'\"\n\nThe following was told me by a friend. It took place in a school of one\nof our western parishes about sixty years ago:--\"It was in the days of\nquill pens, and the master had lost his penknife. Every boy pleaded\nnot guilty. At twelve the master said no boy should leave the school\nfor half-an-hour, when he would return and see if they had found his\nknife. The door was locked, and at the appointed time he came back\nwith a small, round table, on which he had inverted a 'half-strike'\n(4 gallons) measure. The table was placed in the middle of the gangway;\nthe master stood by the side of it, and asked if they had found his\nknife. All said 'No!' 'Well then,' answered he, 'come out slowly one\nat a time and let each touch this measure with the right forefinger,\nand the bantam-cock under it will crow at the thief.' The boys went\nout boldly, as they passed touching the tub, but the master missed\none whom from the first he had suspected. He again locked the door,\nsearched the rooms, and there, under a desk, not in his own place,\nhe found the boy hiding. He began to cry, confessed the theft, and\ngave up the knife.\"\n\nAnother test of innocency, practised in bygone days, was to kindle a\nfire on one of the table-m\u00ean (large flat stones), so common in villages\nin West Cornwall. A stick lit at this was handed to the accused,\nwho had to put out the fire by spitting on it. It is well-known that\nfear dries up saliva. It is still supposed in remote districts that\nno one can bear witness to a misdemeanour, seen through glass.\n\nI will describe another rough ordeal before I go on to the legends\nof the Land's End district. It is called \"Riding the hatch,\" or\n\"heps\" (a half-door often seen at small country shops). Any man\nformerly accused of immorality was brought before a select number of\nhis fellow parishioners, and by them put to sit astride the \"heps,\"\nwhich was shaken violently backwards and forwards: if he fell into the\nhouse he was judged innocent; but out on the road, guilty. When any\none has been brought before his superiors and remanded he is still\nfiguratively said \"to have been made to ride the 'heps.'\" Hands are\nwashed, as by Pontius Pilate, to clear a person from crime, and to\ncall any one \"dirty-fingered\" is to brand him as a thief.\n\nOn a bench-end in Zennor church there is a very singular carving of\na mermaid. To account for it Zennor folks say that hundreds of years\nago a beautifully-attired lady, who came and went mysteriously, used\noccasionally to attend their church and sing so divinely that she\nenchanted all who heard her. She came year after year, but never aged\nnor lost her good looks. At last one Sunday, by her charms, she enticed\na young man, the best singer in the parish, to follow her: he never\nreturned, and was heard of no more. A long time after, a vessel lying\nin Pendower cove, into which she sailed one Sunday, cast her anchor,\nand in some way barred the access to a mermaid's dwelling. She rose up\nfrom the sea, and politely asked the captain to remove it. He landed\nat Zennor, and related his adventure, and those who heard it agreed\nthat this must have been the lady who decoyed away the poor young man.\n\nNot far from St. Just is the solitary, dreary cairn, known as Cairn\nKenidzhek (pronounced Kenidjack), which means the \"hooting cairn,\"\nso called from the unearthly noises which proceed from it on dark\nnights. It enjoys a bad reputation as the haunt of witches. Close\nunder it lies a barren stretch of moorland, the \"Gump,\" over it the\ndevil hunts at night poor lost souls; he rides on the half-starved\nhorses turned out here to graze, and is sure to overtake them at a\nparticular stile. It is often the scene of demon fights, when one\nholds the lanthorn to give the others light, and is also a great\nresort of the pixies. Woe to the unhappy person who may be there\nafter night-fall: they will lead him round and round, and he may\nbe hours before he manages to get out of the place away from his\ntormentors. Here more than once fortunate persons have seen \"the\nsmall people\" too, at their revels, and their eyes have been dazzled\nby the sight of their wonderful jewels; but if they have ever managed\nto secrete a few, behold next morning they were nothing but withered\nleaves, or perhaps snail-shells.\n\n\n   \"Sennen Cove was much frequented by mermaids. This place was also\n    resorted to by a remarkable spirit called the Hooper--from the\n    hooping, or hooting sounds it was accustomed to make. In old times,\n    according to tradition, a compact cloud of mist often came in from\n    over the sea, when the weather was by no means foggy, and rested on\n    the rocks called Cowloc, thence it spread itself like a curtain of\n    cloud quite across Sennen Cove. By night a dull light was mostly\n    seen amidst the vapour, with sparks ascending as if a fire burned\n    within it: at the same time hooping sounds were heard proceeding\n    therefrom. People believed the misty cloud shrouded a spirit, which\n    came to forewarn them of approaching storms, and that those who\n    attempted to put to sea found an invisible force--seemingly in the\n    mist--to resist them. A reckless fisherman and his son, however,\n    disregarding the token, launched their boat and beat through the\n    fog with a \"threshal\" (flail); they passed the cloud of mist which\n    followed them, and neither the men nor the hooper were ever more\n    seen in Sennen Cove. This is the only place in the county where\n    any tradition of such a guardian spirit is preserved.\"--Bottrell.\n\n\nThe same author tells a story of a reputed astrologer called Dionysius\nWilliams, who lived in Mayon, in Sennen, a century ago. He found his\nfurze-rick was diminishing faster than it ought, and discovered by\nhis art that some women in Sennen Cove were in the habit of taking it\naway at night. The very next night, when all honest folks should be\nin bed, an old woman from the Cove came as was her wont to his rick\nfor a \"burn\" [6] of furze. She made one of no more than the usual size\nbut could not lift it, neither could she after she had lightened her\n\"burn\" by half. Frightened, she tried to take out the rope and run\naway, but she could neither draw it out nor move herself. Of course\nMr. Williams had put a spell upon her, and there she had to remain\nin the cold all night. He came out in the morning and released her,\ngiving her, as she was poor, the furze. Neither she nor the other\nwomen ever troubled him again.\n\nBefore proceeding any further, to make an allusion in the next\nlegend intelligible, I must say something about Tregeagle (pronounced\nTregaygle), the Cornish Bluebeard, who was popularly supposed to have\nsold his soul to the devil, that his wishes might be granted for a\ncertain number of years; and who, in addition to several other crimes,\nis accused of marrying and murdering many rich heiresses to obtain\ntheir money. One day, just before his death, he was present when one\nman lent a large sum to another without receiving receipt or security\nfor it (the money was borrowed for Tregeagle). Soon after Tregeagle's\ndeath the borrower denied that he had ever had it, and the case\nwas brought into Bodmin Court to be tried, when the defendant said,\n\"If Tregeagle ever saw it I wish to God that Tregeagle may come into\ncourt and declare it.\" No sooner were the words spoken than Tregeagle\nappeared, and gave his witness in favour of the plaintiff, declaring\n\"that he could not speak falsely; but he who had found it so easy to\nraise him would find it difficult to lay him.\" The money was paid,\nbut the wretched man was followed night and day by the spirit,\nand great labour had the parsons and wise men before they could\nfinally rid him of his tormentor. There are many versions of this\ntransaction. Tregeagle himself is said in another to have received the\nmoney for an estate of which he was steward, and not to have entered\nit in his books. His ghost was doomed to do many impossible things,\nsuch as to empty Dosmery pool, near Bodmin Moor, with a limpet shell\nthat had a hole in the bottom. This pool had the reputation, too,\nof being bottomless; but it has lately been cut into and drained by\nthe workers of the granite quarries. Strange tales are told in that\nneighbourhood of his appearing to people, and of his dismal howls\nat not being able to fulfil his tasks. Mothers all over Cornwall\nwhen their children are loudly crying may be often heard to declare\n\"that they are roaring worse than Tregeagle.\" \"A tradition of the\nneighbourhood says that on the shores of this lonely mere (Dosmery\npool) the ghosts of bad men are ever employed in binding the sand\nin bundles with 'beams' (bands) of the same. These ghosts, or some\nof them, were driven out (they say horsewhipped out) by the parson\nfrom Launceston.\"--H. G. T. Notes and Queries, December, 1850.\n\nTregeagle had also to remove the sand from one cove to another,\nwhere the sea always returned it. It was on one of these expeditions\nthat either by accident or design he dropped a sackful at the mouth\nof Loe-pool, near Helston. (When in wet seasons the waters of this\npool rise to such a height as to obstruct the working of the mills\non its banks, and heavy seas have silted up the sand at its mouth,\nthe Mayor of Helston presents by ancient custom two leather purses\ncontaining three halfpence each as his dues to the lord of Penrose who\nowns Loe-pool, and asks for permission to cut a passage through the\nbar to the sea). Another of Tregeagle's tasks is to make and carry\naway a truss of sand bound with a rope of sand from Gwenvor (the\ncove at Whitsand Bay) near the Land's End. But his unquiet spirit\nfinds no rest, for whilst he is trying to do his never-ending work\nthe devil hunts him from place to place, until he hides for refuge\nin a hermit's ruined chapel on St. Roche's rocks (East Cornwall).\n\nWhen the sea roars before a storm, people in the Land's End district\nsay \"Tregeagle is calling,\" and often, too, his voice may be heard\nlamenting around Loe-pool. [7]\n\nThe substance of the following I had from a Penzance man (H. R. C.),\nto whom I must own I am indebted for much information about Cornish\nfolk-lore. All his life he has in his business mingled with the\npeasantry of West Cornwall, and, unlike myself, he comes from a long\nline of Cornishmen.\n\n\"You know Gwenvor Sands, in Whitsand Bay, at the Land's End, and\nhave heard of the unresting spirit of Tregeagle, by whom that spot is\nhaunted. He foretells storms, and calls before the wind reaches home. I\nhave often heard him howling before a westerly hurricane in the still\nof midnight at my house in Penzance, a distance of ten miles.\"\n\nTradition tells that on these sands, many centuries ago, some\nforeigners landed, and fought a great battle with the inhabitants,\nunder King Arthur, on Vellan-drucher Moor. \"Where Madron, Gulval, and\nZennor meet, there is a flat stone where Prince Arthur and four British\nkings dined, and the four kings collected the native Cornish who fought\nunder them at the battle of Vellan-drucher.\"--(Bottrell.) This was\nlong before the Spaniards (pronounced Spanyers) in 1595 came ashore\nat the same place from a galley \"high by day\" (in broad daylight),\nand burnt Vellan-dreath, a mill close by.\n\nThese foreigners are popularly supposed to be red-haired Danes, and\nthey stayed so long \"that the birds built in the rigging of their\nships.\" In all the western parishes of Cornwall there has existed\ntime out of mind a great antipathy to certain red-haired families,\nwho are said to be their descendants, and, much to their disgust,\nthey are often hailed as Danes (pronounced Deanes). Indeed this\ndislike was carried so far that few would allow any members of their\nfamilies to intermarry with them. In addition to the usual country\ngossip in the beginning of this century amongst the women of this\ndistrict whilst knitting at their doors (for the Cornish are famous\n\"knitsters\"), or sitting round \"breeding\" (netting) fishing-nets, they\nhad one never-failing topic of conversation in their fears that the\nforeigners would land once more on Gwenvor Sands, or at Priest's Cove,\n[8] in Pendeen, near St. Just. Who these strangers were to be they\nwere not at all sure, but they knew that the red-haired Danes were to\ncome again, when Vellan-drucher (a water mill-wheel) would once more\nbe worked with blood, and the kings for the last time would dine around\nthe Garrick Zans (Table M\u00ean); and the end of the world would come soon\nafter: for had not Merlin so prophesied more than a thousand years\nago? Garrick Zans is the old name for a large flat stone, the Table M\u00ean\n(pronounced Mayon), at Sennen, near the Land's End, and seven mythical\nSaxon kings are said to have dined at it when on a visit to Cornwall,\nA.D. 600. \"Around it old folk went nine times daily, from some notion\nthat is was lucky and good against witchcraft.\"--(Bottrell.)\n\nOff the Land's End is a very striking rock rising out of the sea. It\nis known as the Irish Lady, from the fact that an Irish vessel\nwas once wrecked on it, and out of all on board one poor lady alone\nmanaged to scramble up to the top; but no boat could get to her, and,\nexhausted by fatigue, she fell into the water, and was drowned. Her\nspirit still haunts the spot. This is most probably a fanciful tale,\nas the rock bears some resemblance to a human figure.\n\n\"During a dreadful thunderstorm and hurricane on the 30th January,\n1648, the day on which King Charles was beheaded, a large stone\nfigure of a man, called the 'Armed Knight,' which stood in an upright\nposition at the extremity of the Land's End, forty fathoms above the\nlevel of the sea, was thrown down. On the same day a ship riding\nin St. Ives Bay, having on board the king's wardrobe and other\nfurniture belonging to the royal family, bound for France, broke\nfrom her moorings, and ran ashore on the rocks of Godrevy Island,\nwhere all on board, about sixty persons, were drowned, except one\nman and a boy.\"--G. S. Gilbert's Cornwall.\n\nThe name of Armed Knight has been transferred to another pile of rocks\noff the Land's End. The \"stone figure\" thrown down was most probably\na natural formation, as one of the rocks there now bears the fanciful\nname of Dr. Johnson's Head, from a supposed likeness. Other versions\nof this legend say \"that the Armed Knight was only ninety feet high,\nwith an iron spire on its top.\"\n\nPorthgwarra in olden times was known as Sweethearts' Cove from the\nfollowing circumstance: The daughter of a well-to-do farmer loved a\nsailor, who was once one of her father's serving-men. Her parents,\nespecially her mother, disapproved of the match; and when the young\nman returned from sea and came to see his sweetheart, he was forbidden\nthe house. The lovers however met, and vowed to be true to each other,\nNancy saying, \"That she would never marry any other man,\" and William,\n\"That, dead or alive, he would one day claim her as his bride.\" He\nagain went to sea, and for a long time no tidings came, neither from\nnor of him. Poor Nancy grew melancholy, and spent all her days, and\nsometimes nights, looking out seaward from a spot on the cliff, called\nthen Nancy's Garden, now Hella Point. She gradually became quite mad;\nand one night fancied she heard her lover tapping at her bed-room\nwindow, and calling her to come out to him, saying: \"Sleepest thou,\nsweetheart? Awaken, and come hither, love. My boat awaits us at the\ncove. Thou must come this night, or never be my bride.\" She dressed,\nwent to the cove, and was never seen again. Tradition says that\nthe same night William appeared to his father, told him that he had\ncome for his bride, and bade him farewell; and that next day the news\narrived of his having been drowned at sea. Bottrell gives this legend\nunder the title of \"The Tragedy of Sweet William and Fair Nancy.\"\n\nNot far from the parish of St. Levan is a small piece of\nground--\"Johanna's Garden,\" which is fuller of weeds than of\nflowers. The owner of it was one Sunday morning in her garden gathering\ngreens for her dinner, when she saw St. Levan going by to catch some\nfish for his. He stopped and greeted her, upon which she reproved him\nfor fishing on a Sunday, and asked him what he thought would be his\nend if he did so. He tried to convince her that it was not worse than\npicking greens, but she would not listen to reason. At last St. Levan\nlost patience, and said, \"From this time for ever thou shalt be known,\nif known at all, as the Foolish Johanna, and thy garden shall ever\ncontinue to bear, as now, more hemlocks and nettles than leeks and\nlentils. Mark this! to make thy remembrance the more accursed for all\ntime to come, if any child of thy name be baptised in the waters of\nParchapel-well (close at hand) it shall become a fool, like thyself,\nand bad luck follow it.\"--Bottrell.\n\nThere is a cleft-stone in St. Levan churchyard called St. Levan's\nstone; but it is said to have been venerated in the days of King\nArthur; and Merlin, who once visited these parts with him, uttered\nthis prophecy concerning it:--\n\n\n   \"When, with panniers astride,\n    A pack-horse can ride\n    Through St. Levan's stone,\n    The world will be done.\"\n\n\nUnless some earthquake splits it further the world will last thousands\nof years longer.\n\nOn an almost inaccessible granite peak seaward of the pile of rocks\nknown as Castle Treryn (pronounced Treen), once the haunt and\nmeeting-place of witches, on the summit of which is perched the\nfar-famed Cornish logan-rock, is a sharp peak with a hole in it,\nlarge enough to insert a hand. At the bottom lay an egg-shaped stone,\ntraditionally called the key of the castle, which, although easily\nshifted, had for ages defied all attempts at removal. It was said that\nshould any one ever succeed in getting it out, Castle Treryn--in fact\nthe whole cairn--would immediately disappear. It was unfortunately\nknocked out by the men who replaced the logan-rock, thrown down by\nLieutenant Goldsmith. Its position was often altered by heavy seas,\nand from it the old folk formerly foretold the weather.\n\nIn Buryan parish, named after an Irish saint, a king's daughter,\nwho came into Cornwall with some of her companions in the fifth\ncentury, is the famous circle of Dawns Myin, or the Merry Maidens,\noriginally consisting of nineteen upright stones. They are nineteen\nmaidens, who for their sin of dancing on a Sunday were all turned\ninto stone. Two m\u00eanhirs in a neighbouring field are the pipers, who\nat the same time suffered the same fate. Of these and other stone\ncircles an old writer says, \"No man when counting them can bring the\nstones twice the same number.\"\n\nNot far from Buryan, between Sennen and Penzance, is a very\nsolitary weird spot--a disused Quakers' burial-ground. In its lonely\nneighbourhood is sometimes seen by a privileged few, \"high by day,\"\nthe spirit of a huntsman, followed by his dogs. He is dressed in the\nhunting costume of bygone ages; he suddenly appears (for neither\nhis horse's hoofs nor his dogs' feet make any sound), jumps over\nan adjacent hedge, and is as suddenly lost to view. I do not know\nif tradition has ever connected this huntsman with Wild Harris of\nKenegie, [9] who was killed when hunting by a fall from his horse--it\nwas frightened by a white hare, the spirit of a deserted maiden,\nwhich crossed its path. His ghost, in his hunting-dress, appeared\nstanding at the door of his house the night he was buried--the funeral,\naccording to an old custom, had taken place at midnight. For years\nafter he might be met in the vicinity of his home, and he and his\nboon companions were often heard carousing at nights in a summer-house\non the bowling-green. Few then cared to pass Kenegie after dark, for\nhis was said not to be the only spirit that haunted the place. Wild\nHarris's ghost was finally laid to rest by a famous ghost-laying\nparson, and put as a task to count the blades of grass nine times in\nan enclosure on the top of Castle-an-Dinas, an old earth fortification\nnear where he is said to have met his death. [10] Ghosts only \"walk\"\n(appear) in the parish where their bodies were buried.\n\nOn the opposite side of Buryan to the Quakers' burial-ground is\nthe parish of Paul (St. Pol-de-Leon). Its church was burnt by the\nSpaniards in 1595. They landed on a rock, said to have been named\nafter Merlin--Merlin's car, and marched from Paul to Penzance, which\nthey also fired in several places. I am afraid the inhabitants did\nnot make a very bold stand against them; for Merlin had prophesied\ncenturies before--\n\n\n   \"That they should land on the rock of Merlin,\n    Who would burn Paul, Penzance, and Newlyn.\"\n\n\nAnd this caused them to lose courage, and falsify the old proverb:\n\n\n    \"Car and Pen, Pol and Tre,\n    Would make the devil run away.\"\n\n\nClose by the highway, where the Buryan road joins the high-road\nfrom Paul to Penzance, is a smoothly-cut, conical granite stone,\npopularly supposed to have been placed there in memory of some woman\nwho was found murdered at that spot, with nothing on to identify her,\nand with only a thimble and ring in her pocket. It really marks the\nplace where an ancient gold ring, three inches and a half in diameter,\nbearing the motto, \"In hac spe vivo,\" was discovered in 1781. In the\nsame parish, a short walk from this place, are some Druidical remains,\nwhich have the curious name of \"Kerris roundago.\" Some stones taken\nfrom it to repair Penzance pier were fatal to the horses who drew them,\nalthough they were young and healthy.\n\nIn the adjacent parish of Newlyn, a fishing village, the favourite\nresort of artists, a great deal of gossiping on summer evenings\ngoes on around the small wells (here called peeths), whilst the\nwomen wait patiently for each in turn to fill her earthen pitchers;\nsome of the most industrious bring their knitting in their pockets\nwith them. Opposite one of these wells, towering over St. Peter's\nchurch, is a striking pile of rocks, \"Tolcarn.\" On the summit are\nsome curious markings in the stones, which, when a child, I was told\nwere the devil's footprints; but the following legend, which I give\non the authority of the Rev. W. S. Lach-Szyrma, Vicar of St. Peter's,\nis quite new to me:--\n\n\"The summit of the rock is reticulated with curious veins of elvan,\nabout which a quaint Cornish legend relates that the Bucca-boo, or\nstorm-god of the old Cornish, once stole the fishermen's net. Being\npursued by Paul choir, who sang the Creed, he flew to the top of Paul\nhill and thence over the Coombe to Tolcarn, where he turned the nets\ninto stone.\"\n\nWe have now reached the town of Penzance, and through its streets\nfolks of the last generation often heard rumbling at midnight an\nold-fashioned coach drawn by headless horses; or saw a procession of\ncoffins slowly wending its way to the churchyard. It was unlucky to\nmeet this, as death was sure soon to follow, and tradition speaks of a\nwoman who accidentally struck against one and died in the same night. A\ncoach with headless horses and coachman, also just before Christmas,\nwent through the streets of Penryn; this coachman had the power of\nspiriting away people who met and stared at him, unless they turned\ntheir heads and averted the evil by some mystical signs. In Penzance\ntown were many haunted houses, but space will only allow of my noticing\na few. One in Chapel Street (formerly Our Lady's Street) was tenanted\nby the spirit of Mrs. Baines, an eccentric old lady. At the back\nof her house was a very fine orchard well stocked with fruit-trees,\nwhich the boys were too fond of visiting. She determined at last that\nher gardener should watch for them, armed with an old blunderbuss,\ncharged with peas and small shot. She gave him strict orders should\nhe see any one, to say one, two, three, and then fire. He watched two\nnights, but the boys were too cunning for him, and still the fruit\nwent. On the third, Mrs. Baines, thinking to catch him napping, went\nherself into the garden and began to shake the apples down from one of\nthe trees. Some say that the man recognised his mistress, and, vexed\nat her suspecting him, said one, two, three, as quickly as he could\nutter the words, and fired; others, that he was sleeping, and awakened\nby the noise she made, shot her by mistake, exclaiming, \"I know-ee,\nyou thief, I do; now I'll sarve-ee out, I will.\" Terrified after he\nhad done the deed, he ran off into the country and there hid himself\nfor some days. The poor old lady was more frightened than hurt, and\nall the shot were successfully extracted by her doctor; but very soon\nafter this adventure she died. From this time her house and grounds\nbegan to have an evil reputation; Mrs. Baines's ghost, dressed in\nantiquated garb, a quaint lace cap on her powdered hair, lace ruffles\nhanging from her sleeves, and a short mode mantle over her shoulders,\nwas often seen walking in the gardens or standing under an apple-tree,\nleaning on the gold-headed cane she always carried. Indoors, too,\nher high-heeled shoes were plainly heard night after night tapping on\nthe floors as she paced up and down the rooms, which noise was often\nvaried by the whirring of her spinning-wheel. For some time the house\nwas unoccupied, now it is divided into two, and the ghost has been\nlaid to rest. But long after Mrs. Baines ceased to appear her wheel\nwas heard. At last it was discovered that some leather, which had\nbeen nailed around a door to keep out draughts, was loose in places,\nand that the whistling of the wind through this made the peculiar\nsound. Mr. Bottrell says \"that her spirit was laid by a parson, whose\nname he thinks was Singleton, and he succeeded in getting her away\nto the Western Green (west of Penzance), which was then spread over\nmany acres of land, where the waves now roll. [11] Here this powerful\nparson single-handed bound her to spin from the banks, ropes of sand\nfor the term of a thousand years, unless she, before that time, spun\na sufficiently long and strong one to reach from St. Michael's Mount\nto St. Clement's Isle (across the bay).\" About a stone's throw from\nMrs. Baines's house, on an eminence above Quay street, stood in her\ndays Penzance Chapel of Ease (for Penzance was then in Madron parish),\ncalled our Lady's or St. Mary's Chapel. On the same site was built, in\n1835, the present parish church of St. Mary's. Here, in the memory of\na few who still survive, a gentleman in the early part of this century\ndid penance, and afterwards walked from thence through the streets to\nhis house, wrapped in a sheet, with a lighted taper in his hand. It\nwas usual then, as now, for the Mayor and Corporation of Penzance,\nwith the mace-bearers and constables, to go once a month in state\nto church. Before the reading of the first lesson the mace-bearers\nleft, and visited the public-houses, in order to see that they were\nshut during service time. When the sermon began they came back and\nreturned to their seats in order to be in readiness to escort the\nMayor home. Quay street was once the most fashionable part of Penzance,\nbut the large houses are now divided into smaller tenements; in some\nof them bits of finely-moulded ceilings, &c., still exist. One of the\nhouses reputed to have been haunted was torn down in 1813, when the\nskeleton of a man was found built into a wall. It was, of course,\nput down to be the sailor's whose spirit was so often seen there,\nand who (tradition said) had been murdered in that house for the sake\nof his money. It was well known that he had brought back great riches\nfrom foreign parts. There is a myth that Sir Walter Raleigh landed\nat Penzance Quay when he returned from Virginia, and on it smoked the\nfirst tobacco ever seen in England, but for this statement I believe\nthere is not the slightest foundation. Several western ports, both\nin Devon and Cornwall, make the same boast.\n\nIt is a fact, however, that the news of Nelson's death was first\nheard here. It was brought into the port by two fishermen, who had\nit from the crew of a passing vessel. A small company of strolling\nactors were playing that night at the little theatre then standing\nover some stables in Chapel street, and the play was stopped for a\nfew moments whilst one of the actors told the audience.\n\nAnother haunted house, at the opposite side of Penzance, is celebrated\nin a poem called \"The Petition of an Old Uninhabited House,\" written\nand published in 1811, by the Rev. C. V. Le Grice, who was then Vicar\nof Madron. He was a friend of Charles Lamb, who mentions him in his\n\"Essay on Christ's Hospital.\" About this house a lady once told me a\nstrange story, that I will relate. Forty years ago, she, a perfect\nstranger to the place, never having been in Penzance before, came\nto it with her husband and her first child, for she was then a young\nwife. As they meant to settle in the town, they went to this hotel,\nwhere they intended staying until they could get a suitable house. On\nthe evening of their arrival, her husband having gone out, she sat\nalone before the fire nursing her child, when she suddenly saw a\nlittle old man, in a very old-fashioned dress, come into the room. He\nsat down in a chair near her, looked steadfastly into the fire,\nand, after some time, without saying a word, he rose and left. On\nher husband's return, she told him of her queer visitor. The next\nmorning they made enquiries about him, and found that the hotel had\nbeen built on the site of the old uninhabited house; that nearly the\nwhole of it had been destroyed, but a few of the best rooms remained;\nand that they were in a haunted chamber. She declared that she could\nnever sleep there another night, and, temporarily, they engaged some\nfurnished lodgings. These old rooms are now pulled down and billiard\nand other rooms cover the place where they stood.\n\nOutside the boundary-stone, west of Penzance, stands, in its own\ngrounds, a house to which additions have been made by many succeeding\ngenerations. Tradition, of course, gave it a ghost. With the other\nmembers of my family I lived there for several years, but none of\nus ever saw it. I am bound, however, to state that we never slept in\nthe haunted chamber. For a short period it was occupied by a groom,\nwho one morning came to me with a very long face, and said he dared\nnot sleep there any more, for some mysterious being came night after\nnight, and pulled all the bed-clothes off him; rather than do so,\nhe would sleep in the harness-room.\n\nStill further west of Penzance is a much larger house, to which,\nlike the former, many additions have been made. And up its avenue,\nafter dark, a carriage may be often heard slowly making its way\nuntil it reaches the hall-door, where it stops. In this house, about\nsixty years ago, lived, in very great style, a gentleman, who was a\nregular autocrat, and of him one of his old servants related to me\nthis anecdote, which is curious as an illustration of the manners of\nthose times. When in his employ, he gave an answer to some question,\nwhich afterwards his master discovered to be an untruth. The next\nSunday he made him, as the congregation came out, stand at Madron\nchurch door, by a tombstone covered with loaves of bread. Of these,\nhe had to give one to each poor person that passed, and say, in an\naudible tone, \"I, William ----, last week told my master a lie.\"\n\nMr. G. B. Millett, in his Penzance Past and Present, gives a tale well\nknown in this district, about the drinking habits of our ancestors,\nwhich, as I am now on the subject of manners, I will quote.\n\n\"A particular gentleman, not far from Penzance, loved good liquor,\nand one evening had gathered some of his jovial companions together,\ndetermined to make a night of it. His wife, having had some experience\nof such gatherings before, with wise precaution, saw as much wine\ntaken out of the cellar as she thought would be good for her husband\nand his friends. Then, safely locking the strong oak door, she put the\nkey in her pocket, and announced her intention of spending the evening\nwith some lady friends. The hours were passing pleasantly away, and,\nwith a smile of inward satisfaction, she was congratulating herself\nupon the success of her forethought, when a heavy stumbling noise\nwas heard upon the stairs, and shortly afterwards two burly footmen\nstaggered into the room, groaning under the weight of a ponderous\ncellar door, with its posts and lintel, which had been sent by their\nmaster for the mistress to unlock.\"\n\nThe manor of Conerton, which at one time nearly included the whole\nof West Penwith, had many privileges in Penzance. Before the days of\ncounty courts the lord held a monthly court here for the trial of\nsmall cases not criminal. Its prison, a wretched place (visited by\nHoward), no longer exists, but people were confined there early in\nthis century--sometimes for long periods. I was once shown a beautiful\npatchwork quilt made by a poor woman, who had been imprisoned for debt.\n\nUntil within the last fifty years every butcher in Penzance market had\nto pay to the bailiff of this manor at Christmas a marrow-bone or a\nshilling. The first butcher who refused to pay it also defied one of\nthe bye-laws of the market that compelled them to wear white sleeves\nover their blue blouses. He was brought before the magistrates, and\ndeclared \"that he would be incarcerated before he would do it.\" The\nfollowing is a favourite story handed down amongst the butchers from\nfather to son. A solicitor in Penzance had a very large dog that was in\nthe habit of coming into their market and stealing joints of meat from\nthe stalls. One day one of them went to the lawyer, and said,--\"Please\nsir, could I sue the owner of a dog for a leg of mutton stolen from my\nstall?\" \"Certainly, my good man.\" \"Then, please sir, the dog is yours,\nand the price of the mutton is 4s. 6d.\" The money was paid, and the\nman was going away in triumph, when he was called back by these words:\n\"Stay a moment, my good man, a lawyer's consultation is 6s. 8d., you\nowe me the difference:\" which sum the discomfited butcher had to pay.\n\nEvery stream in Cornwall however small is called a river (pronounced\nrevvur). One flows into the sea west of Penzance, between it and\nNewlyn, known as Laregan, and another at the east in Gulval parish,\nas Ponsandane river. There is an old rhyme about them that runs thus:\n\n\n   \"When Ponsandane calls to Laregan river,\n    There will be fine weather.\n    But we may look for rain\n    When Laregan calls to Ponsandane.\"\n\n\nYears ago there was a marsh between Penzance and Newlyn, now covered\nby the sea, known to the old people as the \"Clodgy;\" when the sea\nmoaned there they said, \"Clodgy is calling for rain.\" Sometimes at\nthe present day it is \"Bucca\" is calling, Bucca being the nickname\nin Penzance for the inhabitants of Newlyn.\n\n\n   \"Penzance boys up in a tree,\n    Looking as wisht (weak, downcast) as wisht can be;\n    Newlyn 'Buccas,' strong as oak,\n    Knocking them down at every poke.\"\n\n\nThe weather at Mount's Bay is also foretold by the look of the Lizard\nland, which lies south:\n\n\n   \"When the Lizard is clear, rain is near.\"\n\n\nThe marsh on Marazion Green still exists, and not many years ago\nno one cared to cross it after nightfall, especially on horseback,\nfor at a certain spot close by the marsh a white lady was sure to\narise from the ground, jump on the rider's saddle, and, like the\n\"White Lady of Avenel,\" ride with him pillion-fashion as far as the\nRed river [12] that runs into the sea just below the smelting-works\nat Chyandour, a suburb of Penzance. The last person who saw her\nwas a tailor of this town, who died in 1840. He was commonly called\n\"Buck Billy,\" from his wearing till the day of his death a pigtail,\na buff waistcoat, and a blue coat with yellow buttons.\n\nMarazion, or Market-jew, which latter is a corruption of its old\nCornish name, Marghaisewe, meaning a Thursday's market, is a small\ntown exactly opposite St. Michael's Mount. Until its present church\nwas built its mayor sat in a very high seat with his back against a\nwindow. This is the origin of the Cornish proverb: \"In your own light,\nlike the mayor of Market-jew.\" This mayor is jokingly said to have\nthree privileges. The first is, \"That he may sit in his own light;\"\nthe second, \"Next to the parson;\" and the third, \"If he see a pig in\na gutter he may turn it out and take its place.\" [13]\n\nIn the churchyard of the neighbouring parish of St. Hilary is\na monument to the Rev. John Penneck, M.A., who, in the early part\nof the last century, was Chancellor of Exeter Cathedral. His ghost\nis very eccentric, sometimes getting into a passion, and on these\noccasions raising a great storm of wind.\n\nIn the parish of Breage, near the sea, about four miles from Marazion,\nare the ruins of Pengersick Castle, of which only some fragments of\nwalls and a square tower now stand. Some of the upper rooms in the\nlatter have fallen in, and they are all in a state of decay. The\nlower have oak-panels curiously carved and painted, but time has\nalmost effaced the designs. The most perfect is one representing\n\"Perseverance,\" under which are the following lines:\n\n\n   \"What thing is harder than the rock?\n    What softer is than water cleere?\n    Yet wyll the same, with often droppe,\n    The hard rock perce as doth a spere.\n    Even so, nothing so hard to attayne,\n    But may be hadde, with labour and payne.\"\n\n\nSo many are the legends told of the former inhabitants of Pengersick,\nthat it would be almost impossible at this date to decide which is\nthe original. These ruins stand on the site of a much older castle,\nand in it dwelt, far back in the dark ages, a very wicked man, who,\nwhen he was fighting in foreign parts, forgetting his wife at home,\ncourted a king's daughter, who gave him a magic sword, which ensured\nin every battle the victory to its owner. He deceived and left her;\nbut she, with her son in her arms, followed him to his home by the\nMount. There she met him, and upbraided him with his cruelty, and\nin a fit of passion he threw them both into the sea. The lady was\ndrowned, and after her death she was changed into a white hare, which\ncontinually haunted the old lord; but her boy was picked up alive by a\npassing ship. The lord's wife afterwards died, and he married again a\nwoman as bad as himself, reputed to be a witch, who was very cruel to\nher step-son, who lived with his father at the castle. One night there\nwas a great storm in Mount's Bay, and the young man went down to the\nshore to see if there were any vessels in distress, and spied on the\nbeach an almost exhausted sailor, who had been washed in by the waves,\nand whom he bade his servants carry to his home, and put into his own\nbed. When he revived, all were struck by the marvellous resemblance\nto the young heir; and they conceived a great affection for each\nother. Together they went to Marazion to see if they could find the\nvessel from whose deck the stranger had fallen into the sea. It was\nsafe in harbour, and the captain, whom the sailor had always thought\nto be his father, told him then for the first time, \"How, when he\nwas an infant, he had rescued him from drowning where last night he\nhad nearly lost his life.\" Thus they were discovered to be brothers,\nand a day or two after, when out hunting, guided by the white hare,\nthey accidentally came upon the miraculous sword that had disappeared\nwhen his mother was drowned. Then these two brothers sailed away from\nCornwall, and dwelt in peace in the land of a strange princess; where\nthe Cornishman studied, under a celebrated master, astrology and all\nother occult sciences. After some time the old lord of Pengersick met\nhis death in this wise: As he was riding out one fine morning, the\nwhite hare suddenly sprang up in front of his horse and startled it,\nso that it ran madly with its rider into the sea, where both were\nswallowed up. When this news was brought to him, the Cornishman\nbade his brother an affectionate farewell, and, with his wife, a\nlearned princess, went back to Pengersick, where they lived happily\nfor several generations, for amongst many other wonderful things,\nthe young lord had discovered an elixir of life which, had they so\nwished, would have kept them alive to the present day. (See Bottrell.)\n\nIn addition to being well versed in occult lore, Pengersick's wife\nwas a fine musician; she could with her harp charm and subdue evil\nspirits, and compel the fish in Mount's Bay, also the mermaids who\nthen dwelt there, to come out of the sea.\n\nAnother account of the old lord's death says that he and a party of\nhis friends were dining in his yacht around a silver table when she\nwent down, and all on board perished. This happened off Cudden Point,\nwhich juts into the sea just opposite Pengersick. Children living there\nformerly used to go down to the beach at low water to try and find\nthis silver table. (A ship laden with bullion is reported to have been\nlost here in the time of Queen Elizabeth.) \"The present castle,\" one\ntradition says, \"was built in the reign of Henry VIII. by a merchant\nwho had acquired immense wealth beyond the seas, and who loaded an ass\nwith gold, and broke its back. He sold the castle to a Mr. Milliton,\nwho, having slain a man, shut himself up in it to escape punishment.\"\n\nAnother legend says that Sir William Milliton built it, and, soon after\nits completion, married a very rich but extremely ugly and shrewish\nwoman, of whom he tried by various ways to rid himself but in vain. One\nday, after a desperate quarrel, he begged her forgiveness, and asked\nher, in proof of having pardoned him, to sup with him that evening\nin a room overlooking the sea. She agreed; and at the conclusion of\nthe feast they pledged each other in goblets of rich wine. Then Sir\nWilliam's looks altered, and, in a fierce voice, he said, \"Woman,\nnow prepare for death! You have but a short time to live, as the\nwine that you have just drunk was poisoned.\" \"Then we die together,\"\nshe answered, \"for I had my suspicions, and mixed the contents of the\ngoblets.\" Up to this time the moon, which was at its full, had been\nshining brightly through the open windows, for it was a warm summer\nnight, when suddenly a frightful storm of thunder and lightning arose,\nthe winds lashed the waves to fury, and the moon was darkened. The\nservants, alarmed by this, and the unearthly fiendish yells that came\nfrom the banqueting hall, rushed upstairs, and there found the bodies\nof their master and mistress dead on the floor; and through the open\nwindow they saw, by the light of the moon which for a moment shone\nthrough a rift in the clouds, their souls borne away on the wings of\na demon in the shape of a bird.\n\nThe original name of Breage parish was Pembro; but St. Breaca, hearing\nthat the inhabitants were at a loss to raise the money for a peal of\nbells, offered to extricate them from their difficulty on condition\nthat they should call the parish after her. The condition was accepted,\nthe bells were hung, and the parish henceforth was known as that of\nSt. Breage.--Through Rev. S. Rundle.\n\nSt. Germoe (Geronicus) an Irish king, who was converted to Christianity\nin the fifth century, is said to have been the foster-son of Breaca\n(or Breage), with whom he crossed over into Cornwall where they\nsettled. Two churches in adjoining parishes are dedicated to them;\nSt. Germoe is reputed to have been the founder of his, and there is\na curious structure at the north-east of the churchyard, known as\nSt. Germoe's chair or King Germoe's throne.\n\n\"There is more than one story attached to this chair. One is to the\neffect that the saint sat in the central chair with two assessors,\none on either side of him; another legend is that the priests rested\nin the chair; whilst a third is that pilgrims to the tomb of the saint\nalso rested therein. Be that as it may, however, it is possible that\nthis is a shrine, and that the body of St. Germoe rests underneath\nit.\"--Rev. W. A. Osborne, Transactions Penzance Natural History\nSociety, 1886, 1887.\n\nAt Great Work Mine (Huel Vor) near by, a narrow level (not far down)\nis still thought to have been made by Christian slaves, when the\nfirst church at Germoe was built.\n\n\n   \"Germoe, little Germoe lies under a hill,\n    When I'm in Germoe I count myself well;\n    True love's in Germoe, in Breage I've got none,\n    When I'm in Germoe I count myself at home.\"--\n\n                                    Through Rev. S. Rundle.\n\n\nAll Cornishmen at one time were supposed to be \"wreckers,\" and from\nthe peninsular-shape of their county came the proverb, \"'Tis a bad\nwind that blows no good to Cornwall.\" But the dwellers in Breage and\nGermoe must in olden times, from the following distich, have been\nheld in worse repute than their neighbours:\n\n\n   \"God keep us from rocks and shelving sands,\n    And save us from Breage and Germoe men's hands.\"\n\n\nThe most noted and daring Cornish smuggler of the last century,\nCoppinger, a Dane, lived on the north coast, and of him a legendary\ncatalogue of dreadful tales is told, all to be found in the\nRev. R. S. Hawker's book, the Footprints of Former Men in Far\nCornwall. He lays the scene of his exploits in the neighbourhood\nof Hartland Bay, my informant near Newquay. He swam ashore here\nin the prime of life, in the middle of a frightful storm, from a\nforeign-rigged vessel that was seen in the offing, and of which nothing\nmore was ever heard or known. Wrapped in a cloak, that tradition says\nhe tore from off the shoulders of an old woman who was on the beach,\nhe jumped up behind a farmer's daughter, who had ridden down to see\nthe wreck, and was by her taken to her father's house, where he was\nfed, clothed, and most hospitably received. He was a fine, handsome,\nwell-built man, and gave himself out to be most highly connected in\nhis own country. He soon won the young woman's affections, and at her\nfather's death, which took place not long after, he easily induced her\nto marry him; but it was far from a happy union. Luckily they had but\none child--a deaf and dumb idiot, who had inherited his father's cruel\ndisposition, and delighted in torturing all living things. It is even\nsaid that he cunningly killed one of his young playmates. Coppinger,\nafter his marriage, organized a band of smugglers, and made himself\ntheir captain; and quickly through his misdeeds earned the title\nof cruel Coppinger. One legend relates that he once led a Revenue\ncutter into a dangerous cove, of which he alone knew the soundings,\nand that he and his crew came out of it in safety, but the other\nvessel with all on board perished. Mr. Hawker calls Coppinger's ship\nthe \"Black Prince,\" and says he had it built for himself in Denmark,\nand that men who had made themselves in any way obnoxious to him on\nland were carried on board her, and compelled by fearful oaths to\nenrol themselves in her crew.\n\nIn 1835 an old man of the age of ninety-seven related to this writer\nthat when a youth he had been so abducted, and after two years'\nservice he had been ransomed by his friends with a large sum. \"And\nall,\" said the old man, very simply, \"because I happened to see\none man kill another, and they thought I should mention it.\" The\nsame author gives him a wonderfully fleet horse, which no one but\nCoppinger could master, and says that on its back he made more than\none hairbreadth escape. He has also a marvellous account of his end,\nin which he disappears as he came, in a vessel which he boarded in\na storm of thunder, lightning, and hail. As soon as he was in her,\n\"she was out of sight in a moment, like a spectre or a ghost.\" For\nthis he quotes the following verse:--\n\n\n   \"Will you hear of the cruel Coppinger?\n      He came from a foreign kind;\n    He was brought to us from the salt water,\n      He was carried away by the wind.\"\n\n\nThe one thing certain about him is, that at one time he amassed money\nenough by smuggling to buy a small freehold estate near the sea, the\ntitle-deeds of which, signed with his name, still exist. But in his\nold age, I have been told, he was reduced to poverty, and subsisted\non charity.\n\nThat in those bygone days smuggling was thought no sin every one\nknows. And who has not heard the oft-quoted apocryphal anecdote of\nthe Cornish clergyman, who--when he was in the middle of his sermon\nand some one opened the church door and shouted in, \"A wreck! a\nwreck!\"--begged his parishioners to wait whilst he took off his gown\nthat they might all start fair.\n\nThe following is, however, a genuine letter of the last century from\na vicar in the eastern part of the county to a noted smuggler of\nthat district:--\n\n\n   \"Martin Rowe, you very well know,\n    That Cubert's vicar loves good liquor,\n    One bottle's all, upon my soul.\n    You'll do right to come to-night;\n    My wife's the banker, she'll pay for the anker.\"\n\n\nTo the same jovial vicar is credited this grace, given to his hostess'\nhorror at her table after he had dined out several days in succession,\nand had rabbits offered him, a dish he detested:--\n\n\n   \"Of rabbits young and rabbits old,\n    Of rabbits hot and rabbits cold,\n    Of rabbits tender, rabbits tough,\n    I thank the Lord we've had enough.\"\n\n\nInland from Breage is the small hamlet of Leed's-town (called after\nthe Duke of Leeds, who has property in Cornwall). It is the seat of the\nfollowing short story:--\"The Leed's-town ghost runs up and down stairs\nin a house during the night, and then sits in a corner of the room\nweeping and sleeking her hair. It is the ghost of a young woman who\nwas engaged to be married to a man who refused to become her husband\nuntil she gave him certain deeds kept in a box in the above room. As\nsoon as the deeds were in his possession, he realised the property and\nescaped to America, leaving the luckless girl to bemoan her loss. She\nwent mad: night and day she was searching for her deeds; sometimes she\nwould sit and wail in the spot where the box had been. At length she\ndied: her spirit, however, had no rest, and still constantly returns\nto keep alive the memory of man's perfidy.\"--Through Rev. S. Rundle.\n\nClose to Leed's-town, at the foot of Godolphin-hill, is the old house,\nor hall, of Godolphin. The basement-floor of the original house\nalone remains: it consists of a long fa\u00e7ade supported by pillars\nof white granite, the interior containing many objects of interest\nwell worth a visit. Opposite the inhabited part of the house is the\nKing's room, opening on the King's garden. (The title of King's\nroom was given to it from the legend that Charles II. once slept\nthere.) You could leave it by five ways; as there were three doors,\none exit through the floor, and another through the roof. Godolphin\nis held by a very curious tenure, said to have originated in a bet\nbetween the representatives of the Godolphin and St. Aubyn families\non a snail race. As the Godolphin snail was being beaten, its owner\npricked it with a pin to make it go faster, but it drew in its horns\nand refused to move, consequently the other won. The following is the\nceremony which takes place every Candlemas. Before sunrise a person,\nappointed as reeve by the Rev. St. Aubyn Molesworth St. Aubyn,\nthe lord of the manor of Lamburn, in the parish of Perranzabuloe\n(near Truro), knocks at the ancient outer door of the quadrangle,\nand repeats this demand thrice:--\"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! Here come I\nthe reeve of the manor of Lamburn, to demand my lord's dues, eight\ngroats and a penny in money, a loaf, a cheese, a collar of brawn,\nand a jack of the best ale in the house. God save the Queen and the\nlord of the manor.\" It is said at the outer door of the quadrangle,\nat the inner door, and for the third and last time at the table in\nthe kitchen (which is one of the oldest and not the least interesting\nrooms). The above high lordship is paid by the Duke of Leeds to\nthe St. Aubyn family, to whom should they fail an heir the estate\nreverts. There is another curious tenure in this part of Cornwall,\nwhich as I am on the subject I will, before proceeding further,\nquote. \"The parsonage of St. Grade, with a small portion of land,\nincluding an orchard, is held of the manor of Erisey by the following\ntenure, viz., that on Easter-day, yearly, the parson provide a dinner\nfor the master and mistress of Erisey house, and their man and maid,\nwith a pan of milk for a greyhound bitch.\"--Lake, Helston and Lizard.\n\nThe old manor-house of Erisey is in Ruan Major (near the Lizard),\nand of one of the family the following story is told:--\"He was\ndancing with other ladies and gentlemen at Whitehall before James\nI., and, through the violent motion and action of his body in the\nmiddle of the dance, had his cap slip from his head and fall to the\nground; but he instantly with his foot tossed it on his head again,\nand proceeded without let or hindrance with his part in that dance,\nto the admiration of all who saw it, which gave occasion to King James\nto enquire who that active gentleman was, and being told that his name\nwas Erisey, he forthwith replied, 'I like the gentleman very well,\nbut not his name of Heresey!'\" The rector of Ruan Minor by ancient\nusage and prescription (which is always admitted) claims a right of\nsending a horse into a certain field in the parish of Landewednack,\nwhenever it is cropped with corn, and taking away as many sheaves as\nthe horse can carry away on its back.\n\n\"At Jew's Lane Hill, near Godolphin, a Jew is said to have hung himself\non a tree still pointed out, and was buried beneath the road. His ghost\nappears in the shape of a bull and a fiery chariot. This superstition\nhas been known for generations.\"--M. H., through Rev. S. Rundle.\n\n\n\n\nCORNWALL STONE.\n\n\"I remember this stone a rough cube about three feet in height;\nit stood by the wayside forty or fifty years ago about a quarter\nof a mile from the old Godolphin mansion near the coast, where the\nnobility and gentry of the county were wont periodically to assemble\nto hear the news from Court. The servants who waited on their masters\nat the banquet diligently listened to the conversation, and afterwards\nspread the information thus collected among the crowd assembled for\nthe purpose around Cornwall stone.\"--G. F. W., Western Antiquary, 1881.\n\nAn old writer on the Scilly Isles mentions a rock on Bryher, one\nof the smallest of the islands, where the neighbours were wont to\ncollect to hear and repeat the news. He calls it the News Rock.\n\nBetween Helston and the Lizard lies the parish of St. Keverne; unlike\nthe other parishes of Cornwall it contains no mines. To account for\nthis it is said that St. Keverne cursed it when he lived there, for\nthe want of respect shown him by its inhabitants. Hence the proverb\n\"No metal will run within the sound of St. Keverne's bells.\"\n\nSt. Just, from the Land's End district, once paid a visit to\nSt. Keverne, who entertained him for several days to the best of his\npower. After his departure his host missed some valuable relics, and\ndetermined to go in pursuit of his late guest, and try, if possible,\nto get them from him. As he was passing over Crousadown, about two\nmiles from St. Keverne church, he pocketed three large stones, each\nweighing about a quarter of a ton, to use if St. Just should offer\nany resistance. He overtook him at a short distance from Breage\nand taxed him with the theft, which was indignantly denied. From\nwords the saints came to blows, and St. Keverne flung his stones\nwith such effect that St. Just ran off, throwing down the relics as\nhe ran. These stones lay for centuries where they fell, about four\nhundred yards from Pengersick Lane, as when taken away by day, they\nwere in bygone times always brought back at night.\n\nGoing along the coast from Breage to the Lizard the solitary church of\nGunwalloe is passed, built so close to the sea that the waves wash its\ngraveyard walls. It is said to have been erected as a thank-offering by\nsome man who escaped drowning when shipwrecked. \"In the sandbanks near\nit (or, as others say, at Kennack cove), the notorious buccaneer Avery\nis reported to have buried several chests of treasure previously to his\nleaving England on the voyage from which he never returned. So strongly\ndid this opinion prevail that Mr. John Knill, collector of the Customs\nat St. Ives, procured about the year 1770 a grant of treasure trove,\nand expended some money in a fruitless search.\"--Rev. C. A. Johns,\nWeek at the Lizard.\n\nNear by is Mullion parish, of which the celebrated ghost-layer,\nthe Rev. Thomas Flavel, who died in 1682, was the vicar, and the\nfollowing quaint lines to his memory may still be read in the chancel\nof his church:--\n\n\n   \"Earth take thine earth, my sin let Satan havet,\n    The world my goods, my soul my God who gavet;\n    For from these four, Earth, Satan, World, and God,\n    My flesh, my sin, my goods, my soul I had.\"\n\n\nOf him the Rev. C. A. Johns writes:--\"This Thomas Flavel, during his\nlife, attained great celebrity for his skill in the questionable art\nof laying ghosts. His fame still lingers in the memories of the more\nsuperstitious of the inhabitants through the following ridiculous\nstories. On one occasion when he had gone to church his servant-girl\nopened a book in his study, whereupon a host of spirits sprang up all\nround her. Her master observed this, though then occupied at church,\nclosed his book, and dismissed the congregation. On his return home\nhe took up the book with which his servant had been meddling, and\nread backwards the passage which she had been reading, at the same\ntime laying about him lustily with his walking-cane, whereupon all\nthe spirits took their departure, but not before they had pinched\nthe servant-girl black and blue. His celebrity, it seems, was not\nconfined to his own parish, for he was once called on to lay a very\ntroublesome ghost in an adjoining parish. As he demanded the large\nfee of five guineas for his services, two of the persons interested\nresolved to assure themselves, by the evidence of their own eyes,\nthat the ceremony was duly performed. They accordingly, without\napprising one another of their intention, secreted themselves\nbehind two graves in the churchyard a short time before the hour\nnamed for the absurd rites. In due time the ghost-layer entered it\nwith a book in one hand and a horsewhip in the other. On the first\nsmack of the whip the watchers raised their heads simultaneously,\ncaught a glimpse of each other, and were both so terrified that they\nscampered off in opposite directions, leaving the operator to finish\nhis business as he might. So popular are superstitions of this kind,\nand so long do they linger, that to the present day a spot is pointed\nout on the downs, named 'Hervan Gutter,' where Thomas Flavel's own\nghost was laid by a clergyman, of whom he said before his death,\n'When he comes I must go.' In olden days there were several of these\nghost-laying clergymen in Cornwall, of whom, before going on with the\nlegends of the parishes, I will mention three known in folk-lore. In\nthe parish of Ladock, on the east side of Truro, dwelt rather more\nthan a century ago the famed ghost-layer, the Rev. Mr. Woods, who,\nwhen walking, usually carried an ebony stick with a silver head,\non which was engraved a pentacle, and on a broad silver ring below\nplanetary signs and mystical figures. Of him Mr. Bottrell tells many\nthrilling tales; I will only give the substance of one. Mr. Woods was\nusually a match for most demons, whom he would change into animals\nand thrash with his whip; but one more cunning than the rest defied\nhim, by taking the shape of an unknown coal-black bird, and perching\non the church tower, from whence during divine service he made all\nsorts of queer noises, disturbing the congregation, and inciting the\nirreverent to laughter. He was too high up to be exorcised or reached\nwith the whip. At last the clergyman, at his wit's end, remembered\nthat the Evil One could not endure the sight of innocent children,\nand he sent his clerk round to all the mothers of his parish who had\nunchristened children, asking them to bring them to church on the\nnext Sunday to have the rite performed. As he was a great favourite\nwith his people all the mothers, and they were eight, readily agreed\nto come. But as twelve is the mystical number he invited four other\nmothers whose children had recently been baptised, to come as well,\nand bring their children and sponsors with them. The eight children\nwere christened, and the parson walked out of church followed by the\ntwelve mothers with their infants in their arms. The clerk arranged\nthem in lines five deep, the mothers in front, opposite the belfry\ndoor. Mr. Woods directed each to pass her child from one to the other\nof its sponsors, and then hand it to him that he might hold it up for\nthe demon to see; but for some time the cunning bird hid himself behind\na pinnacle, and nothing would induce him to look, until one of the\nchildren, growing tired, began to cry, and all the others chimed in,\nscreaming in chorus at the top of their voices. Then the demon hopped\ndown from his perch and peered over the parapet to try and find out\nwhat could be the matter. The sight of the twelve children had such\nan effect upon him that he too gave an unearthly yell and flew away\nnever to re-appear. The church bells were soon after put in order,\nand it is well known that no evil spirit ever ventures within sound\nof their ringing.\"\n\n\"One of the three Jagos, who were Vicars of Wendron, was much renowned\nfor his powers of necromancy. He was in the habit of taking people to\nSt. Wendron Cross, where a man called Tucker was buried, and asking\nthem whether they had a mind to see Tucker man; he would make him rise\nfrom the dead as a mark of delicate attention to them.\"--Cornubiana,\nRev. S. Rundle, Penzance Natural History Society, 1885-1886.\n\nI will close this list of worthies by a short notice of Parson Dodge,\na vicar of Talland, a village on the south coast of Cornwall, and then\ngive an encounter of the famous Nonconformist divine, John Wesley,\nwith some spirits whom he vanquished at St. Agnes on the north. The\nchurch of Talland is not in the centre of the parish, but near the\nsea; a legend accounts for its position thus: It was begun at a spot\ncalled Pulpit, but each night a voice was heard saying:\n\n\n   \"If you will my wish fulfil,\n    Build the church on Talland hill;\"\n\n\nand the stones put up by day were removed. (Tales similar to this\nare told of many Cornish churches. The work of removal is sometimes\ncarried on by the devil; at Altarnon he was accompanied by a hare\nand a deer.) Of this church, about a hundred and fifty years ago,\nthe Rev. Richard Dodge was vicar. He had such command over the\nspirit-world that he could raise and lay ghosts at his will, and by\na nod of his head banish them to the Red Sea. His parishioners looked\nup to him with great awe, and were afraid of meeting him at midnight,\nas he was sure then, whip in hand, to be pursuing and driving away the\ndemons, that in all kinds of shapes were to be seen hovering around\nhim. Amongst his other eccentricities he was fond of frequenting his\nchurchyard at the dead of night. Parson Dodge's fame was not confined\nto his own immediate district, and one day he received a letter from\na fellow-clergyman, the Rev. Grylls, rector of Lanreath, asking his\nassistance in exorcising a man habited in black, who drove a sable\ncoach, drawn by headless horses, across Black-a-down (a neighbouring\nmoor), as this apparition, when they happened to meet it, frightened\nhis people almost out of their wits. He acceded to this request, and\nlate at night the two clergymen rode to the spot, where they waited\nfor some time, but seeing nothing decided to separate and return to\ntheir respective homes. Mr. Dodge, however, had not gone very far when\nhis horse obstinately refused to proceed a step further in a homeward\ndirection: this he interpreted to be a sign from heaven which he must\nobey, and giving it the rein he allowed it to go as it willed. It\nwheeled round and went back at a great pace to the moor. Here through\nthe gloom he saw standing the black coach with the headless horses:\nits driver had dismounted, and the Rev. Grylls lay in a swoon at\nhis feet. Mr. Dodge was terribly alarmed, but managed to keep his\npresence of mind, and began to recite a prayer: before he could finish\nit the driver said--\"Dodge is come! I must be gone!\" jumped on to his\nseat and disappeared for ever. Mr. Grylls' parishioners now arrived\nin search of their rector; they knew there must be something amiss,\nfor his horse, startled by the horrible spectres, had thrown its\nrider and galloped off, never stopping until it reached its stable\n(his friend's, through fright, had also been, until the apparition\nvanished, almost unmanageable). They found him senseless, supported\nin Mr. Dodge's arms; but he soon revived, and they took him home,\nalthough it was some days before his reason recovered from the shock. A\nmuch fuller account of this may be found in the History of Polperro,\nby Mr. T. Q. Couch. It has also been published by Mr. Robert Hunt in\nhis Popular Romances of the West of England. The Rev. R. S. Hawker,\nin his Footprints of Former Men in Far Cornwall, gives some very\ninteresting extracts from the \"Diurnal\" of one Parson Rudall, of\nLaunceston, who in 1665, with the sanction of his Bishop, laid the\nBotathen ghost--the spirit of a young woman by name Dorothy Dinglet,\nwho could not rest in her grave--\"Unquiet because of a certain sin.\" It\nis a very well-known fact that the Rev. John Wesley was a firm believer\nin supernatural agencies; he compiled a book of ghost-stories, that\nwas lent to me when I was about ten years old by a kind but ignorant\nwoman, the reading of which caused me many sleepless nights. \"On one\noccasion Wesley could, when at St. Agnes, find no place to pass the\nnight save a house which had the reputation of being haunted. However,\nhe was not deterred; he entered and went to bed. But he could not\nrest, for there was a terrible tumult below; the sound of carriages\nwas heard, the noise of feet, and fearful oaths. At length he could\nbear it no longer; he descended, and then found the large hall\nfilled with guests. They greeted him with loud welcome, and begged\nhim to be seated. He consented, saying, however, that he must say\ngrace first. This remark was hailed with roars of laughter. Nothing\ndaunted he began--\"Jesus, the Name high over all.\" He did not finish;\nin a moment the lights were extinguished, he was alone, and from that\ntime the house was no more haunted.--Through Rev. S. Rundle.\n\nClergymen in Cornwall are still supposed to be able to drive out\nevil spirits. A poor, half-crazed woman, yet living in Madron parish,\nnear Penzance, went about ten years since to the house of a clergyman\nthen residing there, and asked him to walk around her, reading some\npassages from the Bible, to exorcise the ghost of her dead sister,\nwho had entered into her, she said, and tormented her in the shape\nof a small fly, which continually buzzed in her ear. Once before the\nBoard of Guardians she talked sensibly for some time, then suddenly\nstopped and exclaimed, shaking her head: \"Be quiet, you brute! don't\nyou see I am talking to the gentlemen?\"\n\nWe must now, after this long digression, return to Mullion. Between\nit and the Lizard is a fine headland, the Rill, and on its summit\nare a number of loose, rough stones, known as the Apron String,\nwhich the country people say were brought here by an evil spirit,\nwho intended to build with them a bridge across to France for the\nconvenience of smugglers. He was hastening along with his load,\nwhich he carried in his apron, when one of its strings broke, and in\ndespair he gave up the idea. On the opposite side of the Lizard, at the\nmouth of Helford river, stands the church of St. Anthony in Meneage;\nlike that of Gunwalloe it is little above the level of the sea, and\nis, also according to tradition, a votive offering. Some people of\nhigh rank, crossing over from Normandy to England, were caught in a\nstorm, and in their peril vowed to St. Anthony that they would build\na church in his honour if he would bring them safe into harbour. The\nsaint heard their prayers, and the church was erected on the spot\nwhere they landed. Helford river, in Carew's days, was the haunt\nof pirates, and of it he says: \"Falmouth's ower neere neighbourhood\nlesseneth his vse and darkeneth his reputation, as quitting it onely\nto the worst sort of Seafarers, I mean Pirats, whose guilty breasts\nwith an eye in their backs, looke warily how they may goe out, ere\nthey will aduenture to enter, and this at unfortified Hailford cannot\nbe controlled, in which regard it not vnproperly brooketh his common\nterm of Helford and the nickname of Stealford.\"\n\nOn the subject of pirates a friend writes:--\"The popular play of 'The\nPirates of Penzance' had not its origin in that town, but in the little\nfishing village of Penberth, near the Land's End; but that, alas! is\nin its 'custom port.' The captain of the pirate vessel, and all his\nship's crew, were wrestlers. They would go out to the small Spanish,\nDutch, and other merchant ships, and would ask for provisions, or\ntender assistance, and on making sure that the ship was unarmed they\nwould overpower the sailors and plunder it. This was before the time\nwhen the Trinity Corporation had begun its work on our Cornish coast.\n\nFrom Helford we will proceed to Penryn--the scene of Lillo's play,\n\"Fatal Curiosity.\" The legend on which it is founded is as follows:\nA gentleman who had rashly squandered his own and his wife's fortune,\nsent their only son early into the world to seek his. During his\nabsence his parents were reduced to penury; but he prospered, returned\nhome, and sought them out. He did not at first disclose to them who\nhe was, intending to do so later on, but begged to be allowed to rest\nin their house, and whilst he was sleeping asked his mother to take\ncharge of a casket for him. Her curiosity impelled her to open it,\nand her avarice was so inflamed at the sight of the rich jewels it\ncontained that she incited her husband by prayers and reproaches to\nmurder the poor young man. After the fatal deed was done, the unhappy\npair discovered him to be their son.\n\nIt has been said that a party of Spaniards landed at Penryn in 1565,\nintending to plunder the town, but were alarmed by the sound of a\ndrum beaten by some strolling players, and made a hasty retreat.\n\nBefore the year 1600 there were only a few houses where Falmouth\nnow stands, called Pennycomequick, which name tradition declares\nwas given it from the following: A woman, who had been a servant to\na Mr. Pendarves, left his employ, and went there to reside, where, I\nsuppose, she kept an ale-house, as the story says that he ordered her\nto brew a cask of ale, and on a certain day he and some friends would\ncome and drink it. The ale was brewed; but in the meantime a Dutch\nvessel put into the creek, and she sold it all to the sailors. When\nher former master and his friends arrived at the appointed time,\nhe was of course very angry. Her excuse was that the \"penny comed so\nquick\" that she could not refuse it. The name really means the head\nof the valley of the creek.\n\nThere is a pyramidal monument at the south end of Falmouth erected\nby one of the Killigrews to the memory of Sir Walter Raleigh, who\nhad been entertained by an ancestor at their family-seat of Arwenack,\nwhen there was only one other house in the place. There is a red stain\non it, \"A blood-mark,\" the old people said, \"that would not wash out,\nsplashed there from the body of a man employed in making it, who fell\nfrom its top and was killed.\"\n\nOn the coast just outside the town is Gyllanvaes, or William's Grave,\nwhich is pointed out as the place where King Henry I.'s son, who was\ndrowned on his passage from Normandy to England, was buried.\n\nOn the opposite side of Falmouth harbour, where St. Anthony's church\nnow stands, was formerly the priory of St. Mary de Vale, and King\nHenry VIII. is reported to have landed here in 1537, and told the\nprior that it would soon be destroyed, and he with all his brethren\nturned out. It was; but the prior left his curse behind him, and the\nfirst holder of the lands lost all his family by untimely deaths,\nand he himself committed suicide.\n\nOf all the creeks up the Fal from Falmouth to Truro, most marvellous\ntales of smugglers and their daring deeds are told; and of King\nHarry's passage, where a ferry-boat crosses the river, this legend:\nThat it is called after bluff King Hal, who forded it with his queen\n(sometimes Katherine of Arragon) on his back. To have accomplished\nthis feat he must have been taller than the sons of Anak, for in the\nmiddle the water is several fathoms deep.\n\nAt the head of one of these creeks is Veryan parish. And there\nis a tradition that should its church clock strike on the Sunday\nmorning during the singing of the hymn before the sermon, or before\nthe Collect against Perils at Evening Prayer (which does not often\nhappen), there will be a death in the parish before the next Sunday.\n\nOn a hill near Veryan is a barrow, in which Gerennius, a mythical king\nof Cornwall, was said to have been buried many centuries ago, with\nhis crown on his head, lying in his golden boat with silver oars. It\nwas opened in 1855, when nothing but a kistvaen (a rude stone chest)\ncontaining his ashes was found. His palace of Dingerein was in the\nneighbouring village of Gerrans. A subterranean passage, now known as\nMermaid's Hole, one day discovered when ploughing a field, was supposed\nto have led from it to the sea. Treasures of great value are reputed to\nbe hidden under all the Cornish menhirs and barrows. Carew tells of a\ngentleman who was persuaded that by digging under a menhir near Fowey\nhe would get great riches. \"Wherefore, in a faire moone-shine night,\nthither with certaine good fellowes hee hyeth to dig it up. A working\nthey fall, their labour shortneth, their hope increaseth, a pot of\ngold is the least of their expectation. But see the chance. In midst\nof their toyling the skie gathereth clouds, the moonelight is overcast\nwith darknesse, downe fals a mightie showre, up riseth a blustering\ntempest, the thunder cracketh, the lightning flasheth. In conclusion,\nour money-seekers washed instead of loden, or loden with water instead\nof yellow earth, and more afraid than hurt, are forced to abandon their\nenterprise and seeke shelter of the next house they could get into.\"\n\nMalpas (pronounced Mopus) ferry was, nearly a century ago, kept by\na woman called \"Jenny Mopus,\" who was quite a character. \"Wemmin and\npigs\" she used to declare were the worst things to ferry across.\n\nThe water bounds of the borough of Truro are renewed every six years,\nand the following curious ceremony takes place: On reaching the limits\nof their jurisdiction, the mayor, town clerk, members of corporation,\n&c., go on shore, when a writ for the sum of 999l. 19s. 11 3/4d. is\nproduced against a person present, selected beforehand. He is\narrested by the bailiff of the borough, on which two of the party\noffer themselves as bail, and the prisoner is liberated. Not far\nfrom Perranworthal is one of the most celebrated Cornish Tol-m\u00ean,\nM\u00ean-an-tol, or holed stones. This is an immense egg-shaped mass\nof granite, perched on a dreary hill nearly 700 feet above the\nsea, and is thought to weigh 750 tons. It is generally known as\nthe Cornish Pebble, and is supported on the points of two other\nstones leaving a hollow space beneath. In this it differs from\nother M\u00ean-an-tol which have the orifice in the centre of the stone\n(hence their name). There are many in the county. The one at Madron\nis sometimes called the Crick Stone. It gets this name because in\ndays not very long ago people afflicted with rheumatism, sciatica,\n&c., in May, and at certain other seasons of the year, crawled on\nall fours nine times around these M\u00ean-an-tol from east to west, and,\nif thin enough, squeezed themselves through the aperture. This was\nthen thought such a sovereign remedy for these diseases that parents\nbrought their weak-backed children and carried them around. To work\nthe charm properly there must always be two people, one of each sex,\nwho stand one on each side of the stone. The child, if a male, must\nfirst be passed from the woman to the man; if a girl, from the man\nto the woman, and always from the left of the one to the right of\nthe other. Some sort of divination, too, was formerly practised on\nthese M\u00ean-an-tol by pins laid cross-ways on the top.\n\nIn the parish of St. Dennis the church is dedicated to that saint. And\nwhen St. Dennis had his head cut off at Paris, blood, a legend says,\nfell on the stones of this churchyard; a similar occurrence often\nafterwards foretold other calamities. [14] The exact centre of the\ncounty is reputed to be a hole in a field at Probus, a neighbouring\nparish.\n\nAt Boconnoc, near Lostwithiel, not long ago stood the stump of an\nold oak, in which, in 1644, when Charles I. made this seat his\nhead-quarters, the royal standard was fixed. It bore variegated\nleaves. According to tradition, they changed colour when an attempt\nwas made to assassinate the king whilst he was receiving the sacrament\nunder its branches. The ball passed through the tree, and a hole in\nits trunk was formerly pointed out in confirmation of the story.\n\nHeath, in his Description of Cornwall, 1750, speaks of two other trees\nof the same kind to be seen in this county. \"In Lanhadron Park,\" he\nsays, \"there grows an oak that bears leaves speckled with white, as\nanother, called Painter's Oak, grows in the hundred of East. Some are\nof opinion that divers ancient families of England are preadmonished\nby oaks bearing strange leaves.\" A turtle-dove is said to be seen\nby the Bassetts of Tehidy, in Camborne, before death, and to another\nCornish family a white bird appears.\n\nThe church of St. Neot, in the parish of St. Neot, is celebrated\nfor its beautifully-painted glass. One of the windows contains many\nlegends of this saint, but they have all been too fully described by\nother writers to require a lengthy notice from me. St. Neot is the\nreputed brother of King Alfred, and lived some hundreds of years before\nthe present church dedicated to him was erected. But folk-lore has it\nthat it was built at night entirely by his own hands, and that he drew\nfrom a neighbouring quarry, by the help of reindeer, all the stones\nhe used in the building. He is described as a man of short stature,\nand tradition also says that after the church was finished he found\nthat he was not tall enough to reach the keyhole of the door, and\ncould not therefore unlock it. To remedy this defect he put a stone\nopposite (still pointed out), from which, when he stood on it, he could\nthrow the key into the lock with unerring precision. About a mile\nto the west of it, is an elevated spot with a square entrenchment;\nan ancient granite cross stands at one corner. There is a story\nattached to it which runs thus:--The crows in this neighbourhood\nwere in his time so numerous that the farmers could not, fearing\nthe mischief they might do in their absence, leave their fields and\nyoung crops to attend St. Neot's discourses. He, on hearing of it,\ndetermined to put a stop both to the excuse and the thieving habits\nof the birds, and one day ordered them all to enter this enclosure,\nfrom whence they could not stir until he gave the signal; upon which\nthey all immediately flew away and returned no more.\n\n\"The church of St. Mawgan, in Kerrier, was formerly at Carminowe,\nat the end of the parish. It was removed thence to its present site\non account of the ghoulish propensities of the giants, who used to\ndig up the dead from their graves. The inhabitants tried in vain\nto destroy them by making deep pits, and covering them over with\n'sprouse' (light hay or grass) so that the unwary giants, walking\nover them as on firm ground, might fall into them and be killed. As\nthis project failed, they were reluctantly compelled to remove the\nchurch to its present place, beyond the reach of their troublesome\nneighbours.\"--Rev. S. Rundle, Penzance Natural History Society,\n1885-1886.\n\nThe fine old mansion of Cottrell, situated on the River Tamar, was\nbuilt in the reign of Henry VII.; it belongs to the Earl of Mount\nEdgcumbe, and is full of quaint treasures, many of the rooms and the\nfurniture they contain dating from the time of Queen Elizabeth. But\nthe only part that concerns us is a little chapel in the woods perched\non a rock overhanging the river, of which this legend is told. It was\nerected by Sir Richard Edgcumbe, who was a partizan to Henry, Duke of\nRichmond, the rival of Richard III. A party of soldiers were sent to\ntake him prisoner, but he managed to elude them and escaped into the\nwoods, where his pursuers were so close upon his heels that he would\ncertainly have been captured had not his cap, as he was climbing down\nthis rock, fallen off his head and floated on the stream. On seeing\nit the men, thinking that Sir Richard had in despair drowned himself,\ngave up the chase. He shortly after crossed over to Brittany, where\nhe stayed until the news came of the defeat and death of the king,\nwhen he returned home, and, in gratitude for his miraculous escape,\ncaused this chapel to be built.\n\nDupath Well, not far from Cottrell, was, according to tradition, the\nscene of a desperate duel between two Saxons, called by one authority\nColan and Gotlieb, who were both suitors for the hand of the fair lady\nGither; but the Rev. R. S. Hawker, who has written a ballad on part\nof the legend, gives the name of Siward to the younger and favoured\none who killed his rival, but who himself in the combat received a\nwound from which he soon after died. The same author has also put\ninto verse the well-known story of Bottreaux bells. Bottreaux is\nthe parish church of Boscastle, a corruption of Bottreaux castle,\nand its tower is, and always has been, silent. When it was built\nthe inhabitants, who had long been jealous of the beautiful peal at\nTintagel, a neighbouring village, aided by the Lord of Bottreaux,\nraised enough money to buy a set for themselves, cast by a famous\nLondon founder. But when the ship that brought them was nearly\nin port the sound of Tintagel bells was in the calm evening borne\nacross the water. The pilot, a native of that parish, hearing them,\npiously crossed himself, and thanked God that he should soon be safe\non shore. On this the captain grew very wroth, and said, \"Thank the\nship and the canvas at sea, thank God on shore.\" \"No!\" meekly replied\nthe pilot, \"we should thank God at sea as well as on land.\" At this\nthe captain grew still more angry, swore and blasphemed, and with\nan oath exclaimed, \"Not so, thank yourself and a fair wind.\" Upon\nwhich a violent storm suddenly arose, the ship became unmanageable,\nstruck on a rock, and went down. All on board, with the exception of\nthe pilot, were drowned. Above the roar of the winds and waves the\neager watchers from the shore, who were waiting for the arrival of\nthe vessel with her precious freight, could hear the solemn tolling\nof their bells. And still before a gale their warning chimes sound\nfrom their ocean bed, but woe to the unhappy ship's crew that hears\nthem, for wreck, misfortunes, and deaths are sure to follow. The\nfollowing proverb would seem to infer that Boscastle, as well as no\nbells, has no market: \"All play and no play, like Boscastle Market,\nwhich begins at twelve o'clock and ends at noon.\" Mevagissey church,\non the opposite coast, has neither tower nor bells, and there is a\nstanding joke against its people that they sold their bells to pay\nthe cost of pulling down the tower.\n\nGorran men, who live in an adjoining parish, seem in former days\nto have been rivals to the famous \"Wise men of Gotham,\" from the\nabsurd deeds attributed to them, such as \"Trying to throw the moon\nover the cliffs,\" \"Building a hedge to keep in the moonlight,\"\n&c. The inhabitants of more than one parish in Cornwall are said\n\"to have built a hedge to keep in the 'guckaw' (cuckoo).\" In fact,\nof nearly all the parishes in the county some joke is current in the\nneighbouring villages.\n\nNot far from Boscastle is the beautiful waterfall of St. Nighton's\nKieve, and close by are the ruins of a cottage, once the habitation\nof two ladies, who took possession of it at night. They evidently\nhad seen better days, but their names and from whence they came\nremain a mystery, as from the date of their arrival they held no\ncommunication with the outer world. They kept no servant, and from\nthe villagers bought for themselves the necessaries of life, asking\nbut few questions, and not answering any. At first they took long\nsolitary walks in the most secluded spots of the district; when met\nthey were rarely conversing, and never spoke to a stranger. These walks\nwere gradually discontinued, and one day a rumour spread through the\nvillage that one of the poor ladies was dead. Tradition says that the\nneighbours found the other weeping silent tears by the side of the\ncorpse. After the funeral the survivor daily grew more infirm and but\nrarely left the house, and one morning soon after, no smoke issuing\nfrom the chimneys of the cottage, the villagers peeped in through\nthe uncurtained windows and saw her sitting dead in her chair. The\nfriends were buried in one grave, and their secret died with them.\n\nIn Wellcombe church, near Morwenstow, against the font in the north\nwall is a door called the \"devil's door,\" opened at baptisms at the\nRenunciation, that the devil, which is then supposed to come out of\nthe child, may be able to get away.\n\nTrecarrel, in East Cornwall, formerly belonged to the Trecarrels,\nthe last of whom built Launceston church. A singular story has been\nhanded down from the sixth century of the birth and death of his\nonly son. His father is described as having been very learned in\nphilosophy, astrology, astronomy, and other sciences; and it is said\nthat, having surveyed the planetary orbs just as his child was about to\nbe brought into the world, he perceived that the time was unfavourable\nto its birth, and foreboded a speedy and accidental death to the\nchild. Overcome with these gloomy ideas he hastened to the house,\nand requested the midwife to delay the birth (if it were possible)\nfor one hour; but nature, conspiring with fate on the downfall of his\nhouse, turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and a son was born, to the\ngreat joy of all present except to him who was the most interested\nin the event. The child, however, grew up in a very promising way,\nuntil a servant-maid, having placed him to stand near a bowl of water\nin order to wash him, chanced to have forgotten the towel, and having\nstepped into another room to procure one, on her return found the\nboy dead, having fallen into the water with his head foremost: and\nin consequence of this unfortunate event the father spent a large\npart of his large property in charitable purposes, and in building\nand repairing churches in the county of Cornwall.--J. C. Gilbert.\n\nA story of a similar nature is related of one of the Arundells,\nof whom it had been foretold \"that he should die in the sands.\" To\nprevent this he left his house of Efford, near Stratton, and took up\nhis abode at Trerice, another of his estates, about three-and-a-half\nmiles from Newquay. But the Earl of Oxford, having surprised and\ntaken St. Michael's Mount, Sir John Arundell, who was then sheriff\nof Cornwall, marched there to besiege and retake it for the king,\nEdward IV. Here his fate overtook him, for in a skirmish on Marazion\nsands he lost his life, and was buried in the chapel at the Mount. A\nfuneral procession goes through Stratton before the death of the\nBathes of Kilkhampton.\n\nBetween Stratton and the village of Marham, about half-a-mile from\nthe former town, in the orchard of Binamy farm-house, is an old\nquadrangular moat, all that remains to show where stood the castle\nof the Blanchminsters, an old family now, I believe, extinct in\nthis neighbourhood. Of one of them, who lived in the reign of Edward\nI. and went with him on a crusade, folk-lore still tells some strange\nbut--through the lapse of time--vague tales. His name was Ranulph de\nBlanchminster, corrupted by the country people into old Blowmanger,\nand it is said that after he had been absent for two or three years\nin the Holy Land, his wife, I suppose thinking that he was dead,\nmarried another baron. On his return he shut himself up alone in his\ncastle, with the drawbridge generally raised to keep off intruders. No\none was with him when he died; but after his death a will was found\nleaving the greater part of his property for the benefit of the poor\nof the parish of Stratton. His effigy may be seen in the church,\nin the habit of a Crusader, grasping a sword, with his feet resting\non the back of a lion. Through his interest Stratton had the charter\nof its market. His spirit haunts Binamy grounds (avoided after dark\nby the superstitious) in the form of a hare, which always starts out\nof the moat and manages to elude the dogs.\n\nOf the doings of the famous Grenvilles of Stow,--Sir Beville, the\nbrave Royalist leader, who lost his life at the battle of Lansdowne in\n1643,--Admiral Sir Richard, immortalized by Tennyson in his ballad\n\"The Revenge,\"--and of his son, Sir John, who served under Sir\nWalter Raleigh and died at sea,--I shall say nothing, these noted\nmen belonging more to history than folk-lore.\n\nUnder the same head, too, may be classed the Cornish female\nWhittington, Thomasine Bonaventure, of St. Mary Wike (now Week\nSt. Mary), who lived in the fourteenth century; the daughter of\na labourer, she herself was a shepherdess. A London merchant, when\ntravelling in Cornwall, lost himself on our moors, and accidentally met\nher with her sheep. He asked of her the way, and was so much struck by\nher good looks and intelligence that he begged her from her parents\nand took her back with him to be a servant to his wife. In her new\nsituation she conducted herself with so much propriety that on his\nwife's death he courted and married her. Soon after he himself died,\nand left her a wealthy widow. Her next marriage was to a much richer\nman, named Henry Gall. Widowed a second time, and again inheriting\nher husband's money, she took for her third and last husband Sir\nJohn Percival, Lord Mayor of London. Him, too, she outlived, and\nafter his death returned to her native village, where she employed\nher great riches in works of charity. Amongst her other good deeds\nshe founded and endowed a chantry there, together with a free school,\nand lodgings for masters, scholars, and officers.\n\nThe Rev. R. S. Hawker, in his book before-quoted, has a legend which\nhe calls \"The first Cornish Mole. A Morality.\" I, however, suspect\nit to be a pure invention of this author; but as it is very pretty,\nI will give the substance of it. Alice of the Coombe was a very\nbeautiful, but proud and vain, damsel; the only child of her widowed\nmother, with whom she dwelt at Morwenstow. It chanced one day that\nthey, with all the neighbouring gentry, had been bidden to a grand\nbanquet at Stow; and, as she had set her love on the great and noble\nSir Beville Grenville, its owner, Alice, to win his affections,\ndressed herself in her richest robe--\"a woven velvet, glossy and\nsoft\"--and put on her fairest jewellery. Her mother, when she saw\nher thus attired, struck by her exceeding grace and beauty, said,\n\"Often shall I pray to-night that the Grenville heart may yield. Aye,\nthy victory shall be my prayer.\" The haughty maiden replied, \"With\nthe eyes I now see in that glass, and with this vesture, meet for a\nqueen, I lack no trusting prayer.\" At this a sudden cry was heard,\nand the damsel disappeared from their sight for ever. Shortly after,\nthe Coombe gardener discovered in the garden a small, unknown hillock,\nand on top of it shone a ring, which was recognized as the one the\nlady wore on the day she vanished. A close examination showed that\nan old Cornish couplet was now traced on it, which the parish priest\ninterpreted to mean--\n\n\n   \"The earth must hide\n    Both eyes with pride.\"\n\n\nAs he uttered these words a low cry was heard at his feet, and there\n\"They beheld, O wondrous and strange! a small dark creature, clothed\nin a soft velvet skin, in texture and in hue like the robe of Lady\nAlice, and they saw as it groped into the earth that it moved along\nwithout eyes in everlasting night.\" \"She, herself had become\n\n\n                             THE FIRST MOLE\n                     OF THE HILLOCKS OF CORNWALL.\"\n\n\nBefore finishing this section of my work I must say a few words about\nthe Islands of Scilly and their legends. The Rev. H. J. Whitfield,\nM.A., in 1852, published a book on this subject, but his legends are\nfor the most part purely fictitious, and its title, Scilly and its\nLegends, a little misleading.\n\nThe Scilly Isles, just off the Land's End, are very numerous,\nbut only five are inhabited; some are mere rocks in the sea, and,\ncounting those, they are said to be a hundred and fifty. The largest is\nSt. Mary's, and the dwellers on it are apt to look with contempt on the\ninhabitants of the other islands (the Off Islands). The word Scilly\nis sometimes derived from Sull\u00e8h, rocks dedicated to the sun, and\nsometimes from Sillyas, a conger. This fish is very plentiful on these\ncoasts, and a ridiculous rhyme says that Scilly fare consists of--\n\n\n   \"Scads and 'tates, scads and 'tates,\n    Scads, and 'tates, and conger,\n    And those who can't eat scads and 'tates--\n    Oh, they must die of hunger.\"\n\n\nOccasionally the saying runs: \"Oh! the Scillonians live on fish and\n'taties every day, and conger-pie for Sundays.\"\n\nIn the beginning of this century, before steam-boats were invented,\nwhen communication between Scilly and Penzance (the mainland) depended\nupon wind and weather, in winter its people were often reduced to\ngreat straits for want of provisions, which gave rise to the proverb,\n\"There is always a feast or a fast in Scilly.\" This is, however, now\nfar from being the truth, and it is one of the most prosperous parts\nof Great Britain; its inhabitants, as a rule, are well educated, they\nare noted for their courteous manners; and for its beautiful scenery\nScilly is well worth a visit. The dialect of its poorer people, as also\nthe tones of their voices (each island has its peculiarity), differ\nfrom those of the same class in West Cornwall. Their pronunciation\nrather resembles the Irish. Thread with them is tread, the th at the\nbeginning of words being rarely sounded, pint is point, and point pint.\n\nIrreverent people declare that when Ireland was made some little bits\nof earth fell from the shovel and formed Scilly. Certain it is that\nwhen St. Patrick drove out all venomous reptiles from the former place\nhe did the same kind service to the latter. The island of St. Agnes\nwas particularly favoured, for until recently there was not a rat on\nit, they were introduced from a wrecked vessel.\n\nSmall as St. Mary's is (about three miles long and nine around)\nit boasts of two capitals; the modern one dates from the time of\nQueen Elizabeth, and is called Hugh Town; before that Old Town was\nthe principal village. At the east of Old Town Bay is Tolman Point\n(a corruption, I suppose, of T\u00f4l M\u00ean, the holed stone). Of it an old\nlegend says when Scilly was under the monks of Tavistock, and Old\nTown the only port of St. Mary's, that they drew a chain from \"Tollman\nhead\" across the entrance, and levied a toll from all who embarked and\nlanded there, not excepting the fishermen. It was abolished by Richard\nPlantagenet, who, coming disguised to the port, was not recognized by\nthe friar in charge, who demanded from him his dues. Upon which Earl\nRichard, in a fit of passion, struck him dead at his feet. According\nto Leland, \"Inniscan longid to Tavestock, and there was a poor celle\nof monkes of Tavestock. Sum caulle this Trescau.\"\n\nThere was a settlement of Benedictine monks here long before the Norman\nConquest; their cell was dedicated to St. Nicholas. St. Nicholas,\nas well as St. Peter, is the patron saint of fishermen; the former\nalso takes school-boys under his protection. Fragments of Tresco\nAbbey which was then founded still exist. It was independent until\nthe reign of Edward I., when it was joined to Tavistock. The same\nmonarch, Edward I., made Ranulph de White Monastery (supposed to be\nRanulph de Blankminster, or Randolph de Blancheminster), according to\nan old archive, constable of these islands, with the castle of Ennor,\nin Old Town, on his \"Paying yearly, at the feast of St. Michael the\nArchangel, 300 birds, called puffins, or 6s. 8d.\" Traces of these\nmonastic visitors are to be found in a pile of rocks at St. Mary's,\ncalled Carn Friars (a farm near by bears the same name), and one of the\nmost highly cultivated and sheltered spots, where a few trees grow,\nis known as Holy Vale. Whitfield places a nunnery there, and says\nHoly Vale takes its name from a miraculous rosebush that grew in it,\nand that \"One of its flowers was deemed to have the power, if worn,\nto preserve its bearer from mortal sin,\" but no other authority\nmentions it.\n\nGiants, of course, frequently played a great part in the history of\nScilly. Buzza's Hill, just beyond Hugh Town (St. Mary's), commemorates\na giant of the name of Bosow, who made his home on its summit (now\ncrowned by a Spanish windmill), and from whom the family of Bosow were\ndescended. One of the finest promontories on the same island is Giant's\nCastle--Troutbeck says, built by the Danes. Here, too, is Giant's\nChair, where the Arch Druid used in former days to sit and watch\nthe sun rise. Druidical remains are scattered all over the different\nislands, and the many \"barrows\" are known as \"giants' graves.\" \"In\nthe old abbey gardens at Tresco is a curious stone, about four feet\nlong, two feet wide, and six inches in thickness, in an upright\nposition. Near the top are two holes, one above the other (one being\nsomewhat larger than the other), through which a man might pass his\nhand. It is supposed to be an old Druidical betrothal or wishing-stone,\nand used before the monks built the abbey at Tresco. Young people,\nengaged to be married, would pass their hands through the holes, and,\njoining them together, would so plight their troth. As a wishing-stone,\nor to break a spell, a ring would be passed through the holes with\nsome incantations.\"--J. C. Tonkin's Guide to the Isles of Scilly.\n\nThe finest headland on St. Mary's is Peninnis, and some of the\nsheltered nooks under its rocks have rather curious names. One\nof them is known as Sleep's Abode (or Parlour), and close by is\nPitt's Parlour, which commands a lovely view; it is so called after\na Mr. Pitt, who, when on a visit to Scilly, spent his summer evenings\nthere with a chosen party of friends. An old lady, a native of Scilly,\nlong since dead, told me that tradition said Mr. Pitt came to Scilly\nin consequence of a bet he made with a gentleman (I believe the then\ngovernor of the islands), who, when in London, spoke in the highest\nterms of the morality of its women, and offered to lay a heavy wager\nthat not a single courtesan could be found there. Mr. Pitt took up\nthe bet, travelled down to Scilly, and for a long time seemed likely\nto lose it; but at last, by a large bribe, he overcame the virtue of\none very poor woman, and, in gratitude, allowed her a small pension\nuntil her death.\n\nAt the foot of Peninnis is Piper's Hole (in which there is a pool\nof fresh water). This is said to be the entrance of a subterranean\npassage leading to the island of Tresco, where another Piper's Hole\nis shown as the exit. Old people told marvellous tales of rash people\nventuring in so far that they never returned, but died in it overcome\nby fatigue--the passage being too narrow for them to turn. Also\nof dogs who disappeared in the hole at St. Mary's, and after many\ndays crept out from the one in Tresco, very emaciated, and almost\nhairless. The Rev. J. W. North, in his Week in the Isles of Scilly,\nhas an interesting account of Piper's Hole at Tresco.\n\nHalf-way down Giant's Castle, the steep carn before mentioned on\nSt. Mary's, lies a very inaccessible cave known as Tom Butt's Bed,\nfrom the fact that a boy of that name hid himself there in Queen\nAnne's time three days and three nights out of sight of the press-gang.\n\nThe wreck of Sir Cloudesley Shovel in 1707, upon Gilston Rock, in Porth\nHellick Bay, near Old Town, is of course a matter of history. Very\nmany traditions have, however, gathered around this sad event, related\nby many authors. I must briefly retell them, as no book of this kind\nwould be complete without them.\n\nThe admiral, accompanied by the whole of his fleet, was returning\nhome from Toulon, after the capture of Gibraltar, in his ship the\nAssociation. When they were off Scilly, on October 22nd, 1707, the\nweather became thick and dirty, and orders were given \"to lie-to.\" This\nwas in the afternoon. Later on, about six, Sir Cloudesley again made\nsail, but two hours after his ship showed signals of distress, which\nwere answered from several of the others. In two minutes she struck on\nthe Gilston Rock, sank immediately, and all on board perished. The\nEagle and the Romney with their crews shared the same fate; the\nFirebrand also was lost, but her captain with most of her men were\nsaved. \"The other men-of-war with difficulty escaped by having timely\nnotice.\" In this storm between fifteen hundred and two thousand people\nwere drowned in one night.\n\nA day or two before this took place, one man, a native of Scilly, is\nsaid to have persistently warned the officer of the watch on board\nthe Association that unless their ship's course was altered she,\nwith all the fleet, would soon be on the Scilly rocks amongst the\nbreakers. These warnings so exasperated the officer that he repeated\nthem to his admiral, and he, vexed that a common sailor should think\nthat he knew better than his superiors how to navigate a vessel,\nsummarily ordered him to be hanged at the yard-arm for inciting the\nothers to insubordination and mutiny. The man before his execution\nbegged, as a great favour, that the chaplain should be allowed to\nread him one of the Psalms. His request was granted, and he chose the\n109th, repeating after the reader in a loud voice all the curses it\ncontains. And with his last breath he prophesied that the admiral, with\nthose who saw him hanged, would find a watery grave. Up to that time\nthe weather had been fair, but as soon as his body had been committed\nto the sea it changed, the wind began to blow, and his shipmates\nwere horrified to see the corpse out of its winding-sheet, face up,\nfollowing in their wake, and even before their vessel struck they\ngave themselves up for lost men. Some say that Sir Cloudesley's body\ncame ashore on a hatch, on which he had endeavoured to save himself,\nwith his favourite little dog dead by his side. Others, that after\nthe wreck it was cast naked on Porth Hellick beach, where it was\ndiscovered by a soldier, who took off his ring which he still wore,\nand buried him in the sands.\n\nAnother account, on the authority of Robert, second Lord Romney, Sir\nCloudesley Shovel's grandson, runs thus:--\"There is one circumstance\nrelating to Sir Cloudesley Shovel's death that is known to very few\npersons, namely, he was not drowned, having got to shore, where,\nby the confession of an ancient woman, he was put to death. This,\nmany years after, when on her death-bed, she revealed to the minister\nof the parish, declaring she could not die in peace until she had\nmade this confession, as she was led to commit this horrid deed for\nthe sake of plunder. She acknowledged having, among other things,\nan emerald ring in her possession, which she had been afraid to sell\nlest it should lead to a discovery. This ring, which she delivered\nto the minister, was by him given to James, Earl of Berkeley, at his\nparticular request, Sir Cloudesley Shovel and himself having lived\non the strictest footing of friendship.\"\n\nIn the place and manner of his burial all traditions agree. Where he\nlay is still pointed out--a bare spot surrounded by green grass. And\nthe Scillonians will tell you that, because he so obstinately refused\nto hear a warning, and wantonly threw away so many lives, God, to\nkeep alive the memory of this great wickedness, permits nothing to\ngrow on his grave.\n\nAnother legend has it that the man who gave the warning escaped death,\nas the storm suddenly arose whilst the Psalm was being read, before\nthe order for his execution could be carried out, and that he was\nthe only person on board the Association who was not drowned.\n\nWhen Lady Cloudesley Shovel heard of the wreck, she asked that a\nsearch might be made for her husband's body. A soldier showed a ring\nwhich he had in his possession, which was immediately recognised as\nSir Cloudesley Shovel's. The body was dug up and identified by the\nmarks of his wounds. The ring was forwarded to his wife, and she, in\ngratitude for the soldier's kindness in giving her husband a decent\nburial, rewarded him with a pension for life. Sir Cloudesley's body\nwas embalmed, first taken to Plymouth by sea, where for some time\nit lay in state, and finally to London, where it was interred in\nWestminster Abbey.\n\nThe abbey at Tresco, formerly under the jurisdiction of the monks\nof St. Nicholas [15] at Tavistock, has been already mentioned. The\nabbey house, built on its site, is the seat of Mr. Dorrien Smith (the\nProprietor, as the Scillonians call him). The gardens that surround it\nare very beautiful, and famed for the tropical plants that here grow\nout of doors. There is an anecdote related of one of the inhabitants\nof Tresco, who, when asked what they did for firewood in a spot where\nno trees grew, answered, \"We kindle our fires from the loppings of\nour geranium hedges.\" Tresco, like St. Levan, at the Land's End,\nwas in bygone days the favourite haunt of witches. A poor man there\nwalking out at nightfall had the misfortune to meet with a party of\nthem taking a moonlight ride on their broomsticks. A relation of his\nwas one of the number, and she warned him, in a stentorian voice,\nthat if he ever mentioned what he had accidentally seen, he should\nbear the marks of their wrath until his dying day. For a long time\nthe secret weighed heavily upon him, and at last he could not refrain\nfrom telling his wife. The witches, in revenge, turned his black hair\nwhite in a single night.\n\nThe Rev. H. G. Whitfield, in his Legends of Scilly, gives some\nmarvellous tales of the family of \"Dick the Wicked.\" They were\nall hardened wreckers, who generations ago lived on this island,\nand who also had the gift of second sight. Dick himself, according\nto this writer, when ill and unrepentant, was, by Satanic agency,\ntaken out of his bed and borne, wrapt in a long loose coat, which\nhe was in the habit of wearing, some considerable distance from his\nhouse. Here his friends discovered him on the following morning.\n\nOn this island stands Cromwell's castle, built during his\nProtectorate. Old people thought that he in person visited it. The\nlarge china tankard, out of which he was said to have drunk his\nbreakfast-beer, still exists. On a hill above are the ruins of\nCharles's castle. Scilly always remained loyal and true to the\nunfortunate monarch, and this verse of a ballad told me by a Scillonian\nwas not written of one of them:\n\n\n   \"In Cromwell's days I was for him,\n    But now, my boys, I'm for the king;\n    For I can turn, boys, with the tide,\n    And wear my coat on the strongest side.\"\n\n\nSt. Warna, who presided over wrecks, was the patron saint of St. Agnes,\nanother of the principal islands. She crossed over here from Ireland\nin a wicker-boat covered with hides, and landed at St. Warna's\nbay. Like many other saints she had her holy-well; and often the\nsuperstitious inhabitants of St. Agnes (five families in all),\nwho enjoyed the reputation of being the most daring and unscrupulous\namongst the Scilly wreckers of those days, threw crooked pins into it,\nand daily invoked and prayed her to send them \"a rich wreck.\" There\nwas no church on it then, and its people rarely visited the other\nislands. But it chanced one fine morning the entire population started\nin their boats for the church of Ennor, in St. Mary Old Town, as two of\nthem wished to be married. After the ceremony was over the clergyman\nin the presence of most of his parishioners, who had assembled to\nwitness it (between whom and the men of St. Agnes there was always\na bitter feud), rebuked them for their lawless deeds. They, angry at\nbeing put to shame before their enemies, answered with many profane\nand mocking words, and were with difficulty restrained from coming to\nblows. So incensed were they that they took no notice of the signs\nwhich heralded a coming storm, and hastily got on board their boats\nto return to their own home, which none of them were ever destined\nto reach, as it broke with great fury when they were about half-way\nacross. When close to land and the rowers were straining every nerve\nto get there, one wave larger than the rest broke over them, and every\nsoul found a watery grave. This was of course said to be a judgment\non them for their wicked ways. (Leland briefly chronicles it.) From\nthat time St. Warna's well was neglected; there was no one left the\nday after twelfth-day, as had been the custom, to clean it out and\nreturn her thanks for her bounty: it gradually got filled with stones,\nand at the present day is little more than a hole.\n\nThere is a curious labyrinth on this island called \"Troy-town,\" which\nit is popularly supposed to represent; but all intricate places in\nCornwall are so denominated, and I have even heard nurses say to\nchildren when they were surrounded by a litter of toys that they\nlooked as if they were in Troy-town.\n\nA peculiar mode of punishment was formerly practised in Scilly. The\noffenders were placed in a chair called a \"ducking chair,\" and publicly\nat St. Mary's quay-head \"ducked\" in the salt water.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFAIRIES.\n\n\nThe fairies of Cornwall may be divided into four classes, the Small\nPeople, the Pixies (pronounced Piskies or or Pisgies), the Spriggans,\nand the Knockers. The first are harmless elfish little beings known\nall over England, whose revels on fine summer nights have often been\ndescribed by those favoured individuals who have accidentally had\nthe privilege of seeing them. As a rule they, however, wish to think\nthemselves invisible, and in this county it is considered unlucky to\ncall them by the name of fairies. The stories told about them by our\nold folk differed but slightly from those related elsewhere. There\nwas the well-known cow that gave the finest yield of milk, and\nretained it all the year round when others of the herd ran dry, but\nalways ceased the flow at a certain time, and if efforts were made to\ndraw more from her, kicked over the the milking-pail. The milkmaid\ndiscovered that the cow belonged to the small people, by reason of\nher wearing in her hat a bunch of flowers having in it a four-leaved\nclover, which rendered them visible, when she saw them climbing up\nthe cow's legs and sucking at her teats. The greedy mistress, when\nthe maid told her of this discovery, contrary to advice, washed the\npoor animal all over with salt water, which fairies particularly\ndislike (as well as the smell of fish and grease), in order to\ndrive them away. Of course she succeeded in her object, and by so\ndoing brought nothing but ill-luck for ever after on herself and\nfamily. When unmolested, fairies bring good fortune to places they\nfrequent; but they are spiteful if interfered with, and delight in\nvexing and thwarting people who meddle with them. It is well known\n\"that they can't abear those whom they can't abide.\" Then there were\nthe tales of persons spirited away to fairyland, to wait upon the\nsmall people's children and perform various little domestic offices,\nwhere the time has passed so pleasantly that they have forgotten all\nabout their homes and relations, until by doing a forbidden thing they\nhave incurred their master's anger. They were then punished by being\nthrown into a deep sleep, and on awakening found themselves on some\nmoor close to their native villages. These unhappy creatures never,\nafter their return, settled down to work, but roamed about aimlessly\ndoing nothing, hoping and longing one day to be allowed to go back\nto the place from whence they had been banished. They had first put\nthemselves into the fairies' power by eating or drinking something\non the sly, when they had surprised them at one of their moonlight\nfrolics; or by accepting a gift of fruit from the hands of one of\nthese little beings. There are also two or three legends of curious\nwomen, who by underhand dealings have got hold of a mysterious box of\ngreen ointment belonging to the fairies, which, rubbed on the eyes,\ngave them the power of seeing them by daylight, when they look old,\nwithered, and grey, and hate to be spied upon by mortals. These women\nare always interrupted when they have put the ointment on one eye\nbefore they have time to anoint both, and by an inadvertent speech\nthey invariably betray their ill-gotten knowledge. They cannot resist\nmaking an exclamation when they see a fairy pilfering or up to some\nmischievous trick. Neither can they keep the secret of the side on\nwhich they see, and they are quickly made to pay the penalty of their\nmisdeeds by a well-directed blow from the elf's fist, which deprives\nthem of the sight of that eye for ever. All these old wives' tales\nare fully related by Mr. Bottrell in his three series of Traditions,\n&c., of West Cornwall.\n\nFairies haunt the ancient monuments of this county, and are supposed\nto be the beings who bring ill-luck on the destroyers of them. \"Not\nlong ago a woman of Moushal (a village near Penzance) told me that\ntroops of small people, not more than a foot-and-a-half high, used,\non moonlight nights, to come out of a hole in the cliff, opening on\nto the beach, Newlyn side of the village, and but a short distance\nfrom it. The little people were always dressed very smart, and if\nanyone came near them would scamper away into the hole. Mothers often\ntold their children that if they went under cliffs by night the small\npeople would carry them away into 'Dicky Danjy's hole.'\"--Bottrell.\n\nThese small people are said to have been half-witted people who had\ncommitted no mortal sin, but who, when they died, were not good\nenough to go to Heaven. They are always thought, in some state,\nto have lived before.\n\nThe small people go about in parties, but pisky in his habits, at\nleast in West Cornwall, is a solitary little being. I gather however,\nfrom Mr. T. Q. Couch's History of Polperro that in the eastern part\nof the county the name of Pisky is applied indiscriminately to both\ntribes. He says two only of them are known by name, and quotes the\nfollowing rhyme:\n\n\n   \"Jack o' the lantern! Joan the wad,\n    Who tickled the maid and made her mad;\n    Light me home, the weather's bad.\"\n\n\nHere in the west he is a ragged merry little fellow (to laugh like\na pisky is a common Cornish simile), interesting himself in human\naffairs, threshing the farmer's corn at nights, or doing other\nwork, and pinching the maidservants when they leave a house dirty at\nbed-time. Margery Daw, in our version of the nursery-song, meets with\npunishment at his hands for her misdoings--\n\n\n   \"See saw, Margery Daw,\n    Sold her bed and lay upon straw;\n    Sold her bed and lay upon hay,\n    And pisky came and carried her away.\n    For wasn't she a dirty slut\n    To sell her bed and lie in the dirt?\"\n\n\nShould the happy possessor of one of these industrious, unpaid fairy\nservants (who never object to taking food left for them by friends)\nexpress his thanks aloud, thus showing that he sees him, or try to\nreward him for his services by giving him a new suit of clothes,\nhe leaves the house never to return, and in the latter case may be\nheard to say:\n\n\n   \"Pisky fine, pisky gay!\n    Pisky now will fly away.\"\n\n\nOr in another version:\n\n\n   \"Pisky new coat, and pisky new hood,\n    Pisky now will do no more good.\"--(T.Q.C.)\n\n\nMr. Cornish, the Town Clerk of Penzance, mentioned at an antiquarian\nmeeting recently held in that town, \"that there was a brownie still\nexisting in it; that a gentleman, whose opinion he would take on many\nmatters, had told him that he had often seen it sitting quietly by\nthe fireside.\" When mischievously inclined pisky often leads benighted\npeople a sad dance; like Will of the Wisp, he takes them over hedges\nand ditches, and sometimes round and round the same field, from which\nthey in vain try to find their way home (although they can always see\nthe path close at hand), until they sit down and turn their stockings\nthe wrong side out, as an old lady, born in the last century, whom I\nwell knew, once told me she had done. To turn a pocket inside out has\nthe same effect. But to quote the words of a late witty Cornish doctor,\n\"Pisky led is often whiskey led.\"\n\nMr. T. Q. Couch in his before-mentioned book has two or three amusing\nstories of their merry pranks. One is called \"A Voyage with the\nPiskies.\" A Polperro lad meeting them one night as he was going\non an errand heard them say in chorus, \"I'm for Portallow Green\"\n(a place in the neighbourhood). Repeating the cry after them,\n\"quick as thought he found himself there surrounded by a throng\nof laughing piskies.\" The next place they visited was Seaton Beach,\nbetween Polperro and Plymouth; the third and last cry was \"I'm for the\nKing of France's cellar.\" Again he decided on joining them, dropped the\nbundle he was carrying on the sands, and \"immediately found himself in\na spacious cellar, engaged with his mysterious companions in tasting\nthe richest wines.\" Afterwards they strolled through the palace, where\nin a room he saw all the preparations made for a feast, and could not\nresist the temptation of pocketing one of the rich silver goblets from\nthe table. The signal for their return was soon given, and once more\nhe found himself on Seaton Beach, where he had just time to pick up\nhis bundle before he was whisked home. All these voyages were made\nin the short space of five minutes. When on his return he told his\nadventures they were listened to with incredulity until he produced the\ngoblet, which proved the truth of his tale. After having been kept for\ngenerations this trophy has disappeared. \"These little creatures seem\nsometimes,\" Mr. Couch says, \"to have delighted in mischief for its own\nsake. Old Robin Hicks, who formerly lived in a house at 'Quay Head'\n(Polperro), has more than once, on stormy winter nights, been alarmed\nat his supper by a voice sharp and shrill--'Robin! Robin! your boat\nis adrift.' Loud was the laughter and the tacking of hands (clapping)\nwhen they succeeded in luring Robin as far as the quay, where the\nboat was lying safely at its moorings.\"\n\nAnother of his legends is about a fisherman of his district, John\nTaprail, long since dead, who was, on a frosty night, aroused\nfrom his sleep by a voice which called to him that his boat was\nin danger. He went down to the beach to find that some person had\nplayed a practical joke on him. As he was returning he saw a group\nof piskies sitting in a semicircle under a much larger boat belonging\nto one of his neighbours. They were dividing a heap of money between\nthem by throwing a piece of gold alternately into each of the hats\nwhich lay before them. John was covetous, and forgot that piskies\nhate to be spied upon; so he crept up and pushed his hat slily in\nwith the others. When the pile was getting low he tried to get off\nwith his booty without their detecting the fraud. He had got some\ndistance before the cheat was discovered; then they pursued him in\nsuch hot haste that he only escaped with his treasure by leaving his\ncoat-tails in their hands. \"The pisky's midwife\" is common,--a mortal\nwho has been decoyed into fairyland discovers it by accidentally\nrubbing her eye with a bit of soap whilst washing the baby. Like\nthose who have stolen and applied the green ointment, she loses\nthe sight of it by a blow from an angry pisky's fist. She meets and\nrecognizes the father at a fair where, as usual, he is pilfering,\nand foolishly asks after the welfare of mother and child. But all\nthese stories in West Cornwall would be told of the \"small people,\"\nas well as the well-known \"Colman Grey\" (of course the name varies),\nwhich relates how a farmer one day found a poor, half-starved looking\nbantling, sitting alone in the middle of a field, whom he took home\nand fed until he grew quite strong and lively. A short time after a\nshrill voice was suddenly heard calling thrice upon \"Colman Grey.\" Upon\nwhich the imp cried \"Ho! ho! ho! my daddy is come!\" flew through the\nkeyhole, and was never heard of after. Unbaptised children were, in\nthis county at the beginning of the century, said to turn, when they\ndied, into piskies; they gradually went through many transformations\nat each change, getting smaller until at last they became \"Meryons\"\n[16] (ants) and finally disappeared. Another tradition is that they\nwere Druids, who, because they would not believe in Christ, were for\ntheir sins condemned to change first into piskies; gradually getting\nsmaller, they too, as ants, at last are lost. It is on account of\nthese legends considered unlucky to destroy an ant's nest, and a\npiece of tin put into one could, in bygone days, through pisky power\nbe transmuted into silver, provided that it was inserted at some\nvarying lucky moment about the time of the new moon.\n\nMoths were formerly believed in Cornwall to be departed souls, and\nare still, in some districts, called piskies.\n\nThere is also a green bug which infests bramble-bushes in the late\nautumn that bears the same name, and one of the reasons assigned for\nblackberries not being good after Michaelmas is that pisky spoils them\nthen. Pisky is in some places invoked for luck at the swarming of bees.\n\nIt was once a common custom in East Cornwall, when houses were built,\nto leave holes in the walls by which these little beings could enter;\nto stop them up would drive away good luck. And in West Cornwall\nknobs of lead, known as pisky's paws or pisky feet, were placed at\nintervals on the roofs of farm-houses to prevent the piskies from\ndancing on them and turning the milk sour in the dairies.\n\nCountry people in East Cornwall sometimes put a prayer book under a\nchild's pillow as a charm to keep away piskies. I am told that a poor\nwoman, near Launceston, was fully persuaded that one of her children\nwas taken away and a pisky substituted, the disaster being caused\nby the absence of a prayer book on one particular night.--H. G. T.,\nNotes and Queries, December, 1850.\n\nSmall round stones, known as \"Pisky Grinding Stones,\" are occasionally\nfound in Cornwall; they are most probably parts of old spindles.\n\nIf piskies are kind and helpful little beings, spriggans or sprites\nare spiteful creatures, never doing a good turn for anyone. It is\nthey who carry off poor babies from their mothers, when they have\nbeen obliged to leave them for a few hours alone, putting their own\nugly, peevish brats in their cradles, who never thrive under the\nfoster-mother's care, in spite of all the trouble they may bestow\nupon them. Mr. Bottrell tells the story of a spriggan, a married\nman with a family, who took the place of a poor woman's child one\nevening when she was at work in the harvest field. For although an\ninnocent baby held in the arms is thought in Cornwall to protect\nthe holder from mischief caused by ghosts and witches, it has no\npower over these creatures, who are not supposed to have souls. The\nscene of this legend was under Chapel Carn Brea, on the old road from\nPenzance to St. Just in Penwith. The mother, Jenny Trayer by name,\nwas first alarmed on her return one night from her work in the harvest\nfield by not finding her child in its cradle, but in a corner of the\nkitchen where in olden days the wood and furze for the then general\nopen fires were kept. She was however too tired to take much notice,\nand went to bed, and slept soundly until the morning. From that time\nforth she had no peace; the child was never satisfied but when eating\nor drinking, or when she had it dandling in her arms. The poor woman\nconsulted her neighbours in turn as to what she should do with the\nchangeling (as one and all agreed that it was). One recommended her\nto dip it on the three first Wednesdays in May in Chapel Uny Well,\n[17] which advice was twice faithfully carried out in the prescribed\nmanner. The third Wednesday was very wet and windy, but Jenny\ndetermined to persevere in this treatment of her ugly bantling,\nand holding the brat (who seemed to enjoy the storm) firmly on her\nshoulders, she trudged off. When they got about half-way, a shrill\nvoice from behind some rocks was heard to say,\n\n\n   \"Tredrill! Tredrill!\n    Thy wife and children greet thee well.\"\n\n\nNot seeing anyone, the woman was of course alarmed, and her fright\nincreased when the imp made answer in a similar voice,\n\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\n\nAfter this adventure, she took the advice of another neighbour, who\ntold her the best way to get rid of the spriggan and have her own\nchild returned was \"to put the small body upon the ashes' pile, and\nbeat it well with a broom; then lay it naked under a church stile;\nthere leave it and keep out of sight and hearing till the turn of\nnight; when nine times out of ten the thing will be taken away and\nthe stolen child returned.\" This was finally done; all the women of\nthe village after it had been put upon a convenient pile \"belabouring\nit with their brooms,\" upon which it naturally set up a frightful\nroar. After dark it was laid under the stile, and there next morning\nthe woman \"found her own 'dear cheeld' sleeping on some dry straw,\"\nmost beautifully clean and wrapped in a piece of chintz. \"Jenny nursed\nher recovered child with great care, but there was always something\nqueer about it, as there always is about one that has been in the\nfairies' power--if only for a few days.\"\n\nThere are many other tales of changelings, but they resemble each other\nso much that they are not worth relating. In the one before quoted from\nMr. Bottrell he gives a third charm for getting a child restored, as\nfollows: \"Make by night a smoky fire, with green ferns and dry. When\nthe chimney and house are full of smoke as one can bear, throw the\nchangeling on the hearthstone; go out of the house, turn three times\nround; when one enters, the right child will be restored.\" Spriggans,\ntoo, guard the vast treasures that are supposed to be buried beneath\nour immense carns and in our cliff castles. No matter if the work\nbe carried on by night or by day, they are sure to punish the rash\nperson who ventures to dig in hopes of securing them. When he has\ngot some way down, he finds himself surrounded by hundreds of ugly\nbeings, in some cases almost as tall as he, who scare the unhappy\nman until he loses all control over himself, throws down his tools,\nand rushes off as fast as he can possibly go. The fright often makes\nhim so ill that he has to lie for days in bed. Should he ever summon\nup courage to return to the spot, he will find the pit refilled,\nand no traces to show that the ground had been disturbed.\n\nKnockers (pronounced knackers) are mine fairies, popularly supposed to\nbe (as related elsewhere) the souls of the Jews who crucified Christ,\nsent by the Romans to work as slaves in the tin mines. In proof of\nthis, they are said never to have been heard at work on Saturdays, nor\nother Jewish festivals. They are compelled to sing carols at Christmas\ntime. Small pieces of smelted tin found in old smelting-works are\nknown as \"Jews' bowels.\" These fairies haunt none but the richest tin\nmines, and many are reputed to have been discovered by their singing\nand knocking underground; and miners think when they hear them that\nit is a sign of good luck, because when following their noises they\noften chance on lodes of good ore. When a miner goes into an \"old\nlevel\" and sees a bright light, it is a sure sign that he will find\ntin there. Knockers like spriggans are very ugly beings, and, if you\ndo not treat them in a friendly spirit, very vindictive. \"As stiff as\nBarker's knee\" is a common saying in Cornwall; he having in some way\nangered the knockers, either by speaking of them disrespectfully or\nby not leaving (as was formerly the custom) a bit of his dinner on the\nground for them (for good luck), they in revenge threw all their tools\nin his lap, which lamed him for the rest of his life. Mr. Bottrell\ntells a similar story of a man named Tom Trevorrow, who when he was\nworking underground heard the knockers just before him, and roughly\ntold them \"to be quiet and go.\" Upon which, a shower of stones fell\nsuddenly around him, and gave him a dreadful fright. He seems however\nto have quickly got over it, and soon after, when eating his dinner,\na number of squeaking voices sang,\n\n\n   \"Tom Trevorrow! Tom Trevorrow!\n    Leave some of thy 'fuggan' [18] for bucca,\n    Or bad luck to thee to-morrow!\"\n\n\nBut Tom took no notice and ate up every crumb, upon which the knockers\nchanged their song to\n\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' [19] for bucca.\"\n\n\nAfter this such persistent ill-luck followed him that he was obliged\nto leave the mine.\n\nBucca is the name of a spirit that in Cornwall it was once thought\nnecessary to propitiate. Fishermen left a fish on the sands for bucca,\nand in the harvest a piece of bread at lunch-time was thrown over the\nleft shoulder, and a few drops of beer spilled on the ground for him,\nto ensure good luck. Bucca, or bucca-boo, was, until very lately\n(and I expect in some places still is) the terror of children, who\nwere often when crying told \"that if they did not stop he would come\nand carry them off.\" It was also the name of a ghost; but now-a-days\nto call a person a \"great bucca\" simply implies that you think him\na fool. There were two buccas--\n\n\n  \"'Bucca Gwidden,' the white, or good spirit,\n   'Bucca Dhu,' the black, malevolent one.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSUPERSTITIONS:\n\nMINERS', SAILORS', FARMERS'.\n\n\nAlthough Cornish miners, or \"tinners\" as they are generally called,\nare a very intelligent, and since the days of Wesley a religious body\nof men, many of their old-world beliefs still linger. To this day it is\nconsidered unlucky to make the form of a cross on the sides of a mine,\nand when underground you may on no account whistle for fear of vexing\nthe knockers and bringing ill-luck, but you may sing or even swear\n[20] without producing any bad effect. Down one mine-shaft a black\ngoat is often seen to descend, but is never met below; in another\nmine a white rabbit forebodes an accident.\n\n\"The occurrence of a black cat in the lowest depths of a mine will warn\nthe older miners off that level until the cat is exterminated.\"--Thomas\nCornish, Western Antiquary, October, 1887.\n\nA hand clasping the ladder and coming down with, or after a miner,\nforetells misfortune or death. This superstition prevails, also,\nin the slate quarries of the eastern part of the county.\n\nThe miners in the slate quarries of Delabole have a tradition that\nthe right hand of a miner, who committed suicide, is sometimes seen\nfollowing them down the ladders, grasping the rings as they let\nthem go, holding a miner's light between the thumb and finger. It\nforebodes ill to the seer.--Esm\u00e8 Stuart. See \"Tamsin's Choice,\"\nLongman, June, 1883.\n\nMiners, too, had some superstition in regard to snails, known in\nCornwall as \"bullhorns;\" for if they met one on their way to work\nthey always dropped a bit of their dinner or some grease from their\nlanthorn before him for good-luck.\n\nMiraculous dreams are related; warnings to some miners, which have\nprevented on particular days their going down below with their\ncomrades, when serious accidents have happened and several have\nlost their lives. Rich lodes, too, have been discovered through the\ndreams of fortunate women, who have been shown in them where their\nmale relatives should dig for the hidden treasure.\n\n\"'Dowsing' (divining with the rod) is of course believed in here as\nelsewhere, and some men are known as noted 'dowsers.' A forked twig\nof hazel (also called a 'dowser') is used by our Cornish miners to\ndiscover a vein of ore; it is held loosely in the hand, the point\ntowards the 'dowser's' breast, and it is said to turn round when the\nholder is standing over metal.\"\n\nMiners still observe some quaint old customs; a horse-shoe is sometimes\nplaced on a convenient part of the machinery, which each, as he goes\ndown to his day's work, touches four times to ensure good-luck. These\nmust be \"Tributers\" (pronounced trib-ut-ers), who work on \"trib-ut,\"\nwhen a percentage is paid on ores raised; in contradistinction to\n\"Tut-workers,\" who are paid by the job.\n\nA miner, going underground with shoes on, will drive all the mineral\nout of the mine.--Cornubiana, Rev. S. Rundle.\n\nIn 1886, at St. Just in Penwith two men of Wheal Drea had their hats\nburnt one Monday morning, after the birth of their first children.\n\nThree hundred fathoms below the ground at Cook's Kitchen mine, near\nCamborne, swarms of flies may be heard buzzing, called by the men,\nfor some unknown reason, \"Mother Margarets.\" From being bred in the\ndark, they have a great dislike to light.\n\nSwallows in olden times were thought to spend the winter in deep,\nold disused Cornish tin-works; also in the sheltered nooks of its\ncliffs and cairns. It is the custom here to jump on seeing the first\nin spring.\n\nA water-wagtail, in Cornwall a \"tinner,\" perching on a window-sill,\nis the sign of a visit from a stranger.\n\nCarew says--\"The Cornish tynners hold a strong imagination, that in\nthe withdrawing of Noah's floud to the sea the same took his course\nfrom east to west, violently breaking vp, and forcibly carrying with\nit the earth, trees, and rocks, which lay anything loosely neere the\nvpper face of the ground. To confirme the likelihood of which supposed\ntruth, they doe many times digge vp whole and huge timber-trees, which\nthey conceiue at that deluge to haue been ouerturned and whelmed.\"\n\nMiners frequently in conversation make use of technical proverbs,\nsuch as \"Capel rides a good horse.\" Capel is schorl, and indicates\nthe presence of tin. \"It's a wise man that knows tin\" alludes to the\nvarious forms it takes. To an old tune they sing the words--\n\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\nAnd on the signboard of a public-house in West Cornwall a few years\nago (and probably still) might be read--\n\n\n   \"Come all good Cornish boys [21] walk in,\n    Here's brandy, rum, and shrub, and gin;\n    You can't do less than drink success\n    To copper, fish, and tin.\"\n\n\nMiners believe that mundic (iron pyrites) being applied to a wound\nimmediately cures it; of which they are so sure that they use no\nother remedy than washing it in the water that runs through the mundic\nore.--A Complete History of Cornwall, 1730.\n\nIt is an easy transition from mines to fish, the next staple\nindustry of Cornwall, and to the superstitions of its fishermen and\nsailors. Fish is a word in West Cornwall applied more particularly\nto pilchards (pelchurs). They frequent our coasts in autumn.\n\n\n   \"When the corn is in the shock,\n    Then the fish are on the rock.\"\n\n\nAnd if on a close foggy day in that season you ask the question,--\"Do\nyou think it will rain?\" the answer often is--\"No! it is only het\n(heat) and pelchurs,\" that sort of weather being favourable for\ncatching them.\n\n\"A good year for fleas is a good year for fish,\" the proverb says;\nand when eating a pilchard the flesh must be always taken off the bone\nfrom the tail to the head. To eat them from head to tail is unlucky,\nand would soon drive the fish from the shore. There are many other\nwise sayings about pilchards; but I will only give one more couplet,\nwhich declares that--\n\n\n   \"They are food, money, and light,\n    All in one night.\" [22]\n\n\nShould pilchards when in bulk [23] make a squeaking noise, they are\ncrying for more, and another shoal will quickly be in the bay.\n\nFishermen dread going near the spot where vessels have been wrecked,\nas the voices of the drowned often call to them there, especially\nbefore a storm. Sometimes their dead comrades call them by their\nnames, and then they know for certain that they will soon die; and\noften when drowning the ghosts of their friends appear to them. They\nare seen by them sometimes taking the form of animals.\n\nMr. Bottrell speaks of a farmer's wife who was warned of her son's\ndeath by the milk in the pans ranged round her dairy being agitated\nlike the sea waves in a storm. There is a legend common to many\ndistricts of a wrecker who rushed into the sea and perished, after\na voice had been heard to call thrice, \"The hour is come, but not\nthe man.\" He was carried off by the devil in a phantom ship seen in\nthe offing. But ships haunted with seamen's ghosts are rarely lost,\nas the spirits give the sailors warning of storms and other dangers.\n\nIn a churchyard near the Land's End is the grave of a drowned captain,\ncovered by a flat tombstone; proceeding from it formerly the sound of a\nghostly bell was often heard to strike four and eight bells. The tale\ngoes that when his vessel struck on some rocks close to the shore,\nthe captain saw all his men safely off in their boat, but refused\nhimself to leave the ship, and went down in her exactly at midnight,\nas he was striking the time. His body was recovered, and given decent\nburial, but his poor soul had no rest. An unbelieving sailor once\nwent out of curiosity to try if he could hear this bell; he did,\nand soon after sailed on a voyage from which he never returned.\n\nSpectre ships are seen before wrecks; they are generally shrouded in\nmist; but the crew of one was said to consist of two men, a woman,\nand a dog. These ships vanish at some well-known point. Jack Harry's\nlights, too, herald a storm; they are so called from the man who\nfirst saw them. These appear on a phantom vessel resembling the one\nthat will be lost.\n\nOn boarding a derelict, should a live cat or other animal be found, it\nis thrown into the sea and drowned, under the idea that if any living\nthing is in her, the finders can claim nothing from the owners. In\nfact she is not a derelict.\n\nThe apparition of a lady carrying a lanthorn always on one part of the\nCornish coast [24] foretells a storm and shipwrecks. She is supposed\nto be searching for her child who was drowned, whilst she was saved,\nbecause she was afraid to trust it out of her arms. For the legends\nof \"The Lady of the Vow\" and \"The Hooper or Hooter of Sennen Cove,\"\nsee ante, p. 71. [25] Mermaids are still believed in, and it is very\nbad to offend them, for by their spite harbours have been filled up\nwith sand. They, however, kindly take idiot children under their\nprotection. The lucky finder of one of their combs or glasses has\nthe power (as long as it remains in his possession) of charming\naway diseases.\n\nBoats are said to come to a sudden standstill when over the spot where\nlies the body of a drowned man, for whom search is being made. The\nbody is supposed to rise when drowned, on the seventh, eighth,\nor ninth day. Sailors regard many things as bad omens, such \"as a\nloaf of bread turned upside-down on a table.\" (This will bring some\nship to distress.) They will not begin a voyage on Childermas-day,\nnor allow a piece of spar-stone (quartz) to be carried on board a\nvessel: that would ensure her striking on a rock. Of course, they\nneither whistle when there, nor speak of hares, two most unlucky\nthings; and should they meet one of these animals on their way to\nthe place of embarkation they think it far wiser to turn back home,\nand put off sailing for a tide. Hares (as already noticed) play\na great part in Cornish folk-lore. The following amusing story I\nhad from a friend:--\"Jimmy Treglown, a noted poacher living in a\nvillage of West Cornwall, became converted at a revival meeting;\nhe was tempted on his way to class-meeting one Sunday morning soon\nafter by the devil in the form of a beautiful hare. Jimmy said,\n'There thee art, my dear; but I waan't tooch thee on a Sunday--nor\nyet on a weeky day, for that matter.' He went briskly on his way for\na few paces, and then, like Lot's wife, he was tempted to look behind\nhim. Alas! in Jimmy's own words, 'There she was in her seat, looking\nlovely. I tooked up a stone, and dabbed at her. Away she runned,\nand fare-ee well, religion. Mine runned away with her. I went home,\nand never went to class no more. [26] You see it was the devil, and\n'simmen to me' (seeming) I heard 'un laugh and say, 'Ah! ah! Jimmy,\nboy, I had thee on the hip then. Thee must confess thee'st had a fair\nfall.' So I gave in, and never went nigh the 'people' (Wesleyans)\nno more. Nobody should fire at hares of this sort, except with a\nsilver bullet; they often appear as white, but the devil knowed I\ncouldn't be fooled with a white 'un.'\" Nothing is too ridiculous\nto be told of hares. Another old man from St. Just (still living)\nonce recited this anecdote in our kitchen, and from his grave manner\nevidently expected it to be believed:--\"I was out walking (he said)\none Sunday morning, when I saw a hare in a field which I longed to\nhave; so I shied a bit of 'codgy wax' (cobbler's wax), the only thing\nI had in my pocket, at 'un, when he ran away. What was my surprise\non getting over a stile to see two hares in the next field face to\nface, the 'codgy wax' had stuck to the nose of the first, and he in\nhis fright had runned against the other, and was holden 'un fast,\ntoo. So I quietly broke the necks of both, and carried em home.\"\n\n\"The grapes are sour\" is in Cornwall often changed to \"Lev-un go! he's\ndry eaten after all,\" as the old man said when he couldn't catch\nthe hare.\n\nSailors and fishermen have naturally many weather proverbs, of which\nI will give a few:--\n\n\"A north wind is a broom for the Channel.\"\n\n\"A Saturday's moon is a sailor's curse.\"\n\n\"A Saturday's and Sunday's moon Comes once in seven years too soon.\"\n\n\"Between twelve and two you'll see what the day will do.\"\n\n\"A southerly wind with a fog bring an easterly wind in 'snog'\n(with certainty).\"\n\n\"Friday's noon is Sunday's doom.\"\n\n\"Friday and the week are never alike.\"\n\n\"There's never a Saturday in the year But what the sun it doth\nappear,\" etc.\n\n\"Weather dogs\" are pillars of light coloured like the rainbow, which\nappear on the horizon generally over the sea in unsettled weather,\nand always foretell storms. The inland dwellers of Cornwall have also\ntheir wise sayings on this subject. Rooks darting around a rookery,\nsparrows twittering, donkeys braying, are signs of rain. Cats running\nwildly about a house are said to bring storms on their tails. Some of\ntheir omens are simply ludicrous, such as \"We may look for wet when a\ncat, in washing its face, puts its paw over its ear,\" or when \"hurlers\"\n(small sparks) play about the bars of a grate. A cock crowing on a\nstone is a sign of fine weather; on the doorstep, of a stranger. But\nhere it is well known \"That fools are weather-wise,\" and \"That those\nthat are weather-wise are rarely otherwise.\"\n\nIn West Cornwall, not very long ago farmers, before they began to\nbreak up a grass field or plough for sowing, always turned the faces\nof the cattle attached to the plough towards the west and solemnly\nsaid, \"In the name of God let us begin,\" and then with the sun's\ncourse proceeded on their work. Everything in this county, even\ndown to such a small thing as taking the cream off the milk-pans set\nround the dairy, must for luck be done from left to right. Invalids,\non going out for the first time after an illness, must walk with,\nnot against, the sun, for fear of a relapse.\n\nFarmers here are taught that if they wish to thrive they must \"rise\nwith the craw (crow), go to bed with the yow (ewe),\" not be \"like\nSolomon the wise, who was loth to go to bed and loth to rise,\" for\ndoes not \"the master's eye make the mare fat?\" \"A February spring,\"\naccording to one proverb, \"is not worth a pin,\" and another says \"a dry\neast wind raises the spring.\" Sayings current in other counties, such\nas \"a peck of March dust is worth a king's ransom,\" are also quoted,\nbut those I shall not give. There should be as many frosty mornings in\nMay as in March, for \"a hot May makes a fat church-hay.\" A wet June\nmakes a dry September. \"Cornwall will stand a shower every day, and\ntwo for Sundays.\" There is always a black month before Christmas. The\nfarmer too is told--\n\n\n   \"A rainbow in the morn, put your hook in the corn;\n    A rainbow in the eve, put your hook in the sheave.\"\n\n\nIn Cornwall, as well as in Devon, there is an old prophecy quoted\nto the effect, that \"in the latter days there will be no difference\nbetween summer and winter, save in the length of the days and the\ngreenness of the leaf.\" It is erroneously asserted to be in the\nBible.--Cornubiana, Rev. S. Rundle, Transactions Penzance Natural\nHistory Society, etc., 1885-1886.\n\n\"Countrymen in Cornwall, if the breeze fail whilst they are winnowing,\nwhistle to the spriggan, or air spirit, to bring it back.\"--Comparative\nFolk-lore, Cornhill, 1876.\n\nA swarm of bees in May is worth a \"yow\" (ewe) and lamb same day. It is\nconsidered lucky in these parts for a stray swarm to settle near your\nhouse; and if you throw a handkerchief over it you may claim it as your\nown. To sell them is unlucky; but you may have an understanding with\na purchaser that he will give you an equivalent for your bees. The\ninside of hives should be rubbed with \"scawnsy buds\" (elderflowers)\nto prevent a new swarm from leaving them. Honey should be always\ntaken from the hive on St. Bartholomew's Day, he being the patron\nsaint of bees. Of course all the principal events happening in the\nfamilies to whom they belonged, in this as in other counties, were\nformerly whispered to them, that the bees might not think themselves\nneglected, and leave the place in anger. At a recent meeting of the\nPenzance Natural History and Antiquarian Society a gentleman mentioned\nthat when a boy he had seen thirty hives belonging to Mr. Joshua Fox,\nof Tregedna, tied up in crape (an universal practice) because of a\ndeath in the Fox family. Another at the same time said that when,\nsome years since, the landlady of the \"First and Last\" Inn, at the\nLand's End, died, the bird-cages and flower-pots were also tied with\ncrape, to prevent the birds and plants from dying. When withering,\nbecause this has not been done, if the plants be remembered in time\nand crape put on the pots, they may revive. Enquiring a short time ago\nwhat had become of a fine maiden-hair fern that we had had for years,\nI was told \"that we had neglected to put it into mourning when a near\nrelative of our's had died, or to tell it of his death; and therefore\nit had gradually pined away.\" After a death, pictures, but especially\nportraits of the deceased, are also supposed to fade. Snails as well\nas bees are thought here to bring luck, for \"the house is blest where\nsnails do rest.\" Children on meeting them in their path, for some\nreason stamp their feet and say,\n\n\n   \"Snail! snail! come out of your hole,\n    Or I will beat you black as a coal.\"\n\n\nAnother Cornish farmers' superstition is that \"ducks won't lay until\nthey have drunk 'Lide' (March) water;\" and the wife of one in 1880\ndeclared \"that if a goose saw a Lent lily (daffodil) before hatching\nits goslings it would, when they came forth, destroy them.\" Some\nwitty thieves, many years ago, having stolen twelve geese from a\nclergyman in the eastern part of the county, tied twelve pennies and\nthis doggerel around the gander's neck--\n\n\n   \"Parson Peard, be not afeard,\n      Nor take it much in anger,\n    We've bought your geese at a penny a-piece,\n      And left the money with the gander.\"\n\n\nHens must never be put to sit on an even number of eggs, eleven or\nthirteen are lucky numbers; Basilisks are hatched from cock's eggs.\n\nWhen cocks crow children are told that they say,\n\n\n   \"Cock-a-doodle-doo!\n    Grammer's lost her shoe,\n    Down by the barley moo (mow),\n    And what will grammer do,\n    Cock-a-doodle-doo.\"\n\n\nMoles in this county are known as \"wants,\" and once in the Land's End\ndistrict I overtook an old man and asked him what had made so many\nhillocks in a field through which we were passing. His answer was,\n\"What you rich people never have in your houses, 'wants.'\"\n\nTo this day in Cornwall, when anything unforeseen happens to our small\nfarmers, or they have the misfortune to lose by sickness some of their\nstock, they still think that they are \"ill-wished,\" and start off\n(often on long journeys) to consult a \"pellar,\" or wise man, sometimes\ncalled \"a white witch\" (which term is here used indiscriminately for\npersons of both sexes). The following I had from a dairy-man I know,\nwho about twelve years ago quarrelled with a domestic servant, a woman\nliving in a neighbouring house. Soon after, from some reason, two or\nthree of his cows died; he was quite sure, he told me, that she had\n\"overlooked\" and \"ill-wished\" him. To ease his mind he had consulted a\n\"pellar\" about the matter, who had described her accurately to him,\nand, for payment, removed the \"spell\" (I do not know what rites were\nused), telling him to look at his watch and note the hour, as he would\nfind, when he returned home, that a cow he had left sick would have\nbegun at that moment to recover (which he says it did). The \"pellar\"\nalso added, \"The woman who has 'ill-wished' you will be swaddled in\nfire and lapped in water;\" and by a strange coincidence she emigrated\nsoon after, and was lost in the ill-fated Cospatrick, that was burnt\nat sea.\n\nWater from a font is often stolen to sprinkle \"ill-wished\" persons\nor things.\n\nThe two next examples were communicated to me by a friend: \"Some\ntwenty-six years ago a farmer in a neighbouring village (West Cornwall)\nsustained during one season continual losses from his cows dying\nof indigestion, known as 'loss of cud,' 'hoven-blown,' etc. After\nconsulting an old farrier called Armstrong he was induced to go to a\n'pellar' in Exeter. His orders were to go home, and, on nearing his\nfarm, he would see an old woman in a field hoeing turnips, and that\nshe was the party who had cast the 'evil eye' on him. When he saw her\nhe was to lay hold of her and accuse her of the crime, then tear off\nsome of her dress, take it to his farm, and burn it with some of the\nhair from the tails of his surviving stock. These directions were\nfully carried out, and his bad health (caused by worry) improved,\nand he lost no more cows. A spotted clover that grew luxuriantly that\nsummer was no doubt the cause of the swelling.\" \"Another farmer in\nthe same village eighteen years since lost all his feeding cattle\nfrom pleuro-pneumonia; believing them to be 'ill-wished' by a woman,\nhe also consulted the Exeter 'pellar.' He brought home some bottles\nof elixir, potent against magic, and made an image of dough, pierced\nit from the nape of the neck downward, in the line of the spine,\nwith a very large blanket-pin. In order to make the agonies of the\nwoman with the 'evil eye' excruciating in the last degree, dough\nand pin were then burnt in a fire of hazel and ash. The cure failed,\nas anyone acquainted with the disease might have forecast.\"\n\nBesides those remedies already mentioned for curing cattle, you may\nemploy these:--\"Take some blood from the sick animal by wounding him;\nlet the blood fall on some straw carefully held to the place--not\na drop must be lost; burn the straw; when the ill-wisher will be\nirresistibly drawn to the spot; then by violence you can compel him\nto take off the spell.\" Or, \"Bleed one animal to death to save the\nwhole herd.\"\n\nA local newspaper, in 1883 (Cornishman), gives the\nfollowing:--\"Superstitions die hard.--A horse died the other day on\na farm in the neighbourhood of St. Ives. Its carcase was dragged on a\nSunday away up to the granite rock basins and weather-worn bosses of\nTrecoben hill, and there burnt, in order to drive away the evil spell,\nor ill-wishing, which afflicted the farm where the animal belonged.\" I,\na few years since, saw a dying cat taken out of a house on a mat, by\ntwo servants, that it might not die inside and bring ill-luck. \"In 1865\na farmer in Portreath sacrificed a calf, by burning, for the purpose of\nremoving a disease which had long followed his horses and cows.\" And\nin another case a farmer burnt a living lamb, to save, as he said,\n\"his flock from spells which had been cast on them.\"--Robert Hunt.\n\nThe Cornishman, in another paragraph, says:--\"Our Summercourt (East\nCornwall) correspondent witnessed an amusing affair on Thursday\nmorning (April, 1883). Seeing a crowd in the street, he asked the\nreason, and found that a young lady was about to perform the feat\nof throwing a pig's nose over a house for good luck! This is how\nit was done. The lady took the nose of a pig, that was killed the\nday before, in her right hand, stood with her back to the house,\nand threw the nose over her head, and over the house, into the\nback garden. Had she failed in the attempt her luck was supposed to\nbe bad.\" \"Whet your knife on Sunday, you'll skin on Monday,\" is a\nvery old Perranuthnoe and St. Hilary (West Cornwall) superstition,\nso that, however blunt your knife may be, you must use it as it is,\nlest by sharpening it you bring ill-luck on the farmer, and he lose\na sheep or bullock. Mr. T. Q. Couch, W. Antiquary, 1883, says of one,\n\"He is an old-fashioned man, and, amongst his other 'whiddles' (whims),\nkeeps a goat amongst his cattle for the sake of keeping his cows from\nslipping their calves.\" Branches of care (mountain ash) were, in the\neast of the county, hung over the cattle in their stalls to prevent\ntheir being \"ill-wished,\" also carried in the pocket as a cure and\nprevention of rheumatism. \"Rheumatism will attack the man who carries\na walking stick made of holly.\"--Cornubiana, Rev. S. Rundle.\n\nThe belief in witchcraft in West Cornwall is much more general\nthan most people imagine. Several cases have lately come under\nmy own notice; one, that of a man-servant in our employ who broke\na blood-vessel, and for a long time was so ill that his life was\ndespaired of. He was most carefully attended by a Penzance physician,\nwho came to see him three times a day. But directly that his strength\nbegan to return he asked permission to go to Redruth to consult a\n\"pellar,\" as he was quite sure that he had been \"overlooked\" and\n\"ill-wished.\" An old Penzance man, afflicted with rheumatism, who\ngained his living by selling fruit in the streets, fancied himself\nill-wished. He went to Helston to see a \"wiseman\" residing there,\nto whom he paid seven-and-sixpence, with a further promise of five\npounds on the removal of the \"spell.\" As he was too poor to pay this\nhimself a brother agreed to do it for him, but somehow failed to\nperform his contract. Now the poor old man thinks that the pellar's\nill-wishes are added to his former pains.\n\nThe \"pellars\" wore formerly magical rings, with a blue stone in them,\nsaid to have been formed by snakes breathing on hazel-twigs. Our\ncountry-people often searched for these stones.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHARMS, Etc.\n\n\nMany are the charms against ill-wishing worn by the ignorant. I will\nquote some mentioned by Mr. Bottrell: \"A strip of parchment inscribed\nwith the following words forming a four-sided acrostic:--\n\n\n                           S   A   T   O   R\n                           A   R   E   P   O\n                           T   E   N   E   T\n                           O   P   E   R   A\n                           R   O   T   A   S\n\n\n\"At the time of an old lady's decease, a little while ago, on\nher breast was found a small silk bag containing several charms,\namong others a piece of parchment, about three inches square, having\nwritten on one side of it 'Nalgah' (in capital letters); under this\nis a pen-and-ink drawing something like a bird with two pairs of\nwings, a pair extended and another folded beneath them. The creature\nappears to be hovering and at the same time brooding on a large egg,\nsustained by one of its legs, whilst it holds a smaller egg at the\nextremity of its other leg, which is outstretched and long. Its\nhead, round and small, is unlike that of a bird. From the rudeness\nof the sketch and its faded state it is difficult to trace all the\noutlines. Under this singular figure is the word 'Tetragrammaton'\n(in capitals); on the reverse in large letters--\n\n\n                'Jehovah.'\n                'Jah, Eloim.'\n                'Shadday.'\n                'Adonay.'\n                'Have mercy on a poor woman.'\n\n\n\"A pellar of great repute in the neighbourhood tells me that this\nis inscribed with two charms, that Nalgah is the figure only. The\nAbracadabra is also supplied, the letters arranged in the usual\nway. Another potent spell is the rude draft of the planetary signs\nfor the Sun, Jupiter, and Venus, followed by a cross, pentagram,\nand a figure formed by a perpendicular line and a divergent one\nat each side of it united at the bottom. Under them is written,\n'Whosoever beareth these tokens will be fortunate, and need fear no\nevil.' The charms are folded in a paper on which is usually written,\n'By the help of the Lord these will do thee good,' and inclosed in\na little bag to be worn on the breast.\"\n\nPeople in good health visited these pellars every spring to get\ntheir charms renewed, and bed-ridden people who kept theirs under\ntheir \"pillow-beres\" were then visited by the pellar for the same\npurpose. \"Of amulets mention must be made of certain small crystal\nballs called 'kinning stones,' held in high esteem for cure of ailments\nof the eye. I examined one of these 'kinning stones' recently,\nwhich had been lent to a person with a bad eye, who on recovering\nfrom his ailment had returned it to the owner. It proved to be a\ntranslucent, blueish-white globular crystal, about one-and-a-quarter\ninch in diameter; in texture, horny rather than vitreous; apparently\nnot made of glass, but perhaps of rock crystal; pierced by a hole\ncontaining a boot lace for suspension; having stri\u00e6 running through\nthe substance of the crystal perpendicular to the hole. It had been\nfor many generations in possession of the family of the owner, who\nvalued it very highly, 'but was willing to lend it to anyone to do\ngood.' This kind of amulet is worn around the neck, the bad eye being\nstruck with the crystal every morning. There are other 'kinning stones'\nwithin reach, but examples are not common; their virtues are familiar\nto the people, and instances are to be met with among the country folk,\nwhose recovery from a 'kinning' in the eye ('kennel,' West Cornwall)\nis attributed solely to the use of these charms.\"--Notes on the\nNeighbourhood of Brown Willy (North Cornwall), Rev. A. H. Malan, M.A.\n\nIn every small Cornish village in olden times (and the race is not yet\nextinct) lived a charmer or \"white witch.\" Their powers were not quite\nas great as those of a pellar, but they were thoroughly believed in,\nand consulted on every occasion for every complaint. They were not\nonly able to cure diseases, but they could, when offended, \"overlook\"\nand ill-wish the offender, bringing ill-luck on him, and also on his\nfamily and farm-stock. The seventh son of the seventh son, or seventh\ndaughter of the seventh daughter, were born with this gift of charming,\nand made the most noted pellars; but anyone might become a witch who\ntouched a Logan rock nine times at midnight. These Logan rocks are\nmentioned elsewhere as being in Cornwall their favourite resorts,\nand to them they went, it is said, riding on ragwort stems, instead\nof the traditional broomsticks.\n\nOr, he might, says another authority, use the following charm: \"Go\nto the chancel of a church to sacrament, hide away the bread from\nthe hands of the priest, at midnight carry it around the church from\nsouth to north, crossing east three times. The third time a big toad,\nopen-mouthed, will be met, put the bread in it; as soon as swallowed\nhe will breathe three times upon the man, and from that time he will\nbecome a witch. Known by five black spots diagonally placed under the\ntongue.\" There is also a strange glare in the eye of a person who can\n\"overlook,\" and the eyelids are always red.\n\nWitches could in this country change themselves into toads, as well as\nhares. Mr. Robert Hunt relates the story of one who met her death in\nthat form, and Mr. T. Q. Couch tells the tale of a sailor who was a\n\"witch,\" who received several injuries whilst in the shape of that\nanimal. When a very small child, having a \"kennel\" (an ulcer) on my\neye, I was unknown to my parents taken by an old servant to a Penzance\n\"charmer,\" who then made a great deal of money by her profession. All\nI can remember about it is, that she breathed on it, made some curious\npasses with her hands and muttered some incantation.\n\nAbout twelve years ago, a woman who lived in the \"west country\"\n(Land's End district) as well as being a \"white witch was a famous\nknitster,\" and we amongst others frequently gave her work. When she\nbrought it back she was treated by our maids, who lived in great fear\nof her \"ill-wishing\" them, to the best our kitchen could afford;\nand many were the marvellous stories she told me of her power to\nstaunch blood, etc., when doctors failed. It was not necessary for\nher to see the person; she could cure them sitting by her fireside if\nthey were miles away. Witches are also consulted about the recovery\nof stolen property, which, by casting their spells over the thief,\nit is still supposed they can compel him to return.\n\nA part of Launceston Castle is locally known as Witch's Tower, from\nthe tradition that one was burnt at its foot; no grass grows on the\nspot. Another is said to have met with the same fate on a flat stone\nclose to St. Austell market-house.\n\n\"Charms are still in use by the simple-minded for thrush, warts,\nand various complaints; also for the cure of cattle, when some evil\ndisposed person has 'turned a figure upon (i.e. bewitched) them;'\nand white witches--those who avert the evil eye--have not yet ceased\nout of the land.\"--Notes on the Neighbourhood of Brown Willy (North\nCornwall), Rev. A. H. Malan, M.A.\n\nI will give some of their charms culled from various sources, and\nremedies for diseases still used in Cornwall:--Take three burning\nsticks from the hearth of the \"overlooker,\" make the patient cross\nover them three times and then extinguish with water. Place nine\nbramble-leaves in a basin of \"Holy Well's water, pass each leaf over\nand from the diseased part, repeating three times to each leaf. Three\nvirgins came from the east, one brought fire, the others brought\nfrost. Out fire! In frost! In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy\nGhost.\" Or take a stick of burning furze from the hearth, pass over\nand above the diseased part, repeating the above nine times. If\nyou can succeed by any means in drawing blood from the \"ill-wisher\"\nyou are certain to break and remove the spell. Stick pins into an\napple or potatoe, carry it in your pocket, and as it shrivels the\n\"ill-wisher\" will feel an ache from every pin, but this I fancy does\nnot do the person \"overlooked\" any good. Another authority says,\n\"Stick pins into a bullock's heart, when the 'ill-wisher' will feel\na stab for every one put in, and in self-defence take off the curse.\"\n\nA friend writes, \"An old man called Uncle Will Jelbart, who had been\nwith the Duke of Kent in America, and also a very long time in the\nPeninsular, about forty years ago lived in West Cornwall; he had a\nsmall pension, and in addition made a good income by charming warts,\nwildfire (erysipelas), cataracts, etc. He used to spit three times and\nbreathe three times on the part affected, muttering, 'In the name of\nthe Father, Son, and Holy Ghost I bid thee begone.' For cataract he\npricked the small white 'dew-snail' (slug), found about four a.m.,\nwith a hawthorn spine, and let a drop fall into the eye; and in the\ncase of skin diseases occasionally supplemented the charm with an\nointment made of the juice extracted from house-leeks and 'raw-cream;'\nhe sometimes changed the words and repeated those which with slight\nvariations are known all over Cornwall--'Three virgins,' etc.\n\n\"The crowfoot locally known as the 'kenning herb' is in some districts\nused in incantations for curing 'kennings' or 'kennels' (ulcers in\nthe eye).\n\n\n   'Three ladies (or virgins) 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\n\n\"This is often said nine times over a scald. In prose it begins thus:\n'As I passed over the river Jordan, I met with Christ. He said, What\naileth thee? Oh Lord, my flesh doth burn. The Lord said unto me,\nTwo angels,'\" etc.\n\nA lady once told me that about forty years ago she was taken to a\n\"charmer,\" who stood in a Cornish market-place on fixed days, to\nhave her warts cured. The remedies for this childish complaint are\nvery numerous. I once had my forehead rubbed with a piece of stolen\nbeef, which was then buried in a garden, to send them away, the idea\nbeing that as the beef decayed the warts would fall off or dwindle\ngradually. There are two or three other ways of getting rid of them\nof a similar kind. Touch each wart with a new pin, enclose them in a\nbottle, either bury them in a newly-made grave of the opposite sex, or\nat four cross-roads; as the pins rust, the warts will disappear. Or,\ntouch them with a knot made in a piece of string (there should be as\nmany knots as there are warts), bury it; when the rope decays so will\nthe warts. The two next are selfish remedies. Touch each wart with\na pebble, put the stones in a bag, throw them away, and the finder\nwill get them and they will leave you. Or, in coming out of church,\nwish them on some part of another person's body (or on a tree); they\nwill go from you and appear on him, or on the spot named. One method\nemployed by professional \"charmers\" is to take two pieces of charred\nstick from a fire, form them into a cross and place them on the warts,\nand repeat one of the formul\u00e6 above quoted. Yet another is to wash\nthe hands in the moon's rays focussed in a dry metal basin, saying,\n\n\n   \"I wash my hands in this thy dish,\n    Oh man in the moon, do grant my wish,\n    And come and take away this.\"\n\n\nThe moon too is invoked for the curing of corns. \"Corns down here! No\ncorns up there!\" is repeated nine times. The fore-finger pointing\nfirst to the ground and then to the sky.\n\nWhen pricked by a thorn, use one of the following charms:--\n\n\n   \"Christ was of a virgin born:\n    And he was pricked by a thorn,\n    And it did never 'bell' (fester),\n    And I trust in Jesus this never will.\"\n\n\nOr,\n\n\n   \"Christ was crowned with thorns,\n    The thorns did bleed but did not rot,\n    No more shall thy--(mentioning the part affected):\n    In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.\"\n\n\nIn prose: \"When Christ was upon the middle earth the Jews pricked\nhim, his blood sprung up into heaven, his flesh never rotted nor\n'fustered,' no more I hope will not thine. In the name,\" etc.--From\nMr. T. Q. Couch, who gives two others very similar.\n\n\n\n\nFOR TETTERS.\n\n\n   \"Tetter, tetter, thou hast nine sisters,\n    God bless thee, flesh, and preserve thee, bone;\n    Perish thou, tetter, and be thou gone:\n    In the name,\" etc.\n\n    \"Tetter, tetter, thou hast eight sisters,\" etc.\n\n\nThis charm is thus continued until it comes to the last, which is,--\n\n\n    \"Tetter, tetter, thou hast no sister,\" etc.--Bottrell.\n\n\n\n\nTOOTHACHE.\n\nIn prose and verse slightly varied, common in all parts of the\ncounty,--\n\n\n   \"Christ passed by his brother's door,\n    Saw Peter 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 of,\" etc.\n\n\nThis is to be worn in a bag around the neck. Mr. T. Q. Couch gives\nthis charm in prose. It begins thus: \"Peter sat at the gate of the\nTemple, and Christ said unto him, What aileth thee?\" etc. Another\nremedy against toothache is, always in the morning to begin dressing\nby putting the stocking on the left foot.--Through Rev. S. Rundle.\n\nA knuckle-bone is often carried in the pocket as a cure and preventive\nof cramp. I once saw an old woman turn out her pocket; amongst its\ncontents, as well as the knuckle-bone, was the tip of an ox-tongue\nkept for good luck.\n\nSlippers on going to bed are, when taken off, for the same complaint\noften placed under the bed with the soles upwards, or on their heels\nagainst the post of the bed with their toes up. The following is\nfrom Mr. T. Q. Couch: \"The cramp is keenless, Mary was sinless when\nshe bore Jesus: let the cramp go away in the name of Jesus.\" All the\ncharms published by the above-named author in his History of Polperro\nwere taken from a manuscript book, which belonged to a white witch.\n\nWhen a foot has \"gone to sleep\" I have often seen people wet their\nforefingers in their mouths, stoop and draw the form of a cross on\nit. This is said to be an infallible remedy. Mr. Robert Hunt has a\nrather similar cure for hiccough: \"Wet the forefinger of the right\nhand with spittle, and cross the front of the left shoe (or boot)\nthree times, repeating the Lord's Prayer backwards.\" The most popular\ncure with children is a heaping spoonful of moist sugar. A sovereign\nremedy for hiccough and almost every complaint is a small piece of\na stale Good Friday bun grated into a glass of cold water. This bun\nis hung up in the kitchen from one year to the other. Bread baked on\nthis day never gets mouldy.\n\n\n\n\nFOR A STRAIN.\n\n\n   \"Christ rode over the bridge,\n    Christ rode under the bridge;\n    Vein to vein, strain to strain,\n    I hope God will take it back again.\"\n\n\n\n\nFOR AGUE.\n\nWhen our Saviour saw the cross, whereon he was to be crucified, his\nbody did shake. The Jews said, \"Hast thou an ague?\" Our Saviour said,\n\"He that keepeth this in mind, thought, or writing, shall neither be\ntroubled with ague or fever.\"\n\n\n\n\nFOR WILDFIRE (Erysipelas).\n\n\n   \"Christ, he walketh over the land,\n    Carried the wildfire in his hand,\n    He rebuked the fire, and bid it stand;\n    Stand, wildfire, stand (three times repeated):\n    In the name of,\" etc.--T. Q. Couch.\n\n\nMr. Robert Hunt gives in his book on Old Cornwall a Latin charm for\nthe staunching of blood. I find, however, on making inquiries that\nit is not the one generally used, which is as follows:\n\n\n   \"Christ was born in Bethlehem,\n    Baptised in the river Jordan;\n    There he digged a well,\n    And turned the water against the hill,\n    So shall thy blood stand still:\n    In the name,\" etc.\n\n\nThere are other versions all much alike. A prose one runs thus:\n\"Baptised in the river Jordan when the water was wild, the water was\ngood, the water stood, so shall thy blood. In the name,\" etc.--T. Q. C.\n\nThe Rev. S. Rundle says a charmer once told him the charm for\nstaunching blood consisted in saying a verse from the Psalms; but\nshe could not read, and he was inclined to believe the form was,\n\"Jesus came to the river Jordan, and said, 'Stand,' and it stood;\nand so I bid thee, blood, stand. In the name,\" etc. For bleeding\nat the nose, a door-key is often placed against the back. Cuts are\nplugged with cobwebs, flue from a man's hat, tobacco leaves, and\noccasionally filled with salt.\n\nClub-moss is considered good for eye diseases. On the third day of\nthe moon, when the thin crescent is seen for the first time, show it\nthe knife with which the moss for the charm is to be cut, and repeat,\n\n\n   \"As Christ healed the issue of blood,\n    So I bid thee begone:\n    In the name of,\" etc.\n\n\nMr. Robert Hunt says,\n\n\n   \"Do thou cut what thou cuttest for good!\"\n\n\n\"At sun-down, having carefully washed the hands, the club-moss is\nto be cut kneeling. It is to be carefully wrapped in a white cloth,\nand subsequently boiled in water taken from the spring nearest its\nplace of growth. This may be used as a fomentation. Or the club-moss\nmade into an ointment with butter made from the milk of a new cow.\"\n\nA \"stye\" on the eye is often stroked nine times with a cat's tail;\nwith a wedding ring taken from a dead woman's, or a silver one from\na drowned man's, hand. The belief in the efficacy of a dead hand in\ncuring diseases in Cornwall is marvellous. I, in a short paper read at\nan Antiquarian meeting, gave this instance, related to me by a medical\nman about ten years ago (now dead). A day or two after, a number of\nother cases in proof of my statement appeared, to my surprise, in our\nlocal papers, which, as well as my own, I will transcribe. \"Once I\nattended a poor woman's child for an obstinate case of sore eyes. One\nday when leaving the house the mother said to me, 'Is there nothing\nmore, doctor, I can do for my little girl?' I jokingly answered,\n'Nothing, unless you care to stroke them with a dead man's hand.' About\na week after I met the woman in the streets, who stopped me, and said,\n'My child's eyes are getting better at last, doctor.' I expressed\nmyself pleased that the ointment I had given her was doing good. To\nmy astonishment, she replied, 'Oh, it is not that, we never used it;\nwe took your advice about the dead man's hand.' Until she recalled\nit to my memory, I had quite forgotten my foolish speech.\" \"I am one\nof those who can bear testimony to the fact of a cure having been\neffected by the means above-named. I was born with a disfigurement on\nmy upper lip. My mother felt a great anxiety about this, so my nurse\nproposed that a dead man's hand should be passed seven times over my\nlip. I was taken to the house of one Robin Gendall, Causewayhead,\nPenzance, who at that time was lying dead, and his hand was passed\nover my lip in the manner named. By slow degrees my friends had the\nsatisfaction of seeing that the charm had taken effect.\"--Octogenarian.\n\n\"I may add my testimony to Miss Courtney's remarks as to the belief\nin Cornwall in the virtue of the touch of a diseased part by a dead\nman's hand. A case came under my knowledge at Penzance of a child who\nhad from birth a peculiar tuberous formation at the junction of the\nnose with the forehead, which the medical men would not cut for fear of\nsevering veins. The child was taken by her mother to a friend's house,\nin which were lying the remains of a young man who had just died from\nconsumption. The deceased's hand was passed over the malformation seven\ntimes, and it soon began to grow smaller and smaller.\" \"I have myself\nseen the child since Miss Courtney read her paper (November, 1881),\nand, though the mark is still apparent, I am assured it is surely,\nif slowly, disappearing. A relation of mine also tells me that, like\nMiss Courtney, she was taken to the Penzance witch for the purpose\nof having a 'stye' removed from one of her eyes by charming.\"--Tramp.\n\nI was told of many other cases--one by another surgeon; but it would\nbe useless to repeat them. I will end with one I have taken from\nNotes and Queries, December, 1859:--\n\n\"A lady, who was staying lately at Penzance, attended a funeral,\nand noticed that whilst the clergyman was reading the burial service\na woman forced her way through the pall-bearers to the edge of the\ngrave. When he came to the passage, 'Earth to earth, ashes to ashes,\ndust to dust,' she dropped a white cloth upon the coffin, closed her\neyes, and apparently said a prayer. On making inquiries as to the cause\nof this proceeding, this lady found that a superstition exists amongst\nthe peasantry in that part, that if a person with a sore be taken\nsecretly to a corpse, the dead hand passed over the sore place, and\nthe bandage afterwards be dropped upon the coffin during the reading\nof the burial service, a perfect cure will be the result. This woman\nhad a child with a bad leg, and she had followed this superstition with\na firm belief in its efficacy. The peasants, also, to the present day\nwear charms, believing they will protect them from sickness and other\nevils. The wife of the clergyman of the parish was very charitable\nin attending the sick and dispensing medicines, and one day a woman\nbrought her a child having sore eyes to have them charmed, having more\nfaith in that remedy than in medicines. She was greatly surprised to\nfind that medicines only were given to her.\"--E. R.\n\nThere is no virtue in the dead hand of a near relation. A curious\nold troth plight was formerly practised in Cornwall: The couple broke\na wedding ring taken from the finger of a corpse, and each kept one\nhalf. The editor of a local paper (Cornishman) once obtained a piece\nof rope, with which a man was hanged, for a poor woman who had walked\nfourteen miles to Bodmin in the hopes of getting it, that she might\neffect the cure of her sore eyes.\n\nThe Rev. S. Rundle writes that \"a Cornish surgeon recommended a charmer\nas being more efficacious than himself in curing shingles. According\nto the same authority, a liquid composed of bramble and butter-dock\nleaves is poured on the place, whilst a light stick is waved over the\ndecoction by the charmer, who repeats an incantation.\" It is popularly\nsupposed in Cornwall that should shingles meet around your waist,\nyou would die. The cures and charms against epilepsy are also very\nnumerous, and very generally used here. Thirty pence are collected at\nthe church door by the person afflicted, from one of the opposite sex,\nchanged for sacrament money (silver), and made into a ring to be worn\nday and night. Very lately, at St. Just-in-Penwith, a young woman\nbegged from young men pennies to buy a silver ring, a remedy which\nshe believed would cure her fits. Another charm, which it requires a\nperson of strong nerves to perform, is to walk thrice round a church\nat midnight, then enter and stand before the altar. In connection\nwith this rite the Rev. S. Rundle relates the following:--\"At Crowan\n(a village in West Cornwall), an epileptic subject entered the church\nat midnight. As he was groping his way through the pitchy dark, his\nheart suddenly leaped, and almost stood still. He uttered shriek upon\nshriek, for his hand had grasped a man's head. He thought it was the\nhead of the famous Sir John St. Aubyn. He was removed in a fainting\nstate, and it was then discovered that he had seized the head of the\nsexton, who had come in to see that nothing was done to frighten the\nman. The unfortunate fellow never recovered from the shock, but died in\na lunatic asylum.\" \"A middle-aged Camborne man was subject to violent\nfits until two years ago, when some one told him to kill a toad, put\none of its legs in a bag, and wear it suspended by a string around\nhis neck. He did so, and has never had a fit since.\"--Cornishman,\nDecember, 1881.\n\n\"In Cornwall a black cock is buried on the spot where the person is\nfirst attacked by epilepsy\" (to avert a similar attack).--Comparative\nFolk-Lore, Cornhill, 1876.\n\nFor other charms see Addenda, A Bundle of Charms, by the\nRev. A. H. Malan, M.A.\n\nToads are also worn as charms for other diseases in this county:--\"On\nthe 27th July, 1875, I was lodging with a very intelligent grazier\nand horse-dealer, at Tintagel, Cornwall, when he was knocked down by\na very serious attack of quinsey, to which he had been subject for\nmany years. He pulled through the crisis; and on being sufficiently\nrecovered he betook himself to a 'wise woman' at Camelford. She\nprescribed for him as follows:--'Get a live toad, fasten a string\naround its throat, and hang it up till the body drops from the head;\nthen tie the string around your own neck, and never take it off,\nnight or day, till your fiftieth birthday. You'll never have quinsey\nagain.' When I left Tintagel, I understood that my landlord, greatly\nrelieved in mind, had already commenced the operation.\"--Augustus\nJessop, D.D.\n\nWhen a kettle won't boil, instead of the old adage, \"A watched pot\nnever boils,\" Cornish people say, \"There is a toad or a frog in\nit.\" It is here considered lucky for a toad to come into the house.\n\nThis charm for yellow jaundice I culled from the Western Antiquary. \"I\nwas walking in a village churchyard near the town of St. Austell\n(I think in the autumn of 1839), when I saw a woman approach an open\ngrave. She stood by the side of it and appeared to be muttering some\nwords. She then drew out from under her cloak a good-size baked\nmeal-cake, threw it into the grave and then left the place. Upon\ninquiry I found the cake was composed of oatmeal mixed with dog's\nurine, baked, and thrown into the grave as a charm for the yellow\njaundice. This cure was at that time commonly believed in by the\npeasantry of the neighbourhood.\"--Joseph Cartwright, March, 1883.\n\nSnakes avoid and dread ash-trees; a branch will keep them away. Our\npeasantry believe however much you may try to kill quickly an adder\nor snake, it will never die before sunset. Mr. Robert Hunt says,\n\"When an adder is seen, a circle is to be rapidly drawn around it and\nthe sign of the cross made within it, whilst the first two verses of\nthe 68th Psalm are repeated.\" This is to destroy it; there are also\ncharms to be said for curing their bites, when they are apostrophised\n\"under the ashen leaf.\" The following old charm is to make them\ndestroy themselves, by twisting themselves up to nothing:--\n\n\n   \"Underneath this 'hazelen mot' [27]\n    There's a 'braggaty' [28] worm, with a speckled throat,\n    Now! nine 'double' [29] hath he.\n    Now from nine double, to eight double,\n    From eight double, to seven double,\n    From seven double, to six double,\n    From six double, to five double,\n    From five double, to four double,\n    From four double, to three double,\n    From three double, to two double,\n    From two double, to one double,\n    Now! no double hath he.\"\n\n\nThe words of charms must be muttered (they lose their efficacy\nif recited aloud), and the charmer must never communicate them to\none of the same sex, for that transfers the power of charming to\nthe other person. Of superstitious rites practised for the cure of\nwhooping-cough, etc., I will speak a little further on. Cornishmen in\nthe last century from their cradles to their graves might have been\nguided in their actions by old women's \"widdles\" (superstitions),\nsome as already shown are still foolishly followed; but I hope that\nfew people are silly enough at the present day to leave their babies'\nheads a twelvemonth unwashed, under the mistaken notion that it would\nbe unlucky to do it.\n\nI have often and very recently seen the creases in the palms of\nchildren's hands filled with dirt; to clean them before they were a\nyear old would take away riches--they would live and die poor. Their\nnails, too, for the same period should be bitten, not cut, for that\nwould make them thieves. Hair at no age must be cut at the waning of\nthe moon, that would prevent its growing luxuriantly; locks shorn off\nmust be always burnt, it is unlucky to throw them away; then birds\nmight use them in their nests and weave them in so firmly that there\nwould be a difficulty in your rising at the last day. Children's first\nteeth are burnt to prevent dog's or \"snaggles\" irregular teeth coming\nin their stead. Coral necklaces are worn to ensure easy teething;\nthe beads are said to change their colour when the wearer is ill. \"All\nlocks are unlocked to favour easy birth (or death).\"--A. H. Bickford,\nM.D., Camborne, 1883. Cornishmen in the West are said to be born with\ntails; they drop off when the Tamar is crossed.\n\n\"A popular notion amongst old folks is, that when a boy is born on the\nwaning moon the next birth will be a girl, and vice vers\u00e2. They also\nsay that when a birth takes place on the growing of the moon, the next\nchild will be of the same sex.\" A child born in the interval between\nthe old and new moons is fated to die young, and babies with blue\nveins across their noses do not live to see twenty-one. A cake called\na groaning cake is made in some houses in Cornwall after the birth\nof a child, of which every caller is expected to partake. The mother\noften carries \"a groaning cake\" when she is going to be \"upraised\"\n(churched); this she gives to the first person she meets on her way.\n\n\"Kimbly\" is the name of an offering, generally a piece of bread or\ncake, still given in some rural districts of this county to the\nfirst person met when going to a wedding or a christening. It is\nsometimes presented to anyone who brings the news of a a birth to\nan interested party. Two young men, I knew about thirty years ago,\nwere taking a walk in West Cornwall; crossing over a bridge they met a\nprocession carrying a baby to the parish church, where the child was\nto be baptised. Unaware of this curious custom, they were very much\nsurprised at having a piece of cake put into their hands. A magistrate\nwrote to the Western Morning News, in January, 1884, saying, that on\nhis way to his petty sessions he had had one of these christening\ncakes thrust into his hand, but unluckily he did not state in what\nparish this happened. This called forth several letters on the subject,\nparts of which I will quote.\n\n\"About thirty years ago at the christening of a brother (in the Meneage\ndistrict, Helston), and when the family party were ready for the walk\nto the afternoon service in Cury church, I well recollect seeing the\nold nurse wrap in a pure white sheet of paper what she called the\n'cheeld's fuggan.' [30] This was a cake with plenty of currants and\nsaffron, about the size of a modern tea-plate. It was to be given to\nthe first person met on returning, after the child was christened. It\nhappened that, as most of the parishioners were at the service, no one\nwas met until near home, almost a mile from the church, when a tipsy\nvillage carpenter rambled around a corner, right against our party, and\nreceived the cake. Regrets were expressed that the 'cheeld's fuggan'\nshould have fallen to the lot of this notoriously evil liver, and\nmy idea was that it was a bad omen. However as my brother has always\nbeen a veritable Rechabite, enjoys good health, a contented mind, and\nenough of this world's goods to satisfy every moderate want, no evil\ncan thus far be traced to the mischance.\"--J. C., Western Morning News.\n\n\"'Kimbly' in East Cornwall is the name of a thing, commonly a piece\nof bread, which is given under peculiar circumstances at weddings and\nchristenings. When the parties set out from the house to go to church,\nor on their business, one person is sent before them with this selected\npiece of bread in his or her hand (a woman is commonly preferred for\nthis office), and the piece is given to the first individual that\nis met. I interpret it to have some reference to the idea of the\nevil eye and its influence, which might fall on the married persons\nor on the child, which is sought to be averted by this unexpected\ngift. It is also observed in births, in order that by this gift envy\nmay be turned away from the infant or happy parents. This 'kimbly'\nis commonly given to the person bringing the first news to those\ninterested in the birth.\"--T. Q. Couch, Western Morning News.\n\n\"I witnessed this custom very frequently at Looe, in South-east\nCornwall, from fifty to sixty-five years ago. I believe it is correct\nto say that this gift was there a small cake, made for the occasion,\nand termed the 'christening-crib,' a crib of bread or cake being a\nprovincialism for a bit of bread,\" etc.--William Pengelly, Western\nMorning News.\n\nChildren, when they leave small bits of meat, etc., on their plates,\nare in Cornwall often told \"to eat up their cribs.\"\n\n\"On the afternoons of Good Friday, little girls of Carharrack, in the\nparish of Gwennap (West Cornwall), take their dolls to a stream at\nthe foot of Carnmarth, and there christen them. Occasionally a young\nman will take upon himself the office of minister, and will sprinkle\nand name the dolls.\"--Charles James, Gwennap.\n\nThe Rev. S. Rundle, Vicar of Godolphin, says, \"That once he was\nsent for to baptise a child, around whose neck hung a little bag,\nwhich the mother said contained a bit of a donkey's ear, and that\nthis charm had cured the child of a most distressing cough.\"\n\n\"In some parts of Cornwall it is considered a sure sign of being\nsweethearts if a young man and woman 'stand witness together,'\ni.e. become godfather and godmother of the same child.\"--T. C. But\nnot in all, for I remember once hearing in Penzance a couple refuse\nto do so, saying that it was unlucky. \"First at the font, never at\nthe altar.\" When I was young, old nurses often breathed in babies'\nmouths to cure the thrush, thrice repeating the second verse of the\nEighth Psalm, \"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,\" etc. \"May\nchildren and 'chets' (kittens) never thrive,\" and it is unlucky to\n\"tuck\" (short coat) children in that month.\n\n\n   \"Tuck babies in May,\n    You'll tuck them away.\"\n\n\nIt is of course considered an unfortunate month for marriages. Neither\nshould babies \"be tucked\" on a week day, but on a Sunday, which day\nshould also be chosen for leaving off any article of clothing; as then\nyou will have the prayers of every congregation for you, and are sure\nnot to catch cold. A friend lately sent me the following charm of one\nyear's duration which prevents your feeling or taking a cold. \"Eat a\nlarge apple at Hallow-een under an apple-tree just before midnight; no\nother garment than a bed-sheet should be worn. A kill or cure remedy.\"\n\nAn empty cradle should never be rocked unless you wish to have a\nlarge family, for--\n\n\n   \"Rock the cradle empty\n    You'll rock the babies plenty.\"\n\n\nRev. S. Rundle says, \"It is unlucky to rock an empty cradle, as the\nchild will die.\"--Cornubiana.\n\nThe jingles which follow are often repeated by Cornish nurse-maids\nwith appropriate actions to amuse their little charges. First,\ntouching each part of the face as mentioned with the forefinger,\n\n\n   \"Brow brender, [31]\n    Eye winker,\n    Nose dropper,\n    Mouth eater,\n    Chin chopper,\n    Tickle-tickle.\"\n\n\nSecond--\n\n\n   \"Tap a tap shoe, [32] that would I do,\n    If I had but a little more leather.\n    We'll sit in the sun till the leather doth come,\n    Then we'll tap them both together.\"\n\n\nHere the two little feet are struck lightly one against the other.\n\nSeveral letters have lately appeared in the Western Morning News,\ngiving different versions of the old rhymes--\n\n\n   \"Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,\n    Pray bless the bed that I 'lay' on,\n    Four corners to my bed,\n    Four angels there are spread,\n    Two 'to' foot and two 'to' head,\n    And six will carry me when I'm dead.\"\n\n\nAlthough attributed by the correspondents to Cornwall, I have always\nunderstood that they were known all over England.\n\nChildren with rickets were taken by their parents on the three first\nSundays in May to be dipped at sunrise in one of the numerous Cornish\nholy wells, and then put to sleep in the sun, with sixpence under their\nheads. Small pieces torn from their clothes were left on the bushes\nto propitiate the pixies. For the same disease they were passed nine\ntimes through a M\u00ean-an-tol (holed stone). A man stood on one side,\nand a woman on the other, of the stone. The child was passed with\nthe sun from east to west, and from right to left; a boy from the\nwoman to the man, a girl from the man to the woman. This order is\nalways, in these charms, strictly observed. As lately as 1883, in\nthe village of Sancred, West Cornwall, a little girl, suffering from\nwhooping-cough, was passed from a man to a woman nine times under a\ndonkey's belly; a little boy standing the while at the donkey's head\nfeeding it with \"cribs\" of wheaten bread. My informant did not know\nif on this occasion any incantation was repeated. Another family, he\ntells me, some years back were in the same neighbourhood cured of the\nwhooping-cough by donkey's hair, which was dried on the baking iron of\nthe open hearth, reduced to powder, and administered to them. There\nare very various ways of doing this, one is between thin slices of\nbread and butter. Some authorities say the latter ingredients must\nbelong to a couple called John and Joan. Mr. Robert Hunt gives a\ncharm which in a measure combines the two above-mentioned. \"The child\nmust be passed naked nine times over the back and under the belly\nof a female donkey. Three spoonfuls of milk drawn from the teats of\nthe animal, three hairs cut from its back, and three from its belly,\nare to stand in the milk three hours, and to be given in three doses\nrepeated on three mornings.\" Mr. Hunt also says, \"There were some\ndoggerel lines connected with the ceremony which have escaped my\nmemory, and I have endeavoured in vain to find anyone remembering\nthem. They were to the effect that as Christ placed the cross on the\nass's back when he rode into Jerusalem and so rendered the animal holy,\nif the child touched where Jesus sat it should cough no more.\" I will\nquote another of Mr. Hunt's charms. \"Gather nine spar-stones (quartz)\nfrom a running stream, taking care not to interrupt the free passage\nof the water in doing so. Then dip a quart of water from the stream,\nwhich must be taken in the direction in which the stream runs--by\nno means must the vessel be dipped against the stream. Then make the\nnine stones red-hot, and throw them into the quart of water. Bottle\nthe prepared water, and give the afflicted child a wine-glass of this\nwater for nine mornings.\" Other remedies are to cross the child over\nrunning water nine times, or under a bramble bough bent into the ground\n(this latter and through a cleft ash are also tried for hernia). Some\nnurses take children, with whooping-cough, out for a walk, in hopes of\nmeeting a man on a white or piebald horse. Should they be fortunate\nenough to do so, they ask the rider how they can cure the patient:\nhis advice is always implicitly followed.\n\nChildren with dirty habits are often told that a \"mousey pasty\"\nshall be cooked for their dinners.\n\nCornish children are warned by their nurses not to grimace, lest,\nwhilst so doing, the wind should change and their faces always remain\ncontorted. There is another form in which this warning is often given:\n\"Don't make mock of a 'magum' (May-game), for you may be struck comical\nyourself one day.\" \"Magum\" in most cases means a facetious person,\none who is full of merry pranks; and the expressions, \"He's a reg'lar\nmagum,\" or \"He's full of his magums,\" are often heard. But the idea\nintended to be conveyed in the first saying is that it is wrong to\nmake fun of a person suffering from an infirmity, which may at any\ntime afflict the jeerer. The puritanical notion of Sunday lingers in\nthe belief in Cornwall that it is unlucky to use a scissors on that\nday, even to cut your nails; you must\n\n\n   \"Cut them on Monday, before your fast you break,\n    And you'll have a present in less than a week.\"\n\n\nChildren here are pleased to see \"gifts\" (white spots) on their\nthumb-nails, as\n\n\n   \"Gifts on the thumb are sure to come,\n    But gifts on the finger are sure to linger.\"\n\n\nOccasionally white spots on the five fingers are named as follows:\n\"A gift, a friend, a foe, a true lover, a journey to go.\" Should the\nlittle ones, when picking flowers, sting themselves with nettles, they\nare of course in this locality, as elsewhere in England, taught to rub\nthe spot with dock-leaves, repeating the words, \"In dock, out nettle;\"\nbut they are often told in addition to wet the place affected with\ntheir spittle, and make a cross over it with their thumb-nails, pressed\ndown as heavily as possible. School-boys and school-girls often years\nago practised a cruel jest on their more innocent companions. They\ninduced them to pick a nettle by saying \"Nettles won't sting this\nmonth.\" When the children were stung and complained, the retort was,\n\"I never said they would not sting you.\" The blue scabious in Cornwall\nis never plucked. It is called the devil's bit, and the superstition\nis handed down from one generation of children to another that, should\nthey transgress and do so, the devil will appear to them in their\ndreams at night. But anyone who wishes to dream of the devil should\npin four ivy-leaves to the corners of his pillow. Flowers plucked from\nchurchyards bring ill-luck, and even visitations from spirits on the\nplucker. Wrens and robins are sacred in the eyes of Cornish boys, for\n\n\n   \"Hurt a robin or a wran,\n    Never prosper, boy nor man.\"\n\n\nA groom who had, when a lad, shot a robin and held it in one of his\nhands told me that it shook ever after. But they always chase and try\nto kill the first butterfly of the season; and, should they succeed,\nthey will overcome their enemies--I suppose, in football, etc.\n\n\"To hear the first cuckoo of spring on the right ear is lucky, on the\nleft unlucky; as many times as it repeats its notes will the number\nof years be before the hearer is married. The cuckoo song--\n\n\n   'In April, come he will,\n    In May, he sings all day,\n    In June, he alters his tune,\n    In July, he prepares to fly,\n    Come August, go he must'--\n\n\nis known all over the county, with additions and slight variations,\nsuch as--\n\n\n   'In March, he sits upon his perch,\n    In Aperel, he tunes his bell.'\"\n\n                --South-east Cornwall, W. Pengelly.\n\n\n\"A bat in Cornwall is called an 'airy-mouse;' village boys address\nit as it flits over their heads in the following rhymes--\n\n\n   'Airy-mouse, airy-mouse! fly over my head,\n    And you shall have a crust of bread,\n    And when I brew, or when I bake,\n    You shall have a piece of my wedding cake.'\"\n\n                                --Polperro, T. Q. Couch.\n\n\nSometimes in West Cornwall they say--\n\n\n    \"Bit-bat! bit-bat! come under my hat.\"\n\n\nEarwigs they hold in detestation, as they believe that, should they\nget into their ears, they will cause madness. There is a legend popular\namongst them which relates that a poor man was once driven frantic by\na very queer sensation in his head. At last, not being able to bear\nit any longer, he went into a meat-market, laid it down upon a block,\nand asked a butcher to chop it off. Whilst in this recumbent position\nan earwig crept out of his ear, and the pain instantly ceased. Our\nschool-boys have other fallacies, such as, the pain caused by a\n\"custice,\" i.e. a stroke across the palm of the hand with a cane,\nmay be neutralised by placing two hairs on it crossways. Also that\nthe wound made by a nail can be kept from festering by wrapping the\nnail in a piece of fat bacon to prevent its rusting.\n\nSchool-girls' superstitions are more sentimental, and often connected\nwith wishing. If, when talking together, one accidentally makes a\nrhyme, she wishes; and, should she be asked a question before she\nspeaks again, to which she can answer Yes, she thinks that she is\nsure to get it. When an eyelash falls out its owner puts it on the\ntip of her nose, wishes and blows at it; should she blow it off,\nshe will have her wish. Should she by chance hear a dog dreaming,\nshe stands up, puts a foot on each side of it, and then wishes. Years\nago one gravely told me that if I wanted to know a dog's dreams I\nmust throw a pocket-handkerchief over it when sleeping and keep it\nthere until it awoke; then, before getting into bed, put it under\nmy pillow, and I should have the same dream. Dreams in Cornwall are\nalways said to go by contraries. \"If you dream of the dead you will\nhear tell of the living,\" etc. To dream anyone is kissing you is a\nsign of deceit. \"Of fruit out of season, trouble without reason.\"\n\n\n    \"A Friday's dream on Saturdays told\n    Is sure to come true, be it ever so old.\"\n\n\nTo see if a friend loves her, a Cornish girl pulls out a hair from her\nfriend's head, and then tries to suspend it by the root from the palm\nof her own hand. If this can be done the test is successful. When a\nlittle older there are many ways in which our maidens \"try for their\nsweethearts.\" A few of the rules prescribed for these rites, which\nhave been handed down from generation to generation, may be worth\ntranscribing. \"Draw a bracken fern, cut it at the bottom of the stalk;\nthere you will find your lover's initials.\" Take an apple-pip between\nthe forefinger and the thumb, flip it into the air, saying, \"North,\nsouth, east, west, tell me where my love doth rest,\" and watch the\ndirection in which it falls. Go into the fields at the time of the\nnew moon and pluck a piece of herb yarrow; put it when going to bed\nunder your pillow, saying--\n\n\n   \"Good night, fair yarrow,\n    Thrice good night to thee;\n    I hope before to-morrow's dawn\n    My true love I shall see.\"\n\n\nIf you are to be married your sweetheart will appear to you in\nyour dreams.\n\n\"Look out of your bed-room window on St. Valentine's morn, note the\nfirst man you see, and you will marry the same, or one of the name.\"\n\nTo lose your apron or your garter shows that your lover is thinking of\nyou. Three candles burning at the same time is the sign of a wedding;\nand the girl who is nearest to the door, the cupboard, and the\nshortest candle, will be married first. When two people accidentally\nsay the same thing at the same time the one who finishes first will\nbe married first. There are a great number of omens similar to these\nlast, equally stupid, and not worthy of notice.\n\n\"Friday is a cross day for marriage,\" and \"If you marry in Lent you'll\nlive to repent.\" Should you in marrying\n\n\n   \"Change the name, and not the letter,\n    You'll change for the worse, and not for the better.\"\n\n\nbut it is lucky if your initials form a word.\n\n\"The young men of a place, when they know that a person is paying\nattention to a girl or woman, seize hold of him, place him in a\nwheelbarrow, in which they wheel him up and down until they are tired,\nwhen they upset him on the nearest pile or in a pond. This is called\nriding in the 'one-wheel coach;' and to say that a man has ridden in\nthe 'one-wheel coach' is tantamount to the expression that he has\n'gone-a-courting.'\"--Rev. S. Rundle, Transactions Penzance Natural\nHistory Society, etc., 1885-1886.\n\nWhen a younger sister marries first the elder is said to dance in\nthe \"bruss\" (short twigs of heath or furze), from an old custom\nof dancing without shoes on the furze prickles which get detached\nfrom the stalk. Only old maids can rear a myrtle, and they will\nnot blossom when trained against houses where there are none. It is\nconsidered extremely unlucky here to break or lose your wedding-ring,\nalso for a wedding-cake to crack after baking. A lady told me of one\nmade for a couple she knew, which fell to pieces when taken out of\nthe oven. Before the wedding-day came the bride had sickened of some\ndisorder, was dead, and buried. A hole in a loaf, too, foretells a\nseparation in a family; and to turn one upside down on a table wrecks\na vessel. \"If a hare cross the path of a wedding party, the bride or\nbridegroom will die within seven years.\"--Rev. S. Rundle, Cornubiana.\n\n\"A young woman who has been three times a bridesmaid will never be\na bride.\" \"It was an old custom, religiously observed until lately\nin Zennor and adjacent parishes on the north coast of Cornwall,\nto waylay a married couple on their wedding night and flog them\nto bed with cords, sheep-spans, or anything handy for the purpose,\nbelieving that this rough treatment would ensure them happiness and the\n'heritage and gift that cometh of the Lord,' of a numerous family. At\nmore modish weddings the guests merely entered the bridal chamber,\nand threw stockings in which stones or something to make weight were\nplaced, at the bride and bridegroom in bed. The first one hit of the\nhappy pair betokened the sex of their first-born.\"--Bottrell.\n\nShould there be a great discrepancy between the ages of the bride\nand bridegroom, or the marriage of a couple in any way be a matter\nof notoriety, they are in West Cornwall on their wedding night often\ntreated to a \"shallal,\" a serenade on tin-kettles, pans, marrow-bones,\n&c. Any great noise in this part of the county is described as being\n\"a reg'lar shallal.\" In olden times (in fact the custom is not quite\ndiscontinued at the present day, for I heard a whisper of one having\ntaken place in a small fishing-village two years ago) married people\naccused of immorality were in Cornwall punished by a \"riding.\" I will\ngive the description of one by Mr. T. Q. Couch.\n\n\"A cart was got, donkeys were harnessed in, and a pair personating\nthe guilty or suspected were driven through the streets, attended by\na train of men and boys. At Polperro (East Cornwall) the attendants\nacted as trumpeters; the bullocks' horns used by the fishermen at sea\nfor fog or night signals were always available for the purpose. The\nmummers were very cautious, by careful disguise in dress or voice,\nand avoiding of anything directly libellous in their rather ribald\ndialogue, to keep themselves out of the clutches of the law. I remember\none riding when an old rusty cannon of the smuggling period was waked\nup from its long quiet for service for the occasion, and bursting,\nled to the mutilation of several and the death of one.\" On the borders\nof Devon and in that county this ceremony was known as a \"mock-hunt.\"\n\nA lock of hair hanging down over the forehead is in Cornwall called\n\"a widow's lock;\" (and children are still here told when it falls down\n\"to shed their hair back out of their eyes.\") A foolish warning says,\n\n\n   \"Go thro' a gate when there's a stile hard by,\n    You'll be a widow before you die.\"\n\n\nThe sudden appearance of rats or mice in Cornish houses is said to\nbe a certain forerunner of sickness and death. Many curious tales\nare told in confirmation of this superstition; one I particularly\nremember was in connection with a young man who was killed on the\nWest Cornwall Railway. After the accident, they vanished as quickly\nas they came. It is also considered to be very unlucky for a bird\nto perch on the window-sill of a sick person's room, farewell then\nto all chances of recovery; and strange birds coming into a house\n(especially a robin through the back door) foretell the death of\nsome one in it, or connected with the family. I was once where a\nlittle child lay dying, a small brown bird sang on the window-sill,\nthe nurse told me that it was waiting to carry away the child's\nsoul. \"But when a flea bites a sick person he is sure not to be\ndangerously ill, as it is well known that they never bite those who\nhave had their death-stroke.\" The superstitions that you cannot die\neasily on pillows stuffed with wild birds' feathers, and that life\ngoes out with the tide, are as current here as in other places. Death\nin Cornwall is often spoken of as \"going round land,\" and \"gone dead\"\nis a common idiom. A threat to kill is occasionally conveyed in the\nwords \"I will give you your quietus.\" In some cases it is supposed\nthat life may be restored after death if when the breath stops the\nbody be violently shaken. When a member of a family dies, his death\nit is said will bring two others with it, [33] from the idea that one\nmisfortune never comes alone. A Cornish country vicarage was lately\nstartled by the tolling at an unwonted hour of the church bell. On\nsending to ascertain the cause of the disturbance an \"old inhabitant\nwas found in the belfry, who had been engaged in the absence or\nillness of the usual sexton to dig the grave. He said in explanation\nthat in his time it was always usual for the gravedigger to toll the\nbell three times before breaking the consecrated ground.\"--J. H. C.,\nNotes and Queries, 5th series, vol. ii., August, 1874.\n\nA corpse should never be carried to church by a new road, and should\na hearse stop on its way to the churchyard there will soon be another\ndeath in the house. Singing funerals, or as they are called in Cornwall\nburyings (pronounced \"berrins\"), were once almost universal (and one\nmay still occasionally be met). The mourners and friends following\nthe coffin sang as they walked through the streets or lanes their\nfavourite hymns, often to most elaborate tunes.\n\n\n   \"To shaw our sperrits lev-us petch [34]\n    The laast new berrin tune.\"--Tregellas.\n\n\nFew people in old days were buried on the north side of a\nchurch. Flowers and shrubs planted in Cornish churchyards are never\nplucked, from the fear that the spirits of the departed will at night\nvisit the desecrator. Should an urn found in a \"barrow\" be taken\ninto a house, the person whose ashes it contained will haunt it;\nit must be broken up and the pieces hidden. Cross-roads, the former\nburying-place of suicides, are after nightfall avoided, such spots\nbeing haunted; but if you have courage to go there at midnight and\nwish, you will get your wish.\n\nWith a few general superstitions I shall bring this part to an\nend. It is unlucky in Cornwall to see the new moon first over the left\nshoulder, or through a window, especially if the day should happen\nto be a Friday. To ensure good luck on your first sight of her, you\nshould curtsey, spit on your money and turn it in your pocket. (A\nman well paid for any chance job early in the day calls it here \"a\nhansel,\" and spits on the money for good luck.) If you particularly\ndesire anything, look at the new moon and wish before you speak. You\nmay also wish when you see a falling star, and if you can succeed in\nframing it before it disappears your wish will be granted. Seeing the\nnew moon in the old moon's arms is a sign of a change in the weather,\nso is a star passing over it. The change will be for the worse if the\nmoon goes over the star. \"Herbs for drying must be gathered at full\nmoon; winter fruit picked and stored at full moon, not to lose its\nplumpness. Timber should be felled on the bating of the moon, because\nthe sap is then down, and the wood will be more durable.\"--Bottrell.\n\nCard-table Superstitions:--\"Good luck in cards, bad luck in a husband\n(or wife).\" \"A shuffling cut is good for the dealer.\" \"1 2 3 4 played\nin succession kiss the dealer.\" To cut an honour for the trump card is\nunlucky, for \"When quality opens the door there is poverty behind;\"\nbut \"Good luck lurks under a black deuce\" (it should be touched by\nthe cutter).\n\nSuperstitions connected with the body:--A twitching in the eyelid is\nlucky; but you must not say when it comes nor when it goes.\n\nRight eye itching, a sign of laughter; but left over right, you'll\ncry before night.\n\nRight cheek burning, some one praising you; left one, abusing (a\nknot tied in the apron-string will cause the slanderer to bite his\nor her tongue); but left or right are both good at night. \"If the\ncheek burns, someone is talking scandal of you. I have often heard\nthe lines spoken:--\n\n\n    Right cheek! left cheek! why do you burn?\n    Cursed be she that doth me any harm;\n    If she be a maid, let her be staid;\n    If she be a widow, long let her mourn;\n    But if it be my own true love--burn, cheek, burn!\"--T. Q. Couch.\n\n\nNose itching, you will be kissed, cursed, or vexed; or shake hands\nwith a fool.\n\nRight hand itching, someone will pay or give you money; but the left\nyou will be the payer. In regard to the former,\n\n\n   \"If you rub it on wood,\n    It will be sure to come good.\"\n\n    Sneeze on Sunday morning fasting,\n    Enjoy your true love for everlasting.\n\n\nOn every other morning it is lucky to sneeze once before breakfast;\nbut not twice.\n\nFire Superstitions:--A difficulty in kindling the fire in the mornings\nis a sign of anger; burning only on one side, of a separation in\nthe family (some say of a wedding). A flake of smut on the bar\nof the grate shows that a stranger is coming to the house. Should\nthe fire be burning brightly, he will bring good news; but if the\ncontrary, bad. If after you poke the fire it burns up brightly, your\nsweetheart is in a good temper; but should it not improve he is in a\nbad one. A coal popping out of the fire is either a cradle or coffin,\nor a purse. It is allowed to cool and then examined to find out the\nshape; if pronounced to be a purse, it is shaken close to the ear,\nwhen should it jingle it is said to contain money. I once saw this done\nin a school by its mistress. It is unlucky to put a bellows on a table.\n\n\"Ladies' trees,\" small branches of dried seaweed, are sometimes hung\nup in chimneys to protect houses from fire; or a Passover biscuit\nsuspended by a string from a nail in the wall.\n\nA bright spark on a candle foretells a letter, but if pointed out it\nnever arrives.\n\nThere are so many unlucky omens in Cornwall that to believe in\nthem all would make life miserable, and to enumerate them would\nfill a volume. The major part of them too are silly and not worth\ntranscribing; three or four of them as examples will, I am quite sure,\namply suffice. \"A work begun on Friday is never ended.\"\n\n\n   \"If you sing afore bite,\n    You'll cry before night.\"\n\n\n\"It is unlucky to sing carols before Christmas;\" or before the first\n\"arish mow [35]\" is made. Also, \"To scat [36] hands before Christmas,\"\ni.e., beat them for warmth.\n\n\"It is unlucky to pour out water or any other liquor back-handed.\"\n\n\"It is unlucky to lend, or say thank you for a pin.\" And\n\n\n   \"If you see a pin, and pass it by,\n    You'll want a pin before you die.\"\n\n\n\"It is unlucky to mend your clothes on you, for then you will never\ngrow rich.\"\n\nIt is unlucky to wear a hole in the bottom of a shoe, for\n\n\n   \"A hole in the sole,\n    You'll live to spend whole.\"\n\n\nServants who come to their places after noon never stay, etc., etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCORNISH GAMES.\n\n\nMany old games worth recording are still played by Cornish children,\nout of doors in summer, indoors in winter, and at their numerous\nschool-treats. To those common elsewhere, other names in Cornwall are\noften given, and different words sung. Some well known thirty-five\nyears ago, now (1890) live only in the memory of those who were\nchildren then, or linger in a very fragmentary state in some remote\ncountry districts. Such as\n\n\n   \"Here come three dukes a-riding.\"\n\n\nTo play this the children were divided into two parties. In the first\nwere only the three dukes; in the second the other players, who stood\nin a long line, linked hand in hand, facing them,--the mother in the\nmiddle, with her daughters ranged according to size on each side of\nher. One duke was chosen as spokesman, and he began the following\ndialogue, which was sung; the party singing advanced and retreated,\nwhilst the others stood still:--\n\n\n   \"Here 'comes' three dukes a-riding, a-riding--\n    Here 'comes' three dukes a-riding, to court your daughter Jane.\"\n\n   \"My daughter Jane is yet too young\n    To bear your silly, flattering tongue.\"\n\n   \"Be she young or be she old,\n    She for her beauty must and shall be sold.\"\n\n   \"So fare thee well, my lady gay,\n    We'll take our horse and ride away,\n    And call again another day.\"\n\n   \"Come back! come back! you Spanish knight,\n    And clean your spurs, they are not bright.\"\n\n   \"My spurs are bright as 'rickety rock' (and richly wrought),\n    And in this town they were not bought,\n    And in this town they shan't be sold,\n    Neither for silver, copper, nor gold.\n      So fare thee well,\" etc.\n\n   \"Come back! come back! you Spanish Jack (or coxcomb).\"\n\n   \"Spanish Jack (or coxcomb) is not my name,\n    I'll stamp my foot (stamps) and say the same.\n      So fare thee well,\" etc.\n\n   \"Come back! come back! you Spanish knight,\n    And choose the fairest in your sight.\"\n\n\nThe dukes retired, consulted together, and then selected one, singing--\n\n\n   \"This is the fairest I can see,\n    So pray young damsel walk with me.\"\n\n\nWhen all the daughters had been taken away, they were brought back\nto their mother in the same order, the dukes chanting:--\n\n\n   \"We've brought your daughter, safe and sound,\n    And in her pocket a thousand pound,\n    And on her finger a gay gold ring,\n    We hope you won't refuse to take her in.\"\n\n   \"I'll take her in with all my heart,\n    For she and 'me' were loth to part.\"\n\n\nThe Rev. S. Rundle, vicar of Godolphin, near Helston, saw some\nchildren lately in his neighbourhood playing a portion of this game,\nwhen to \"Here comes three dukes a-riding\" they added--\"My rancy, dancy\ndukes.\" Mr. Halliwell Phillips, in his Nursery Rhymes and Tales of\nEngland, has published three versions of it, but the game as played\nin Cornwall has some additional couplets.\n\n\n\n\nPRAY, PRETTY MISS.\n\nFor this--quite, I think, a thing of the past--the children (a boy\nand girl alternately) formed a ring. One stood in the middle holding\na white handkerchief by two of its corners: if a boy he would single\nout one of the girls, dance backwards and forwards opposite to her,\nand sing--\n\n\n   \"Pray, pretty Miss, will you come out?\n    Will you come out? will you come out?\n    Pray, pretty Miss, will you come out,\n    To help me in my dancing?\"\n\n\nIf the answer were \"No!\" spoken with averted head over the left\nshoulder, the rhyme ran--\n\n\n   \"Then you are a naughty Miss!\n    Then you are a naughty Miss!\n    Then you are a naughty Miss!\n    Won't help me in my dancing.\"\n\n\nOccasionally three or four in turn refused. When the request was\ngranted the words were changed to--\n\n\n   \"Now you are a good Miss!\n    Now you are a good Miss!\n    Now you are a good Miss!\n    To help me in my dancing.\"\n\n\nThe handkerchief was then carefully spread on the floor; the couple\nknelt on it and kissed: the child formerly in the middle joined the\nring, and the other took his place, or if he preferred it, remained in\nthe centre; in that case the children clasped hands and sang together--\n\n\n   \"Pray, pretty Miss (or Sir),\" etc.\n\n\nThe last to enter the ring had always the privilege of selecting the\nnext partner.\n\nIn all these childish games, to prevent disputes, and decide who shall\nbe middleman, hide first, etc., one or other of the following formul\u00e6\nis always recited by the eldest of the party, who as he repeats the\nwords points with his forefinger at each player in succession until\nhe comes to the end of the rhyme. The person then indicated goes out:--\n\n\n   \"Vizzery, vazzery, vozery-vem,\n    Tizzery, tazzery, tozery-tem,\n    Hiram, jiram, cockrem, spirem,\n    Poplar, rollin, gem.\"\n\n   \"There stands a pretty maid in a black cap,\n    If you want a pretty maid in a black cap,\n    Please to take 'she.'\"--(East Cornwall).\n\n   \"Ene, mene, mona, mi,\n    Pasca, lara, bona (or bora), bi,\n    Elke, belke, boh!\"\n\n   \"Eggs, butter, cheese, bread,\n    Stick, stack, stone, dead!\"--(West Cornwall).\n\n\nTo this latter there are several nonsensical modern editions.\n\nA game with a jingle somewhat like the first is played by children\nat Newlyn West, near Penzance, called--\n\n\n   \"Vesey, vasey, vum.\"\n\n\nOne child is blindfolded, the others hide something, and shout--\n\n\n   \"Vesey, vasey, vum,\n    Buck-a-boo has come!\n    Find if you can and take it home,\n    Vesey, vasey, vum!\"\n\n\nA search is then made for the hidden object: when found the finder\nin his turn is blindfolded.\n\nAfter this digression I will give all the other forgotten games before\ndescribing those still played.\n\n\n\n\n\"FRISKEE, FRISKEE, I WAS, AND I WAS.\"\n\nKnown elsewhere as \"Now we dance looby, looby, looby.\" To play it\nthe children formed a ring and danced around, singing--\n\n\n   \"Friskee, friskee, I was, and I was\n    A drinking of small beer.\"\n\n\nThey then stopped suddenly and said, \"Right arms in!\" (all were\nextended towards the centre of the circle); \"Right arms out!\" (all\nwheeled round with arms outstretched in the contrary direction);\n\"Shake yourselves a little and little and turn yourselves about.\" The\ncircle was reformed, \"Friskee,\" etc., was repeated, and the game went\non until all the different parts of the body had been named.\n\n\n\n\n\"FOOL, FOOL, COME TO SCHOOL.\"\n\nAll the children in this game, except one who left the room, called\nthemselves by the name of some bird, beast or fish. The child outside\nwas brought in, and one chosen as schoolmaster said--\n\n\n   \"Fool! fool! come to school,\n    And find me out the ----:\"\n\n\ngiving the assumed name of one of the players. If the fool fixed on\nthe right person, he stayed in and the other went out, which of course\ninvolved re-naming; but if he made a mistake they all cried out--\n\n\n   \"Fool! fool! go back to school,\n    And learn your letters better.\"\n\n\nHe retired, pretended to knock his head against the door, and returned,\nwhen he was again asked in the same words to name some other player.\n\nSome of the games were much rougher, such as \"Pig in the middle and\ncan't get out,\" and \"Solomon had a great dog.\"\n\nFor the first, one of the children stood in the centre, whilst the\nothers danced around him in a circle, saying, \"Pig in the middle and\ncan't get out.\" He replied, \"I've lost my key but I will get out,\"\nand threw the whole weight of his body suddenly on the clasped hands\nof a couple to try and unlock them. When he had succeeded he changed\nthe words to, \"I've broken your locks, and I have got out.\"\n\nOne of the pair whose hands he had opened took his place, and he\njoined the ring.\n\nFor the second, the players knelt in a line; the one at the head,\nin a very solemn tone, chanted, \"Solomon had a great dog;\" the others\nanswered in the same way, \"Just so\" (this was always the refrain). Then\nthe first speaker made two or three more ridiculous speeches, ending\nwith, \"And at last this great dog died, and fell down,\" giving at\nthe same time a violent lurch against his next neighbour, who, not\nexpecting it, fell against his, and so on to the end of the line.\n\n\n\n\n\"SCAT\" (Cornish for \"slap\").\n\nA paper-knife, or thin slip of wood, was placed by one player on\nhis open palm. Another took it up quickly, and tried to \"scat\" his\nopponent's hand before he could draw it away. Sometimes a feint of\ntaking the paper-knife was made three or four times before it was\nreally done. When the \"scat\" was given, the \"scatter\" in his turn\nrested the knife on his palm.\n\n\n\n\nHOLE IN THE WALL.\n\nA person, who did not know the trick, was blindfolded, another stood\nin the corner of the room with his mouth open. The forefinger of\nthe blindfolded player was carefully guided around the walls of the\nroom to find the hole, until at last it was put into the open mouth,\nwhen it was sharply bitten.\n\n\n\n\nMALAGA, MALAGA RAISINS (a forfeit game).\n\nThe players sat in a circle. One acquainted with the trick took a poker\nin his right hand, made some eccentric movements with it, passed it\nto his left, and gave it to his next neighbour on that side, saying,\n\"Malaga, Malaga raisins, very good raisins I vow,\" and told him to\ndo the same. Should he fail to pass it from right to left, when he\nin his turn gave it to his neighbour, without being told where the\nmistake lay he was made to pay a forfeit.\n\n\n\n\nSHE SAID, AND SHE SAID.\n\nThis required a confederate, who left the room. The other in the secret\nasked a person inside to whisper to him whom she (or he) loved, then\ncalled in his companion, and the following dialogue was carried on:--\n\n\n   \"She said, and she said!\n    And what did she say?\"\n\n   \"She said that she loved.\"\n\n   \"And whom did she love?\n    Suppose she said she loved ----?\"\n\n   \"No! she never said that, whatever she said.\"\n\n\nAn indefinite number of names were mentioned before the right one. When\nthat came, to the surprise of the whisperer, the answer was--\n\n\n   \"Yes! she said that.\"\n\n\nThe secret was very simple, the name of a widow or widower was always\ngiven before that whispered.\n\nThe two next are played everywhere, but the words I believe are\npeculiar to Cornwall.\n\n\n\n\nDROP THE HANDKERCHIEF.\n\nThis is much too common to require a description. I will therefore only\ngive the doggerel, which is recited by the holder of the handkerchief\nas he walks around the ring:--\n\n\n   \"I sent a letter to my love,\n    I carried water in my glove,\n    And by the way I dropped it.\n      I did so! I did so!\n    I had a little dog that said 'Bow! wow!'\n    I had a little cat that said 'Meow! meow!'\n    Shan't bite you, shan't bite you,\n      Shall bite you.\"\n\n\nThrows the handkerchief, and chases the girl.\n\n\n\n\nHOW MANY MILES TO BABYLON?\n\nTo this game, known elsewhere as \"Thread the Needle,\" the following\nlines are chanted:--\n\n\n   \"How many miles to Babylon?\n      Three score and ten.\n    Can I get there by candle-light?\n      Yes! if your legs are long and straight.\n    Then open your gates as high as the sky,\n    And let King George and all his troops pass by.\"\n\n\n\n\nRULES OF CONTRARY.\n\nFour children hold a handkerchief by the four corners, one moves a\nfinger over it saying, as fast as possible--\n\n\n   \"Here I go round the rules of contrary,\n    Hopping about like a little canary,\n    When I say 'Hold fast' leave go;\n    When I say 'Leave go' hold fast.\"\n\n\nAny player making a mistake pays a forfeit.\n\n\n\n\nLADY QUEEN ANNE.\n\nA very pretty version of this old English game is often played at\njuvenile parties in Cornwall.\n\nOne child is chosen to remain in the room, whilst the others go\noutside and consult together as to whom shall hold the ball (some small\nthing). They then troop in, with their hands either hidden under the\nskirts of their dresses, or clasped in such a way that Lady Queen Anne,\nby looking at them, cannot tell which has it; all repeating--\n\n\n   \"Here come we to Lady Queen Anne,\n    With a pair of white gloves to cover our hand;\n    As white as a lily, as fair as the rose,\n    But not so fair as you may suppose.\"\n\n    L. Q. A. \"Turn, ladies, turn!\"\n\n    (Whirl round.) \"The more we turn the more we may,\n    Queen Anne was born on Midsummer day.\"\n\n    L. Q. A. \"The king sent me three letters, I never read them all,\n    So pray, Miss ----, deliver the ball.\"\n\n\nShould she have guessed correctly, all the party curtsey, and say--\n\n\n   \"The ball is yours and not ours,\n    You must go to the garden and gather the flowers.\"\n\n\nAnd the child who had the ball takes the queen's seat, whilst she\nretires with the others; but should she have made a mistake, the same\nparty go out again, saying as they curtsey--\n\n\n   \"The ball is yours and not ours,\n    (Repeat) We,\" etc.\n\n\nMr. Halliwell Phillips, in his book before quoted, has shorter versions\nof this, with different rhymes.\n\nAnother game which has descended from generation to generation is--\n\n\n\n\nOLD WITCH.\n\nThe children chose from their party an old witch (who is supposed\nto hide herself) and a mother. The other players are the daughters,\nand are called by the names of the week. The mother says that she is\ngoing to market, and will bring home for each the thing that she most\nwishes for. Upon this they all name something. Then, after telling them\nupon no account to allow anyone to come into the house, she gives her\nchildren in charge of her eldest daughter Sunday, and goes away. In a\nmoment, the witch makes her appearance, and asks to borrow some trifle.\n\nSunday at first refuses, but, after a short parley, goes into the next\nroom to fetch the required article. In her absence the witch steals the\nyoungest of the children (Saturday), and runs off with her. Sunday,\non her return, seeing that the witch has left, thinks there must be\nsomething wrong, and counts the children, saying, \"Monday, Tuesday,\"\netc., until she comes to Saturday, who is missing. She then pretends\nto cry, wrings her hands, and sobs out--\"Mother will beat me when\nshe comes home.\"\n\nOn the mother's return, she, too, counts the children, and,\nfinding Saturday gone, asks Sunday where she is. Sunday answers,\n\"Oh, mother! an old witch called, and asked to borrow ----, and,\nwhilst I was fetching it, she ran off with Saturday.\" The mother\nscolds and beats her, tells her to be more careful in the future,\nand again sets off for the market. This is repeated until all the\nchildren but Sunday have been stolen. Then the mother and Sunday,\nhand in hand, go off to search for them. They meet the old witch,\nwho has them all crouching down in a line behind her.\n\nMother. Have you seen my children?\n\nO. W. Yes! I think, by Eastgate.\n\nThe mother and Sunday retire, as if to go there, but, not finding them,\nagain return to the witch, who this time sends them to Westgate,\nthen to Southgate and Northgate. At last one of the children pops\nher head up over the witch's shoulder, and cries out, \"Here we are,\nmother.\" Then follows this dialogue:--\n\nM. I see my children, may I go in?\n\nO. W. No! your boots are too dirty.\n\nM. I will take them off.\n\nO. W. Your stockings are too dirty.\n\nM. I will take them off.\n\nO. W. Your feet are too dirty.\n\nM. I will cut them off.\n\nO. W. Then the blood will stream over the floor.\n\nThe mother at this loses patience, and pushes her way in, the witch\ntrying in vain to keep her out. She, with all her children, then chase\nthe witch until they catch her; when they pretend to bind her hand\nand foot, put her on a pile, and burn her, the children fanning the\nimaginary flames with their pinafores. Sometimes the dialogue after\n\"Here we are, mother,\" is omitted, and the witch is at once chased.\n\nMr. Halliwell Phillips calls this the \"Game of the Gipsy,\" and gives\nsome rhymes to which it is played, but I have never heard them in\nthis county.\n\nThe next, a game quite unknown to me, I took down from the lips of\na little girl in West Cornwall, in 1882, who told me it was a great\nfavourite with her and her playmates.\n\n\n\n\nGHOST AT THE WELL.\n\nOne of the party is chosen for ghost (if dressed in white so much\nthe better); she hides in a corner; the other children are a mother\nand daughters. The eldest daughter says:\n\n\"Mother, mother, please give me a piece of bread and butter.\"\n\nM. Let me (or \"leave me\") look at your hands, child. Why, they are\nvery dirty.\n\nE. D. I will go to the well and wash them.\n\nShe goes to the corner, the ghost peeps up, and she rushes back,\ncrying out--\n\n\"Mother! mother! I have seen a ghost.\"\n\nM. Nonsense, child! it was only your father's nightshirt I have washed\nand hung out to dry. Go again.\n\nThe child goes, and the same thing happens. She returns, saying--\n\n\"Yes, mother! I have seen a ghost.\"\n\nM. Nonsense, child! we will take a candle, and all go together to\nsearch for it. The mother picks up a twig for a candle, and they\nset off. When they come near to the ghost, she appears from her\nhiding-place, mother and children rush away in different directions;\nthe ghost chases them until she has caught one, who in her turn\nbecomes ghost.\n\n\n\n\nMOTHER, MOTHER, MAY I GO OUT TO PLAY?\n\nI thought this game was a thing of the past, but I came on some\nchildren playing it in the streets of Penzance, in 1883. It may be\nplayed by any number, and, as in the two former games, one is chosen\nfor mother. This is the dialogue:\n\nC. Mother, mother, may I (or we) go out to play?\n\nM. No, child! no, child! not for the day.\n\nC. Why, mother? why, mother? I won't stay long.\n\nM. Make three pretty courtesies, and away! begone!\n\nC. One for mammy, one for daddy, one for Uncle John.\n\nThe child, as she mentions the names, spreads out the skirts of her\ndress and courtesies, after which she retires to a little distance,\nand then returns.\n\nM. Where, child! where, child! have you been all the day?\n\nC. Up to granny's.\n\nM. What have you been doing there?\n\nThe answer to this is often \"Washing dolls' clothes,\" but anything\nmay be mentioned.\n\nM. What did she give you?\n\nThe reply is again left to the child's fancy.\n\nM. Where's my share?\n\nC. The cat ate it. What's in that box, mother?\n\nM. Twopence, my child.\n\nC. What for, mother?\n\nM. To buy a stick to beat you, and a rope to hang you, my child.\n\nThe child at this tries to snatch at the box, the mother chases her\nuntil she has caught her (when there are several children, until she\nhas caught one), she then pretends to beat her, and puts her hands\naround her neck as if she were going to hang her.\n\n\n\n\nHERE I SIT ON A COLD GREEN BANK.\n\nThe children form a ring around one of the party, who sits in the\nmiddle, and says:\n\n\n   \"Here I sit on a cold green bank,\n    On a cold and frosty morning.\"\n\n\nThen those in the circle dance round her, singing:\n\n\n   \"We'll send a young man (or woman) to take you away,\n    To take you away, to take you away;\n    We'll send a young man to take you away,\n    On a cold and frosty morning.\"\n\n    Child. \"Pray tell me what his name shall be?\"\n\n\nOr,\n\n\n   \"Pray, whom will you send to take me away?\"\n\n    Circle. \"We'll send Mr. ---- to take you away.\"\n\n\nThis is repeated three times with the refrain, \"On a cold,\" etc. after\nwhich the dancing and singing cease, and the child is asked, \"Sugar,\nsweet, or vinegar, sour?\" Her answer is always taken in a contrary\nsense, and sung, as before, three times, whilst the children circle\nround. The one in the middle then rises to her feet. The boy (or\ngirl) named advances and kisses her, they change places, and the game\nbegins again.\n\n\n\n\nJOGGLE ALONG.\n\nThis is a very favourite open-air game. To play it there must be an\nuneven number. He (or she) stands in the middle, whilst the others,\narm in arm, circle around him singing:--\n\n\n   \"Come all ye young men, with your wicked ways,\n    Sow all your wild oats in your youthful days,\n    That we may live happy, that we may live happy,\n    That we may live happy when we grow old.\n    The day is far spent, the night's coming on,\n    Give us your arm, and we'll 'joggle along.'\"\n                  That we may live happy, etc., etc.\n\n\nAt the words \"joggle along,\" they all drop the arm of the person they\nare leading, and try to catch the arm of the player in front of them,\nwhilst the middle man tries at the same time to get a partner. Should\nhe succeed, the player left without one takes his place. (Repeat.)\n\nI am indebted to the Rev. S. Rundle, vicar of Godolphin, for another\nset of words to this game, which he calls--\n\n\n\n\nTHE JOLLY MILLER,\n\nAnd, under this title, a lady, two years since, saw some children\nplaying it at St. Ives, in Cornwall.\n\n\n   \"There was a jolly miller, lived by himself,\n    By grinding corn he got his wealth;\n    One hand in the upper, the other in the bag,\n    As the wheel went round, they all called 'Grab.'\"\n\n\nIn this county \"Tom Tiddler's Ground\" is known as \"Mollish's Land,\"\n\"Cat and Mouse\" as \"The Duffan Ring,\" and \"Blind Man's Buff\" as\n\"Blind Buck-a-Davy.\" To this last the following words are repeated,\nwhich I have never seen in print. One of the players takes the blind\nperson by the shoulders, and says:\n\n\"How many horses has your father got in his stables?\"\n\nA. Three.\n\n\"What colour are they?\"\n\nA. Red, white, and grey.\n\n(Whirling him round.) \"Then turn about, and twist about, and catch\nwhom you may.\"\n\nTo make barley bread (in other districts, \"Cockley bread\") this rhyme\nis used in West Cornwall:--\n\n\n   \"Mother has called, mother has said,\n   'Make haste home, and make barley bread.'\n    Up with your heels, down with your head,\n    That is the way to make barley bread.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOBBY BINGO.\n\nOf this, which is a very common game at school-treats in some parts\nof West Cornwall, I have only lately, through the kindness of the\nRev. S. Rundle, succeeded in getting a description. He saw some\nchildren, in 1884, playing it in his parish (Godolphin, Helston). A\nring is formed, into the middle of which goes a child holding a stick,\nthe others with joined hands run round in a circle, singing--\n\n\n   \"There was a farmer had a dog,\n    His name was Bobby Bingo;\n    B. I. N. G. O.,\n    His name was Bobby Bingo.\"\n\n\nWhen they have finished singing they cease running, whilst the one\nin the centre pointing with his stick asks them in turn to spell\nBingo. If they all spell it correctly they again move round singing;\nbut, should either of them make a mistake, he or she has to take the\nplace of the middle man.\n\n\n\n\nWEIGH THE BUTTER, WEIGH THE CHEESE,\n\nis rather dangerous, and now but rarely played. Two children stand\nback to back with their arms locked. One stoops as low as he can,\nsupporting the other on his back, and says, \"Weigh the butter;\" he\nrises, and the second stoops in his turn with \"Weigh the cheese.\" The\nfirst repeats with \"Weigh the old woman;\" and it ends by the second,\nwith \"Down to her knees.\"\n\n\n\n\nLIBBETY, LIBBETY, LIBBETY-LAT.\n\nA game of a very different character, which pleases young children. The\nchild stands before a hassock, and as if he were going up-stairs puts\non it first his right and then his left foot, gradually quickening\nhis steps, keeping time to the words:--\n\n\n   \"Libbety, libbety, libbety-lat,\n    Who can do this? and who can do that?\n    And who can do anything better than that?\"\n\n\nThis ends the games in which children of both sexes join. I must next\ngive those exclusively for boys. I will begin by a very old one:\n\n\n\n\nSHIP SAIL\n\nis a game usually played with marbles; one boy puts his hand into his\ntrousers pocket and takes out as many marbles as he feels inclined;\nhe closes his fingers over them, and holds out his hand with the palm\ndown to the opposite player, saying, \"Ship sail, sail fast. How many\nmen on board?\" A guess is made by his opponent; if less, he has to\ngive as many marbles as will make up the true number; if more, as\nmany as he said over. But should the guess be correct he takes them,\nand then in his turn says \"Ship sail,\" etc.\n\n\n\n\nBUCK SHEE, BUCK,\n\nis another game of chance, and is generally played by three boys in\nthe following way. One stands with his back to a wall, the second\nstoops down with his head against the stomach of the first boy,\n\"forming a back,\" the third jumps on it, and holds up his hand with\nthe fingers distended, saying--\n\n\n   \"Buck shee, buck, shee buck,\n    How many fingers do I hold up?\"\n\n\nShould the stooper guess correctly, they all change places and the\njumper forms the back. Another and not such a rough way of playing\nthis game is for the guesser to stand with his face towards a wall,\nkeeping his eyes shut.\n\nLeap-frog is known in Cornwall as \"Leap the long-mare,\" and there is\na curious variation of it called--\n\n\n\n\nACCROSHAY.\n\nA cap or small article is placed on the back of the stooping boy\nby each in turn as he jumps over him. The first as he jumps says\n\"Accroshay,\" the second \"Ashotay,\" the third \"Assheflay,\" and the last\n\"Lament, lament, Leleeman's (or Leleena's) war.\" The boy who in jumping\nknocks off either of the things has to take the place of the stooper.\n\n\n\n\nBUCKEY-HOW.\n\nFor this the boys divide into sides; one \"stops at home,\" the other\ngoes off to a certain distance agreed on beforehand and shouts\n\"Buckey-how.\" The boys \"at home\" then give chase, and, when they\nsucceed in catching an adversary, they bring him home and there he\nstays until all on his side are caught, when they in turn become\nthe chasers.\n\n\n\n\nCUTTERS AND TRUCKLERS (SMUGGLERS).\n\nA remembrance of the old smuggling days. The boys divide into two\nparties; the \"trucklers\" try to reach some given point before the\ncutter catches them.\n\n\n\n\nMARBLE PLAYING\n\nis a favourite recreation with the young fishermen in West Cornwall;\n\"Pits\" and \"Towns\" are the common games. Boys who hit their nails are\nlooked on with great contempt, and are said \"to fire Kibby.\" When two\nare partners and one in playing accidentally hits the other's marble,\nhe cries out \"no custance,\" meaning that he has a right to put back\nthe marble struck; should he fail to do so, it would be considered\nout of the game. To steal marbles is \"to strakey.\"\n\nTo make ducks and drakes with a stone on the water is in Cornwall\ncalled \"Tic-Tac-Mollard.\"\n\n\n\n\nCOCK-HAW.\n\nThis game is, I believe, known in other counties as \"Cob-nut,\" but\nin Cornwall the boys give the name of \"Victor-nut\" to the fruit of\nthe common hazel, and play it to the words:\n\n\n   \"Cock-haw! First blaw! Up hat! Down cap! Victor!\"\n\n\nThe nut that cracks another is called a \"cock battler.\"\n\nChildren under the title of \"Cock battler\" often in country walks\nplay a variation of Cock-haw with the \"Hoary plantain,\" which they\nhold by the tough stem about two inches from the head; each in turn\ntries to knock off the head of his opponent's flower.\n\n\n\n\nWINKY-EYE.\n\nA rural game, played in the spring. An egg taken from a bird's nest\nis placed on the ground, at some distance off--the number of paces\nhaving been previously fixed. Blindfolded, one after the other,\nthe players attempt with a stick to hit and break it.\n\n\n\n\nUPPA, UPPA HOLYE (pronounced oopa, oopa holly).\n\nWhen the writer was a boy, the following were the words used in the\nboys' game of fox-hunting. When the hounds (the boys) were \"at fault\"\nthe leader cried--\n\n\n   \"Uppa, uppa holye,\n    If you don't speak\n    My dogs shan't folly.\"\n\n            (East Cornwall. F. W. P. Jago, M.B., Plymouth.)\n\n\nBoys here, as probably elsewhere, are very fond of hitting each other\nand then running away, shouting--\n\n\n   \"Last blaw, never graw,\n    For seven years to come.\"\n\n\nThe old Cornish game of \"Hurling\" I have already described under the\nhead of \"Feasten Customs.\" Cricket, football, and lawn tennis are of\ncourse played in Cornwall.\n\n\n\n\nTOM TODDY,\n\nan old drinking game, now I expect known to but few. Each person in\nsuccession has to drink a glass of beer or spirits, on the top of\nwhich a piece of lighted candle has been put, whilst the others sing--\n\n\n   \"Tom Toddy es come hoam, come hoam,\n    Tom Toddy es come hoam,\n    Weth es eyes burnt, and his nawse burnt,\n    And es eye-lids burnt also.\n    Tom Toddy es,\" etc.\n\n\nSpecimens of Cornish Provincial Dialect.--Uncle Jan Trenoodle.\n\n\nOf the old dance \"Letterpooch,\" the name only is remembered.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBALLADS, Etc.\n\n\nThere are a few well-known old Cornish ballads, which have already been\nprinted and reprinted; my apology for again introducing them here, must\nbe, that a work of this kind would not be complete without them. \"John\nDory,\" \"An old ballad on a Duke of Cornwall's Daughter,\" \"The Stout\nCripple of Cornwall,\" and \"The Baarley Mow,\" may all be found in\nSpecimens of Cornish Provincial Dialect, by Uncle Jan Trenoodle\n(Sandys); \"Tweedily, Tweedily, Twee,\"--Through Rev. S. Rundle, in\nTransactions Penzance Natural History and Antiquarian Society, 1887-88;\n\"Ye sexes give ear to my fancy,\" T. Q. Couch, Polperro, Cornwall; and\n\"A fox went forth one moonshining night,\" Edward Pole, in Notes and\nQueries, 1854; \"The Long Hundred,\" a song of Numbers, W. Pengelly,\nNotes and Queries, 1873; \"When shall we be married?\" which I heard\nmany years ago in Scilly, and of which I only remember three verses,\nI have never seen in print.\n\nThe Rev. S. Baring Gould, M.A., is now making a collection of the\n\"Traditional Ballads and Songs of the West of England.\" Part I. has\nbeen published; it contains \"Sweet Nightingale,\" said to be a favourite\nwith the miners of Cornwall and Devon; this must be in North Cornwall,\nas the nightingale is unknown in the western part of the county,\nscared away, according to the country-folk, \"by the sweet singing of\nits men and women.\" And \"The Hunting of Arscott of Tetcot,\" of which\nas it has been recast, I will only transcribe the first four lines.\n\n\n   \"In the month of November, in the year fifty-two (1652),\n    Three jolly fox-hunters, all sons of the blue,\n    Came o'er from Pencarrow, not fearing a wet coat,\n    To have some diversion, with Arscott of Tetcot,\" etc.\n\n\n\"Trelawny\" was for many years supposed to be a genuine old Cornish\nballad, and as such was accepted and admired by several well-known\nliterary men; but it was written by the late Rev. R. Hawker, Vicar\nof Morwenstowe; only the lines--\n\n\n   \"And shall Trelawny die?\n    Here's twenty thousand Cornishmen,\n    Will know the reason why!\"--\n\n\nbeing ancient.\n\n\n\n\nJOHN DORY.\n\n\n    As it fell on a holy day,\n      And upon a holytide a:\n    John Dory brought him an ambling nag,\n      To Paris for to ride a.\n\n    And when John Dory to Paris was come,\n      A little before the gate a;\n    John Dory was fitted, the porter was witted,\n      To let him in thereat a.\n\n    The first man that John Dory did meet,\n      Was good King John of France a;\n    John Dory could well of his courtesie,\n      But fell down in a trance a.\n\n    A pardon, a pardon, my liege and my king,\n      For my merry men and for me a:\n    And all the churls in merry England\n      I'll bring them bound to thee a.\n\n    And Nichol was then a Cornish man\n      A little beside Bohyde a;\n    He manned him forth a goodly bark,\n      With fifty good oars of a side a.\n\n    Run up, my boy, into the main top,\n      And look what thou can'st spy a;\n    Who, ho! who, ho! a good ship do I see,\n      I trow it be John Dory a.\n\n    They hoist their sails both top and top,\n      The mizen and all was tried a,\n    And every man stood to his lot,\n      Whatever should betide a.\n\n    The roaring cannons then were plied,\n      And dub-a-dub went the drum a:\n    The braying trumpets loud they cried,\n      To courage both all and some a.\n\n    The grappling hooks were brought at length,\n      The brown bill and the sword a;\n    John Dory at length, for all his strength,\n      Was clapt fast under board a.\n\n\nThis song is mentioned by Carew in his Survey of Cornwall; in it he\nsays--\"the prowesse of one Nicholas, sonne to a widdow neere Foy is\ndeskanted upon.\" (He was one of the \"Fowey gallants.\")\n\n\n\n\nAN OLD BALLAD,\n\nON A DUKE OF CORNWALL'S DAUGHTER;\n\nWHO AFTER HER MARRIAGE TO A KING OF ALBION, WAS DIVORCED FOR THE SAKE\nOF A FAVOURITE MISTRESS; AND HER EXEMPLARY REVENGE ON THEM BOTH.\n\n\n    When Humber in his wrathful rage\n      King Albanact in field had slain,\n    Whose bloody broils for to assuage,\n      King Locrin then applied his pain;\n    And with a host of Britons stout,\n    At length he found king Humber out:\n\n    At vantage great he met him then,\n      And with his host beset him so,\n    That he destroyed his warlike men,\n      And Humber's power did overthrow;\n    And Humber, which for fear did fly,\n    Leapt into a river desp'rately;\n\n    And being drowned in the deep,\n      He left a lady there alive,\n    Which sadly did lament and weep,\n      For fear they should her life deprive.\n    But by her face that was so fair,\n    The king was caught in Cupid's snare:\n\n    He took this lady to his love,\n      Who secretly did keep it still;\n    So that the queen did quickly prove,\n      The king did bear her most good will:\n    Which though by wedlock late begun,\n    He had by her a gallant son.\n\n    Queen Guendolin was griev'd in mind,\n      To see the king was alter'd so:\n    At length the cause she chanc'd to find,\n      Which brought her to much bitter woe.\n    For Estrild was his joy (God wot),\n    By whom a daughter he begot.\n\n    The Duke of Cornwall being dead,\n      The father of that gallant queen:\n    The king with lust being overlaid,\n      His lawful wife he cast off clean:\n    Who with her dear and tender son,\n    For succour did to Cornwall run.\n\n    Then Locrin crowned Estrild bright,\n      And made of her his lawful wife:\n    With her which was his heart's delight,\n      He sweetly thought to lead his life.\n    Thus Guendolin, as one forlorn,\n    Did hold her wretched life in scorn.\n\n    But when the Cornish men did know\n      The great abuse she did endure,\n    With her a number great did go,\n      Which she by prayer did procure.\n    In battle then they march'd along,\n    For to redress this grievous wrong.\n\n    And near a river called Store,\n      The king with all his host she met;\n    Where both the armies fought full sore,\n      But yet the queen the field did get:\n    Yet ere they did the conquest gain,\n    The king was with an arrow slain.\n\n    Then Guendolin did take in hand,\n      Until her son was come to age,\n    The government of all the land;\n      But first her fury to assuage,\n    She did command her soldiers wild,\n    To drown both Estrild and her child.\n\n    Incontinent then they did bring\n      Fair Estrild to the river-side,\n    And Sabrine, daughter to a king,\n      Whom Guendolin could not abide;\n    Who being bound together fast,\n    Into the river they were cast:\n\n    And ever since that running stream\n      Wherein the ladies drowned were,\n    Is called Severn through the realm,\n      Because that Sabrine died there.\n    Thus those that did to lewdness bend,\n    Were brought unto a woful end.\n\n\n\n\nYE SEXES GIVE EAR.\n\n\n    Ye sexes give ear to my fancy;\n      In the praise of good women I sing.\n    It is not of Doll, Kate, nor Nancy,\n      The mate of a clown nor a king.\n\n    Old Adam when he was created,\n      Was lord of the universe round;\n    But his happiness was not completed,\n      Until that a helpmate was found.\n\n    He had all things for food that was wanting,\n      Which give us content in this life;\n    He had horses and foxes for hunting,\n      Which many love more than a wife.\n\n    He'd a garden so planted by nature,\n      As man can't produce in this life;\n    But yet the all-wise great Creator\n      Saw still that he wanted a wife.\n\n    Old Adam was laid in a slumber,\n      And there he lost part of his side;\n    And when he awoke, in great wonder\n      He beheld his most beautiful bride.\n\n    With transport he gazed all on her,\n      His happiness then was complete;\n    And he blessed the bountiful Donor,\n      Who on him bestowed a mate.\n\n    She was not took out of his head,\n      To reign or to triumph o'er man:\n    She was not took out of his feet,\n      By man to be trampled upon.\n\n    But she was took out of his side,\n      His equal and partner to be:\n    Though they are united in one,\n      Still the man is the top of the tree.\n\n    Then let not the fair be despised\n      By man, as she's part of himself;\n    For a woman by Adam was prized\n      More than the whole world with its pelf.\n\n    Then man without woman's a beggar,\n      Tho' of the whole world he's possessed;\n    And a beggar that has a good woman,\n      With more than the world he is blest.\n\n\n\n\nA FOX WENT FORTH.\n\n\n    A fox went forth one moonshining night,\n    And he prayed to the moon to give him good light,\n    For he'd many miles to trot that night,\n      Before he got home to his den O,\n      His den O, his den O.\n    For he'd many miles to trot that night,\n    Before he got home to his den O.\n\n    And when he came unto a wood,\n    As on his hinder legs he stood,\n    A little bit of goose will do me good,\n      Before I get home to my den O.\n      My den O, my den O.\n\n    So off he set to a farmer's yard,\n    The ducks and the geese were all of them scared;\n    The best of you all shall grease my beard,\n      Before I get home to my den O.\n\n    He seized the great goose by the neck\n    And flung it all across his back,\n    The young ones cried out, quack, quack, quack,\n      And the fox went home to his den O.\n\n    Old mother Slipper-slopper jumped out of bed,\n    She open'd the window and popp'd out her head,--\n    John! John! John! the great goose is dead.\n      And the fox has gone home to his den O.\n\n    So John went up unto a hill,\n    And blew his horn both loud and shrill;\n    Says the fox This is very pretty music, still\n      I'd rather be safe in my den O.\n\n    But when he came unto the den,\n    Where he had young ones, nine and ten,\n    Crying out, Daddy Fox, you must go there again,\n      For we think its a lucky town O.\n\n    The fox and his wife they had such a strife,\n    They never ate a better goose in all their life;\n    They tore it abroad, without fork or knife,\n      And the little ones pick'd the bones O.\n\n\n\n\nTWEEDILY, TWEEDILY, TWEE (North Cornwall).\n\n\n    There was an old couple and they were poor;\n    They lived in a house that had but one door,\n      Tweedily, tweedily, twee.\n\n    Now this old man went far from home,\n    And left his old wife to stay at home,\n      Tweedily, tweedily, twee.\n\n    Now this old man came home at last,\n    And found his door and windows fast,\n      Tweedily, tweedily, twee.\n\n    Ah, I've bin sick whilst you've gone,\n    If you'd bin in the garden you could've heard me groan.\n      Tweedily, tweedily, twee.\n\n    An I'm sorry for that, cries he;\n    An I'm sorry for that, cries he;\n      Tweedily, tweedily, twee.\n\n    Then pluck me an apple from yonder tree,\n    That will I willingly do, cries he;\n    That will I willingly do, cries he;\n      Tweedily, tweedily, twee.\n\n    Pop goes the ladder, and down goes he,\n    An that's cleverly done, cries she;\n    An that's cleverly done, cries she;\n      Tweedily, tweedily, twee.\n\n\n\n\nWHEN SHALL WE BE MARRIED?\n\n\n    When shall we be married, Willy, my pretty lad?\n    To-morrow if you think it fit.\n    Not before to-morrow, Willy, my pretty lad?\n    Would you have me be married to-night?\n      I should think the girl was mad.\n\n    What shall we have for dinner, Willy, my pretty lad?\n    Roast beef and plum pudding if you think it fit.\n    Shan't we have anything else, Willy, my pretty lad?\n    Would you have me to spend all my money?\n      I should think the girl was mad.\n\n    Who shall we have to dinner, Willy, my pretty lad?\n    Father and mother, if you think it fit.\n    Shan't we have anyone else, Willy, my pretty lad?\n    Would you have me ask the king and queen?\n      I should think the girl was mad.\n\n\n\n\nSWEET NIGHTINGALE.\n\n\n    My sweetheart, come along,\n    Don't you hear the fond song,\n      The sweet notes of the nightingale flow?\n    Don't you hear the fond tale\n    Of the sweet nightingale,\n      As she sings in the valley below?\n\n    Pretty Betty, don't fail,\n    For I'll carry your pail\n      Safe home to your cot as we go;\n    You shall hear the fond tale\n    Of a sweet nightingale,\n      As she sings in the valley below.\n\n    Pray let me alone,\n    I have hands of my own,\n      Along with you, Sir, I'll not go,\n    To hear the fond tale\n    Of the sweet nightingale,\n      As she sings in the valley below.\n\n    Pray sit yourself down\n    With me on the ground,\n      On this bank where the primroses grow;\n    You shall hear the fond tale\n    Of the sweet nightingale,\n      As she sings in the valley below.\n\n    The couple agreed,\n    And were married with speed,\n      And soon to the church did they go;\n    No more is she afraid\n    For to walk in the shade,\n      Nor sit in those valleys below.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STOUT CRIPPLE OF CORNWALL.\n\nWHEREIN IS SHEWED HIS DISSOLUTE LIFE AND DESERVED DEATH.\n\n\n    Of a stout cripple that kept the high-way,\n    And begg'd for his living all time of the day,\n    A story I'll tell you that pleasant shall be,\n    The Cripple of Cornwall surnamed was he.\n\n    He crept on his hands and his knees up and down,\n    In a torn jacket and a ragged torn gown,\n    For he had never a leg to the knee;\n    The Cripple of Cornwall surnamed was he.\n\n    He was of a stomach courageous and stout,\n    For he had no cause to complain of the gout;\n    To go upon stilts most cunning was he,\n    With a staff on his neck most gallant to see.\n\n    Yea, no good fellowship would he forsake,\n    Were it in secret a horse for to take;\n    His stool he kept close in a hollow tree,\n    That stood from the city a mile, two, or three.\n\n    Thus all the day long he begg'd for relief,\n    And all the night long he played the false thief;\n    For seven years together this custom kept he,\n    And no man knew him such a person to be.\n\n    There were few graziers went on the way,\n    But unto the Cripple for passage did pay,\n    And every brave merchant that he did descry,\n    He emptied their purses ere they did pass by.\n\n    The noble Lord Courtney, both gallant and bold,\n    Rode forth with great plenty of silver and gold,\n    At Exeter there a purchase to pay,\n    But that the false Cripple the journey did stay.\n\n    For why, the false Cripple heard tidings of late,\n    As he sat for alms at the nobleman's gate;\n    This is, quoth the Cripple, a booty for me,\n    And I'll follow it closely as closely may be.\n\n    Then to his companions the matter he mov'd,\n    Which their false actions before had prov'd;\n    They make themselves ready, and deeply they swear\n    The money's their own before they come there.\n\n    Upon his two stilts the Cripple did mount,\n    To have the best share it was his full account,\n    All clothed in canvass down to the ground,\n    He took up his place his mates with him round.\n\n    Then came the Lord Courtney with half-a-score men,\n    Yet little suspecting these thieves in their den,\n    And they perceiving them come to their hand,\n    In a dark evening bid them to stand.\n\n    Deliver thy purse, quoth the Cripple, with speed,\n    We be good fellows and therefore have need,\n    Not so, quoth Lord Courtney, but this I'll tell ye,\n    Win it and wear it, else get none of me.\n\n    With that the Lord Courtney stood in his defence,\n    And so did his servants, but, ere they went hence,\n    Two of the true men were slain in this fight,\n    And four of the thieves were put to the flight.\n\n    And while for their safeguard they run thus away,\n    The jolly bold Cripple did hold them in play,\n    And with his pike-staff he wounded them so,\n    As they were unable to run or to go.\n\n    With fighting the Lord Courtney was out of breath,\n    And most of his servants were wounded to death,\n    Then came other horsemen riding so fast,\n    The Cripple was forced to fly at the last.\n\n    And over a river that run there beside,\n    Which was very deep, and eighteen foot wide,\n    With his long staff and his stilts leaped he,\n    And shifted himself in an old hollow tree;\n\n    Then throughout the city was hue and cry made,\n    To have these thieves apprehended and staid;\n    The Cripple he creeps on his hands and his knees,\n    And in the high-way great passing he sees.\n\n    And as they came riding he begging doth say,\n    O give me one penny, good masters, I pray,\n    And thus unto Exeter creeps he along,\n    No man suspecting that he had done wrong.\n\n    Anon the Lord Courtney he spies in the street,\n    He comes unto him and kisses his feet,\n    God save your honor and keep you from ill,\n    And from the hands of your enemies still.\n\n    Amen, quoth Lord Courtney, and therewith threw down\n    Unto the poor Cripple an English crown,\n    Away went the Cripple, and thus he did think,\n    Five hundred pounds more will make me to drink.\n\n    In vain that hue and cry it was made,\n    They found none of them though the country was laid,\n    But this grieved the Cripple night and day,\n    That he so unluckily missed of his play.\n\n    Nine hundred pounds this Cripple had got\n    By begging and thieving, so good was his lot;\n    A thousand pound he would make it, he said,\n    And then he would give over his trade.\n\n    But as he striv'd his mind to fulfil,\n    In following his actions so lewd and so ill,\n    At last he was taken the law to suffice,\n    Condemned and hanged at Exeter 'size.\n\n    Which made all men amazed to see\n    That such an impudent cripple as he\n    Should venture himself such actions as they,\n    To rob in such sort upon the high-way.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BAARLEY MOW (a harvest song).\n\n\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow, my braave boys,\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow.\n    We'll drenk et out of the jolly brown boul,\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow.\n\n    Chorus.\n\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow, my braave boys,\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow.\n\n    We'll drenk et out of the nepperkin, [37] boys,\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow.\n    The nepperkin, and the jolly brown boul.\n\n    Chorus.--Here's a health, etc.\n\n    We'll drenk et out of the quaarter pint, boys,\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow.\n    The quaarter pint, nepperkin, and the jolly brown boul.\n\n    Chorus.--Here's a health, etc.\n\n\nThis goes on through very many verses until all the different parts\nof liquid measure are exhausted; the three last verses are--\n\n\n    We'll drenk et out of the well, my braave boys,\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow.\n    The well, the hoosghead, [38] the haalf hoosghead, ainker, [39]\n        the haalf ainker, gallon, the pottle, the quaart, the\n        pint, the haalf a pint, quaarter pint, nepperkin,\n        and the jolly brown boul.\n\n    Chorus.--Here's a health, etc.\n\n    We'll drenk et out of the rever, my boys,\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow.\n    The rever, the well, etc.\n\n    Chorus.--Here's a health, etc.\n\n    We'll drenk et out of the ocean, my boys,\n    Here's a health to the baarley mow.\n    The ocean, the rever, the well, etc.\n\n    Chorus.--Here's a health, etc.\n\n\n\"At Looe, in East Cornwall, it was usual forty years ago, and\nprobably it is still, for labourers to sing 'The Long Hundred'\n(a song of numbers), when throwing ballast with shovels from a sand\nbarge into a ship. The object was said to be threefold; 'to keep time\n(i.e. work simultaneously), to prevent anyone from shirking his share\nof work, and to cheer themselves for the labour,' which was by no\nmeans light. A shovelful of ballast was delivered by every man with\neach line of the song, which ran thus:--\n\n\n\n\nTHE LONG HUNDRED.\n\n\n   'There goes one.\n    One there is gone.\n    Oh, rare one!\n    And many more to come\n    To make up the sum\n    Of the hundred so long.\n\n   'There goes,' etc. on to twenty.\n\n\n\"The song, it will be seen, consisted of twenty six-line stanzas;\nhence when it was completed, each man had thrown on board one hundred\nand twenty, i.e. 'a long hundred,' shovelfuls of ballast. After a\npause both the song and the ballasting were resumed, and so on to\nthe end.\"--W. Pengelly.\n\nThere are a great many jingling local rhymes and modern dialect poems\nnot worth recording; I will only quote two of the first:--\n\n\n\n\nELICOMPANE.\n\n\n   \"What is your name?--Elicompane.\n    Who gave you that name?--My master and dame.\n    How long will you keep it?--As long as I like it.\n    How long will that be?--As long as me and my master agree.\"\n\n\nPolwhele calls a tomtit \"Elicompane;\" and says \"There is a vulgar\ntradition that it is a bird by day and a toad by night.\"\n\n\n\n\nUNCLE JAN DORY.\n\n\n   \"I'll tell 'ee a story 'bout Uncle Jan Dory,\n    Who lived by the side of a well,\n    He went to a 'plomp' (pump), and got himself drunk,\n    And under the table he fell.\"\n\n\nThe Cornish peasantry of the last century were very fond of riddles,\nbut most of them will not bear repetition; they are (as well as many\nof their sayings and rhymes) much too broad for the taste of this\ngeneration, and would only be tolerated in the days when \"a spade\nwas called a spade.\" There are two exceptions that I know worth\ntranscribing; one has already appeared with its answer, through\nthe Rev. S. Rundle, in Transactions Penzance Natural History and\nAntiquarian Society, 1885-86.\n\n\n   \"Riddle me! riddle me right!\n    Guess where I was to last Saturday night.\n    Up in the old ivy tree,\n    Two old foxes under me,\n    Digging a grave to bury me.\n    First I heard the wind blow,\n    Then I heard the cock crow,\n    Then I saw the chin-champ chawing up his bridle,\n    Then I saw the work-man working hisself idle.\"\n\n\nAnswer.--A young woman made an appointment to meet her sweetheart;\narriving first at the place, she climbed into an ivy-covered tree\nto await his coming. He came in company with another man, and not\nseeing her \"the two old foxes\" began to dig a grave, in which from\nher hiding-place she heard that after murdering they intended putting\nher. The \"chin-champ\" was the horse on which they rode away, when they\nfailed to discover her. \"Working hisself idle,\" is working in vain.\n\n\n   \"As I went over London bridge\n    Upon a cloudy day,\n    I met a fellow, clothed in yellow,\n    I took him up and sucked his blood,\n    And threw his skin away.\"\n\n\nWhat was he? Answer.--An orange.\n\nWith a nonsensical acrostic on the word Finis, well known in the\nbeginning of this century, I must end this (I fear) long, rambling\nwork.\n\n\n   \"F--for Francis,\n    I--for Jancis,\n    N--for Nich'las Bony;\n    I--for John the water-man,\n    S--for Sally Stony.\"\n\n\n                    M. A. Courtney.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nADDENDA.\n\n\nHelston Borough Bounds, page 20.--At the close of this ceremony eleven\ndozen buns are thrown amongst the crowd to be scrambled for. One is\nalways reserved for the Mayor.\n\nWells, page 65.--Some wells in Cornwall (not holy) were famed for\ntheir wonderful virtues: I will mention two. The water of the first,\nwhich was west of Penzance, was esteemed a sovereign cure for sore\neyes. People from far and near visited it, and even carried away the\nwater in bottles. It was, however, best if possible to walk to the well\nbefore breakfast, and there bathe the eyes. The second was at Castle\nCh\u00fbn, between Penzance and St. Just; its water endowed the drinkers\nwith perpetual youth. Both have dried up within the last fifty years.\n\nGhosts, page 99.--The following quaint story was told me by a girl\nwhose grandmother was the friend mentioned.\n\nIn the last century there lived in Trezelah (a hamlet in the\nparish of Gulval, near Penzance), a widow who had been deprived of\nher rights. Walking one day in the fields near her home she saw a\nstrange spotted dog who seemed to know her; she met it a second time,\nand decided when she next went out to take a friend with her. Again\nshe saw it (her friend did not), and said \"In the Name of the Lord,\nspeak to me.\" It changed into her husband, who told her to be ready at\na certain time, when he would fetch her. Soon after, her friend being\nin the house, the woman, who was giving her children their supper, said\n\"The time is come, I must be gone;\" she then put on her sun-bonnet and\nwent out. She was away about an hour, when she suddenly appeared with\na great noise, as if someone had hurled her in through the door. Her\nstory was that her husband had taken her up in his arms and carried\nher over the tree-tops as far as Ludgvan Church, where he deposited\nher on the Church-stile, from whence she saw a great many spirits,\nsome good and some bad. The latter wanted her to join them, but her\nhusband bade her remain where she was. What they told her was never\nknown; but by their aid she got back her rights. Then her husband\nbore her home again by the way they had come; but before he parted\nfrom her said \"I must take something from you; either your eyesight,\nor your hearing.\" She preferred losing the latter, and from that hour\ncould never hear a word. One of her shoes that in her flight through\nthe air had caught on a tree-top, seven years after was placed on\nher window-sill.\n\nFarmers' Superstitions, page 141.--\"If you can throw fire over a\nwitch you will break the spell.\" \"Bleeding a white hen on a millstone\nprevents danger from the mill; for they say a mill will have blood\nevery seven years.\"\n\nCharms, page 144.--\"Some were provided with little bags of earth,\nteeth, or bones taken from a grave.\" \"Most of the very religious\nfolks had a verse of scripture, concluded with the comfortable\nassurance that by the help of the Lord the white witch hopes to do\nthem good.\"--Bottrell.\n\nEpilepsy, page 154.--Another authority says that the thirty pence\ncollected by thirty young men at the Church door is deposited for a\nhalf-crown, from which the centre is cut. The flat ring left is worn\nby the epileptic person day and night.--Through Rev. A. H. Malan, M.A.\n\n    \"The Bundle of Charms,\" Rev. A. H. Malan, M. A., is unavoidably\n    omitted.\n\nBurning the Witch, page 180.--Still played. A pole about five feet\nlong is placed with its ends resting on low stools, or bottles. On\nthis a person sits lengthways with crossed ankles. He (or she) holds\nin his hand a long stick with a slit at one end, into which the paper\neffigy of the witch is stuck. This must be burnt at a candle placed\non the floor at a short distance from the sitter; he must not support\nhimself in any way, nor leave his perch.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] A very general one for poor people in some parts of the county\non Christmas-eve was pilchards and unpeeled potatoes boiled together\nin one \"crock.\"\n\n[2] Scat, a blow, a slap.\n\n[3] Uther is still used as a Christian name in Cornwall.\n\n[4] The Cornish manner of pronouncing the name of St. Clare.\n\n[5] Supposed to have been shads, vulgarly here called \"Chuck-cheldern,\"\nfrom the number of bones in them.\n\n[6] Burn, a, load, a burden.\n\n[7] A fuller account of Tregeagle and his wonderful doings may be\nfound in Bottrell's Traditions, West Cornwall.\n\n[8] A monastery existed there, and in 1883 portions of the building\nwere still standing.\n\n[9] A gentleman's seat in the parish of Gulval, near Penzance.\n\n[10] There is a small enclosure near the castle, where several\nmembers of the family of Hosking were interred, owing to a quarrel\nthat Mr. Hosking had with the vicar of Ludgvan over some tithes. The\nlast funeral took place in 1823. On one of the stones is inscribed,\n\"It is virtue alone that consecrates this ground,\" and \"Custom is\nthe idol of fools.\"\n\n[11] The Penzance Promenade is built on part of it. In my childhood\nit was said to be one of the resorts of \"Spring-heeled Jack,\" of whom\nI then lived in mortal dread.\n\n[12] A small stream coloured by running through tin mining works.\n\n[13] Marazion is no longer a Corporate town.\n\n[14] Dennis is a very common Cornish surname.\n\n[15] \"Old Monk\" is a term of contempt in Cornwall, applied to old\nor young men. \"I saw the old monk coming down the garden\" (a youth\nof twenty).\n\n[16] The word Meryons is also used in Cornwall as a term of endearment,\n\"She's faather's little Meryon.\"\n\n[17] See ante, \"Cornish Feasts and Feasten Customs.\"\n\n[18] Fuggan, a cake made of flour and raisins often eaten by miners\nfor dinner.\n\n[19] Didjan, a tiny bit.\n\n[20] Some say you must neither whistle nor swear, but you may sing\nand laugh.\n\n[21] All men are boys in Cornwall.\n\n[22] Train-oil is expressed from them.\n\n[23] To \"bulk\" pilchards is to place them, after they have been rubbed\nwith salt, in large regular heaps, alternately heads and tails.\n\n[24] St. Ives.\n\n[25] And \"Cornish Feasts and Customs.\"\n\n[26] The illiterate Cornish often double their negatives: \"I don't\nknow, not I;\" \"I'll never do it, no, never no more.\"\n\n[27] Hazelen mot--root of a hazel tree.\n\n[28] Braggaty--spotted.\n\n[29] Double--a ring.\n\n[30] Fuggan, a flat cake.\n\n[31] Brend, to knit the brows.\n\n[32] Tap a shoe, to sole.\n\n[33] A similar superstition prevails about breakages, and a servant\nwho has had the misfortune to break a valuable piece of china will\nsometimes smash a common basin or tea-cup to arrest the ill-luck.\n\n[34] \"Pitch a tune,\" to give the keynote.\n\n[35] \"Arish mow,\" a rick of corn made in the field where it was cut.\n\n[36] Scat, to slap.\n\n[37] A gill.\n\n[38] Cornish for hogshead.\n\n[39] Anker.","title":"Cornish Feasts and Folk-lore","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":73783}