{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_75799/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_75799","id":"gutenberg_75799","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75799","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Cornish language -- Dictionaries -- English","Fairy tales -- England -- Cornwall (County)","Folklore -- England -- Cornwall (County)","Legends -- England -- Cornwall (County)"],"text":"STORIES AND FOLK-LORE\n                                   OF\n                             WEST CORNWALL\n\n                                   BY\n                           WILLIAM BOTTRELL.\n\n              \u201cThe proper study of mankind is man.\u201d\u2014Pope.\n\n                WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY MR. JOSEPH BLIGHT.\n\n\n\n                             THIRD SERIES.\n\n                                PENZANCE\n                  PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY F. RODDA.\n                                 1880.\n\n                    (Right of Translation reserved.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe publication of the present work has been attended by circumstances\nof pathetic interest. It is to be feared that it will be the last\nliterary testament of its author, who, before the whole was completed,\nwas stricken by a severe stroke of paralysis, which has incapacitated\nhim from holding a pen in his hand. He must, therefore, claim the\nindulgence of the critics and the public in this third series of\nCornish tales.\n\nThe whole subject of folk-lore, however, is at this moment of such\ngeneral interest, that still it is hoped that this little addition to\nthe stores now being gathered from every nation under heaven, may be\nacceptable to the literary world. The publication of Melusine, a\nperiodical solely devoted to folk-lore subjects, at Paris, was followed\nin England by the formation of the Folk-lore Society in 1878, which\npromises to take an important position among the learned societies of\nthe English nation, and whose publications have already reached the\nthird volume. The valuable collections of this society have doubtless\ndone much to systematize the work already done, and to encourage the\nlabours of collectors of folk-lore throughout the world.\n\nThe poet truly says,\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cThe proper study of mankind is man.\u201d\n\n\nand so the folk-lore student, in collecting the myths, the proverbs,\nthe traditions, the customs of the peasants of many lands, is doing an\nimportant work in accumulating facts bearing on the history of mankind;\nnot the mere records of the wars and doings of kings and generals, but\nof the beliefs, aspirations, thoughts and feelings of the working\nclasses of various nations.\n\nIn this work the author has done some valuable service, and it is to be\nhoped that this addition to his former labours may be found of value,\nseeing that it deals not with the traditions of the peasantry of\ndistant and foreign lands, but with the legends and traditions of the\ncountry folk of one of the most romantic and interesting counties of\n\u201cMerrie England.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                                 PAGE\n    Legends of Ladock                                               1\n    The Prize Wrestler and Demon                                    3\n    The Feathered Fiend                                            12\n    The Ghosts of Kenegie                                          21\n    Laying Wild Harris\u2019s Ghost                                     26\n    Cornish Castles                                                37\n    The Haunted Lawyer                                             39\n    Hallantide: or a St. Just Feast fifty years ago                48\n    Mill Stories                                                   60\n    A Poor Tinner\u2019s Feast                                          62\n    An old Droll about a Poor Tinner\u2019s Feast                       69\n    A Madron Feast of fifty years ago                              73\n    Zennor Hearthside Stories                                      80\n    The Seaman\u2019s Ghost                                             84\n    The Old Woman\u2019s Ghost                                          88\n    The Mutton Feast of St. Ives                                   89\n    The Witch of Kerrow                                            91\n    Fairies on the Eastern Green                                   92\n    The last Threatened Invasion: Commotion and False Alarm\n      in the West                                                  95\n    Mal Treloare and Sandry Kemp kiss and become good friends\n      again: or Backbiting Crull outwitted                         97\n    The Three Geese                                               100\n    The Earl of Stairs\u2019 Son                                       105\n    From Penzance to Carn Galva: Noteworthy objects by the way    114\n    Madron                                                        114\n    Madron Well                                                   115\n    Madron Chapel                                                 117\n    Lanyon Quoit                                                  117\n    Lanyon Town Place and House                                   119\n    The Crick-stone                                               119\n    Men Scryfa                                                    121\n    The Four Parishes                                             121\n    The Giant of Carn Galva                                       122\n    The Penzance of our Grandfathers                              126\n    The Old Market-House and its surroundings                     126\n    The Battle of Architectural Styles                            128\n    The Self-taught Architect                                     128\n    The Bustle of a Market Day                                    129\n    Madam Trezillian\u2019s Head-Dress                                 130\n    The Ancient Fish-Women of Penzance                            131\n    The School-days and Home of Pellew                            131\n    The Western approach to Penzance                              133\n    Parson Spry and his Wooden Horse and Dog \u201cSport\u201d              133\n    The Rev. James Bevan                                          137\n    Country Clerks and Country Choirs                             138\n    Old Christmas Carols                                          138\n    Ancient mode of conducting Funerals                           139\n    Former means of information among the people                  140\n    The Astrologers of the West                                   141\n    Conjurors and their Spells                                    142\n    Old Justice Jones                                             143\n    The Vingoes of Treville                                       143\n    Pellew and his Cornish crew                                   144\n    Ancient Games                                                 144\n    Old methods of Conveyance\u2014Riding Pillion                      145\n    Popular Songs of the times, Marlbrook, and Sentimental\n      Ditties                                                     145\n    Green Lanes and Footpaths                                     148\n    Pack-Saddles, &c.                                             148\n    Going to Town on Market-day                                   149\n    Early part of this Century                                    150\n    An old-fashioned greeting                                     151\n    The Ghosts of Chapel-street and St. Mary\u2019s Chapel-yard        152\n    Local Nicknames                                               155\n    Merry-geeks and Market-Jew Crows                              155\n    Ludgvan Hurlers and Gulval Bulls                              155\n    Moushal Cut-throats and Newlyn Buckas                         156\n    Sancras Pigs and Buryan Boars                                 156\n    St. Levan Witches, &c.                                        157\n    Santust Fuggans and Morvah Chick-chacks                       158\n    Nancledrea Rats and Zennor Goats                              158\n    Towednack Cuckoos and St. Ives Hakes                          159\n    A Cornish Droll: Betty Toddy and her Gown                     161\n    The Ghost-layer                                               171\n    Cornish Dialogue between two old men                          173\n    A Dialogue between Gracey Penrose and Mally Trevisky          175\n    Christmas Carols                                              177\n    Ancient Midsummer Customs                                     179\n    The \u201cHilla\u201d                                                   181\n    The Ancient Cornish Language in the Colonies                  183\n    According how et may drop                                     184\n    Cornish words in use                                          185\n    Cornish observances with regard to the Sun and Moon           187\n    Cornish Conjurors\u2019 Charms against Witchcraft                  190\n    All on one side, like Smoothy\u2019s wedding                       192\n    Piskies                                                       193\n    Old Cornish Words                                             195\n    Glossary of Local Words                                       197\n    Subscribers\u2019 Names                                            199\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF LADOCK.\n\n\n                       \u201cA good man there was of religioun,\n                        That was a poure persone of a toun:\n                        But riche he was of holy thought and werk,\n                        He was also a lerned man\u2014a clerk.\n\n                        And though he holy were and vertuous,\n                        He was to sinful men not despitous,\n                        Ne of his speche dangerous ne digne (proud),\n                        But in his teching discrete and benigne.\u201d\n\n                                                               Chaucer.\n\n\nA little more than a century ago the Rector of Ladock was the Rev. Mr.\nWood, who was a most zealous churchman even in the days of misty\nprejudice, when churchmen in general looked upon nonconformists as\nscabbed sheep in their fold, and held that no schismatics were to be\ntolerated. From having unwavering faith in the grace conferred by his\nordination, he was endowed with remarkable powers as an exorcist and\nghost-layer. The reverend gentleman was also an adept in astrology and\nother occult sciences, which enabled him to perform wonders. The simple\nfolk of that secluded place, believing that their good parson possessed\nmore knowledge than is attributed to ordinary members of the three\nlearned professions combined, sought his aid in their physical\ninfirmities and social disturbances, as well as for their spiritual\nwants. These simple, honest people were not much troubled in regard to\nthe latter. In those tranquil times they were comparatively temperate\nin religious matters. There were many traits in the secular side of Mr.\nWood\u2019s character for which he was much liked and respected. If any\ndispute arose between his parishioners the matter was referred to him;\nand, such was their confidence in the justice of his award, that they\nalways abided by his decision. If they had difficulties in parish\nbusiness the parson explained the law on the subject, and the matter\nwas settled accordingly. With the youngsters, too, he was a great\nfavourite. He encouraged them to keep up the old games of wrestling,\nhurling, and other manly sports. The silver hurling-ball was left in\nthe parson\u2019s care, and at the Tides, when he gave it to the young men,\nhe would say to them, \u201cNow, my boys, be on your honour with each other,\nand let it be your pride to behave according to the legend engraved on\nyour ball, in old Cornish, which means, as you know, that \u2018Fair Play is\nGood Play!\u2019 Be sure, too, that One and All observe the ancient laws of\nyour games, which I will explain to ye if there should be any\nuncertainty.\u201d Mr. Wood mostly gratified the youngsters by being a\nspectator of their games, and, unless he appeared on the Green, some of\nthem went to request his presence.\n\nHe would often say to the men, \u201cA knowledge of the science of wrestling\nis as necessary as that of boxing to give one a ready means of self\ndefence. Besides, it is a respectable exercise from its antiquity. Old\nchroniclers say that the hero Corineus (or Corin) with his Trojan\nhosts, by their faculty of wrestling subdued the Giants by whom this\nWestern Land was possessed when he and Brutus, with their followers,\nlanded at Totnes.\u201d He told them how Corin threw the Giants\u2019 king,\nGogmagog, on Plymouth Hoe, and then cast him headlong into the sea over\nthe cliff ever since called Langomagog, or the Giant\u2019s Leap.\n\n\n   \u201cFor which the conquering Brute, on Corineus brave\n    This horn of land bestowed, and marked it with his name,\n    Of Corin, Cornwall call\u2019d, to his immortal fame.\u201d\n\n\n\u201cSoon after this,\u201d Mr. Wood used to say, \u201cthe rest of the giants died\nfor grief. The remembrance of Corin\u2019s exploit was also preserved by the\nfigures of the wrestlers being cut out in the turf on Plymouth Hoe.\nThese were renewed as they were worn out. The Cornish should be proud\nto excel in this exercise, for the remembrance of the great Corineus\nfrom whom they are said to derive their pedigree! So shew yourselves\nlike brave Trojans, my boys\u2014equally ready to fairly fight and then to\nfeast with their opponents, using no cunning wiles or tricks to betray.\nThey were good hurlers, too, as well as wrestlers. Besides this, our\nold heroic games, and the chase, which may be classed with them, afford\nsuch wholesome excitement as serves to dispel melancholy thoughts,\nwhich, if they be brooded over, are apt to render people crazy,\nespecially when they lead such solitary lives as most country-folk\nmust. The wisest of eastern sages has said that there are proper times\nfor joyous diversions as well as for labour. Such old romances, too, as\nare related around the winter\u2019s hearth, serve the same good purpose in\nthat dreary season.\u201d\n\nIt seems that, formerly, in spite of all the subtle disguises that the\ndevil assumed, he was mostly known when ranging abroad; and Mr. Wood\nwas always able to detect and conquer him, if he ventured within his\njurisdiction. The parson changed the Evil One into the shape of an\nanimal, and then belaboured the infernal beast lustily with his\nhunting-whip, until it ran away, howling like Tregagle. When walking,\nMr. Wood usually carried a stout ebony stick. On its massive silver\nhead was engraved a pentacle, or Solomon\u2019s seal, and on a broad ring or\nferrule, just below the knob, were planetary signs and mystical\nfigures. This staff was regarded with curiosity and awe. It was said\nthat, by means of it, \u201che ruled the planets, controuled evil spirits,\nrepelled witchcraft, and performed supernatural work generally.\u201d\n\nThe following stories are still told by the winter\u2019s fireside in Ladock\nand adjacent parishes. As usual there are various versions, which\ndiffer in detail, because our old droll-tellers claimed a free flight\nfor fancy in such portions of their stories as admitted of it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRIZE WRESTLER AND DEMON.\n\n\nThere was a famous wrestler of Ladock, called John Trevail, though more\ngenerally known among his comrades as \u201cCousin Jackey,\u201d from the common\npractice of thus styling favourites who may be no relation. One\nMidsummer\u2019s day Jackey went into a neighbouring parish and threw their\nchampion wrestler. In his pride, he said, as he swaggered round the\nring, \u201cI am open to a challenge from any man, and wouldn\u2019t mind having\na hitch with the Devil himself, ef he\u2019d venture!\u201d\n\nAfter the wrestling he passed a few hours with his comrades in the\npublic house. On his way home, alone, about the \u201cturn of night,\u201d he\ncame to a common called Le Pens Plat, which is two miles or more from\nLadock Churchtown. As he was going on slowly, from being somewhat\ntired, and not very steady in the head, he was overtaken by a gentleman\ndressed like a clergyman, who accosted him in gentle tones, saying,\n\n\u201cI was at the wrestling to-day, and I think you are the prize wrestler.\nAm I right?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir, I won the prize that I now carry,\u201d replied Trevail, who felt\nvery uneasy at meeting there such a strange, black-coated gentleman at\nthat time of night, though a full moon and clear sky made it almost as\nlight as day.\n\n\u201cI am very fond of wrestling myself,\u201d resumed the stranger; \u201cit\u2019s an\nancient, manlike exercise, for which we Cornishmen have always been\nrenowned; and, as I want to learn more science in my play, I should\nmuch like to try a bout with you; say for your gold lace hat and five\nguineas, which I will stake.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot now, sir, for I\u2019m tired,\u201d Jackey replied, \u201cbut I\u2019ll play you after\ndinner-time if you please, when I\u2019ve had a few hours rest\u2014say two or\nthree o\u2019clock, if it will please you.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no; it must be at midnight, or soon after, now the nights are\nshort,\u201d said the stranger; \u201cit would never do for one in my position to\nbe seen here wrestling with you, high by day; it would scandalize my\ncloth in these particular and gossip-loving times.\u201d\n\nTrevail hesitated, and thought of the wild words he had uttered in the\nring. He had then challenged the Devil, and he felt persuaded that he\nwas now face to face with his enemy, in this lonely spot. Thinking it\nbest, however, to be as civil as possible, he agreed to the stranger\u2019s\nproposal to meet him there at midnight, or soon after; they shook hands\nto the bargain, and the gentleman gave him a purse with five guineas in\nit for his stake, saying at the same time\u2014\n\n\u201cYou are well known to be an honest fellow, I\u2019ve no fear of your not\nbringing the money and your prize won to-day; and if, by any mischance,\nI shouldn\u2019t come, the money is yours; but there\u2019s little doubt of my\nbeing here sharp upon midnight.\u201d\n\nHe then wished Jackey good morrow, and went away over the common by\nanother path leading northward. The poor fellow felt, as he trudged\nalong homeward, that he had sold himself to the Old One. In looking\ndown, when he said good morrow (he couldn\u2019t bear the stranger\u2019s eye) he\nsaw what he believed to be a cloven foot peeping from beneath his long\nblack skirts. Poor fellow! he felt as bad as gone, unless he could be\nrescued some way. But he could devise no plan by which to avoid his\nfate.\n\nDragging himself along, as best he could, afraid to look behind him, he\ngot to his dwelling about three o\u2019clock in the morning. His wife, on\nhearing the door opened, came downstairs. Seeing Jackey\u2019s haggard looks\nshe refrained from \u201cjawing\u201d him as usual, when he came home late, and\nthe want of her rough talk made him feel worse than ever. Jackey took\nfrom his pocket the bag of guineas, and threw it into the tool-chest,\namong a lot of lumber, saying, \u201cMolly, my dear, doesn\u2019t thee touch that\nshammy leather bag for the world! \u2019Tes the Devil\u2019s money that\u2019s in am!\u201d\nLittle by little he told her what had happened on the common, and\nconcluded by moaning out,\n\n\u201cOh Molly, my dear, thee hast often wished that Old Neck would come and\ntake me away bodily, and now et do seem es ef thy prayers are to be\nanswered.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, Jackey my son, never think of et,\u201d sobbed she; \u201cwhatever I\nsaid was only from the lips outwards, and that\u2019s of no effect, my\ndarlin. I can\u2019t afford to lose thee yet for awhile. As the sayan es,\n\u2018Bad as thee art it might be wes (worse) without thee.\u2019 Go the wayst up\nto bed, my son, et mayn\u2019t come to that for awhile: I\u2019ll this minute put\non my cloak and hat, and away to the passen. No good for thee, nor all\nthe world, to say no, for he only can save thee.\u201d\n\nOn her way to beg Mr. Wood\u2019s assistance she called up a croney with\nwhom she was on pretty fair terms just then.\n\n\u201cArrea! soas; what\u2019s the matter?\u201d exclaimed the gossip, looking from\nher chamber-window. \u201cHave anybody cried out that you\u2019re in such\n\u2018stroath\u2019 (hurry) at this untimely hour.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome along to the passen\u2019s,\u201d replied Molly. \u201cI\u2019m so \u2018flambustered\u2019\n(worried) I can hardly speak. Somethan dreadful have happened to our\nJackey; and you mustn\u2019t drop a word to anybody, for your life, of what\nI\u2019ll tell \u2019e on the road.\u201d\n\nThe reverend gentleman, being an early riser, was standing at his door,\nlooking out in the grey of the morning, when he saw the two women, in\nmuch agitation, coming towards him. Ere he had time to speak, Jackey\u2019s\nwife, with her apron to her eyes, sobbed out, \u201cOh, your reverence, I be\na poor woman ruined and undone, that I be; for our dear Jackey have ben\nand sold hisself to the Old One, and will be carried away bodily the\nvery next night ef you don\u2019t save am! That a will.\u201d\n\nAfter some questions Mr. Wood got an inkling of the case, and said to\nMolly,\n\n\u201cMake haste home, my good woman, and tell Jackey, from me, to cheer up;\nI\u2019ll see him presently and tell him how to act, and I\u2019m pretty sure the\nDevil will meet his match, with my assistance.\u201d\n\nShortly after sunrise Mr. Wood entered the wrestler\u2019s dwelling, and\nfound him stretched on the chimney-stool, sound asleep. When Jackey\nknew the wise step his wife had taken\u2014the only one indeed of any use\nunder the circumstances\u2014he became tranquil, and, worn out as he was\nwith great exertion of body and mind, he soon forgot his troubles. Mr.\nWood roused him and said,\n\n\u201cWhy, Jackey, is there any truth in what your wife has just told me, or\ndid you fall asleep on the common and have an ugly dream? The\nchamois-bag that Molly spoke of may contain nothing more than\nwart-stones that bad luck cast in your way; but tell me what happened\nfrom first to last, and let\u2019s see the bag.\u201d\n\nTrevail related his adventures, and concluded by saying,\n\n\u201c\u2019Tes all like an ugly dream, sure enow, your reverence, and I wish it\nwere nothing else, but the Old One\u2019s money es there in my tool-chest,\nand I remember every word that passed; besides I should know him again\namong ten thousand,\u2014such fiery eyes I never beheld in any other head,\nto say nothan of the glimpse I had of his cloven foot.\u201d\n\nThen Jackey brought the bag, holding it at arm\u2019s length with a pincers,\nas he might a toad. Urged on, he opened it and turned out five pieces\nof glittering gold.\n\nThe parson, having examined them, said,\n\n\u201cThe sight of these spade guineas, with what you have told me, leave no\ndoubt that you bargained to wrestle with the Devil; for he it is; you\ncould get this gold no other way; I\u2019m certain you wouldn\u2019t use unfair\nmeans to obtain it. The money seems good enough, whatever mint it might\nhave been coined in. Yet take courage, you must be as good as your\nword, and to-night meet the Old One, as you call him. Don\u2019t fail to be\nat the appointed place by midnight, and take with you the stakes, as\nagreed on.\u201d\n\nJackey looked very dejected on hearing this; intimated that he didn\u2019t\nlike to go alone, and that he had trusted to have Mr. Wood\u2019s company.\n\n\u201cYou must keep your word with the Devil,\u201d continued the parson, \u201cor he\nmay come and fetch you when least expected. I shall not go with you,\nyet depend on it I\u2019ll be near at hand to protect you against unfair\nplay.\u201d\n\nWhilst saying this Mr. Wood took from his pocket-book a slip of\nparchment, on which certain mystic signs and words were traced or\nwritten.\n\n\u201cSecure this in the left-hand side of your waistcoat,\u201d said he, in\ngiving it to Jackey; \u201cdon\u2019t change your waistcoat, and be sure to wear\nit in the encounter; above all, mind ye\u2014show no fear, but behave with\nhim precisely as you would with any ordinary wrestler, and don\u2019t spare\nhim, or be fooled by his devices.\u201d\n\nJackey\u2019s wife now came in. She had been \u201ccourseying\u201d (gossiping) on the\nroad, to ease her mind. Mr. Wood left the dwelling; and Trevail, now in\npretty good heart, went with him some distance.\n\nOn parting the parson cautioned him to keep the matter private.\n\n\u201cThat I will be sure to do,\u201d replied Jackey; \u201cI havn\u2019t told a living\nsoul but my wife, and she can keep a secret first-rate\u2014for a woman.\nThere\u2019s no fear now of my showing a white feather, thanks to your\nreverence.\u201d\n\nAt the appointed time our prize-wrestler went boldly to Le Pens Plat\nCommon and waited near the spot agreed on. At midnight the gentleman in\nblack arrived by the same path he took in the morning. They looked hard\nat each other for some minutes without speaking, till Trevail said,\n\u201cI\u2019m come in good time you see, and there are the prizes on that rock.\nYou know the rules of the game, I suppose, that one must lay hold above\nthe waist; whichever makes three falls in five bouts wins the prize; it\nbelongs to you, as the challenger, to take the first hitch.\u201d\n\nStill the stranger made no reply, and kept his gleaming eyes on the\nwrestler, who, feeling uncomfortable under his persistent stare, looked\ntowards the rock, where the prizes lay, and said, \u201cThen, if you won\u2019t\nwrestle, take your money, and no harm done.\u201d\n\nThat instant Trevail felt himself seized, all unawares, by his\nwaistband and lifted clear off the ground. It seemed to the man as if\nthe Old One rose with him many yards above the earth; and its\n\u201cfar-re-well to all the world with me now,\u201d thought Cousin Jackey to\nhimself.\n\nDuring a desperate struggle in the air, however, the man got his right\narm over his opponent\u2019s shoulder, and grabbing him on the back with a\ngood holdfast, took a crook with his legs. In the encounter the\nwrestler\u2019s breast, or rather his waistcoat, touched the Evil One, who\non the instant lost his hold, fell flat on his back, as if knocked\ndown, and writhed on the ground like a wounded snake. The wrestler\npitched to his feet as he came down, never the worse, but his temper\nwas now raised to such a point that he was ready to fight or wrestle\nwith any man or devil.\n\nThe other rose up with fury in his countenance, and exclaimed, \u201cYou\nhave some concealed weapon about ye that has wounded me; cast off that\nwaistcoat.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, by golls,\u201d replied Jackey, \u201cthat I wont, to please ye; feel my\njacket if you like; there\u2019s no blade in am, not even a pin\u2019s point, but\n\u2019tes you that show the queer tricks; catch me off my guard again ef you\ncan.\u201d\n\nSaying this he clenched the Old One like a vice; but they had a hard\nstruggle for more than five minutes, pushing and dragging each other to\nand fro at arm\u2019s length. The Old One seemed afraid to close in. Jackey\nfelt all out of sorts with the blasting gleams of the other\u2019s evil\neyes, and couldn\u2019t get a crook with his legs. At last, making a\ndesperate plunge, he freed himself from the Devil\u2019s grasp; took him\nwith the \u201cflying-mare,\u201d and threw him on his back with such a \u201cqualk\u201d\nas made him belch brimstone fumes.\n\nThe devil quickly sprung up, looking very furious, and said, \u201cI\u2019m\ndeceived in you, for your play is very rough, and I desire you to\nrequest Parson Wood to go home. I am confused and powerless whilst he\nis looking on.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see Mr. Wood, nor anybody else but you,\u201d returned Jackey.\n\n\u201cYour sight mayn\u2019t be so good as mine,\u201d replied the other. \u201cI can only\njust see his eyes glaring on me from between the bushes on yonder\nhedge, and I hear him mumbling something too. If I\u2019m foiled again it\nwill be all owing to your confounding parson. I hope to serve him out\nfor this some day.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind our passon, he can wrestle very well himself,\u201d said Jackey\nin a cheerful tone, \u201cand do like to see good play; so come on, at it\nagen.\u201d Saying this he grasped his opponent in a \u201cCornish hug,\u201d with\nmore vigour than ever, laid him on his back as flat as a flounder, and\nsaid, \u201cThere, you have had three fair falls; but if they don\u2019t satisfy\n\u2019e, I\u2019ve more science to teach \u2019e yet.\u201d The wrestler kept a sharp eye\non the prostrate one, intending to give him another thumping qualk the\ninstant he rose, unless he asked for quarter. During the half minute or\nso that he watched the demon crameing on the ground like a serpent, the\nsky became overcast, and the moon obscured with gathering clouds, which\nseemed bursting with thunder. Looking closely, in the dim light, at the\ngentleman in black, Jackey was frightened to see that, in a twinkling,\nhis feet and legs had become like those of a huge bird; his skirts\nchanged to a pair of wings; and his form was still changing to that of\na dragon, when he flew away, just skimming the ground at first, and\nleaving in his wake a train of lurid flame; then soared aloft and\nentered the pitch black clouds, which, on the instant, became all\nablaze with lightning, and thunders roared, echoing all around from\nhill to hill. As the black cloud ascended, with a whirling motion, it\nappeared like an immense wheel revolving in the air, flashing lightning\nand shooting thunder-bolts from all around its border.\n\nThe demon\u2019s sudden change and flight, with the noxious vapours spread\naround, so confused and stupefied Jackey, that for a minute or so he\nlost sight of all above and below. Whilst still like one in a trance,\ngazing on the sky, now clear overhead, he felt a hand on his shoulder,\nand heard Parson Wood say, in cheery tones, \u201cWell done, my boy; I was\nproud to see thy courage and good play. See, there\u2019s the devil\u2019s\nbattery,\u201d continued he, pointing to a small black cloud so far away as\nto be almost lost to view; and casting a glance round he noticed, on a\nrock, Jackey\u2019s gold-lace hat and the bag of money.\n\n\u201cCome, my son, rouse thee,\u201d said he, \u201ctake up thy prizes and let\u2019s be\noff homeward.\u201d\n\nThe wrestler took up his hat, but looked askaunt on the bag of guineas,\nas if unwilling to touch it.\n\n\u201cTake the money,\u201d urged Mr. Wood. \u201cIt\u2019s fairly won; but some old\nsayings are passing in thy mind such as \u2018A guinea of the devil\u2019s money\nis sure to go, and take ten more with it.\u2019 \u2018What\u2019s gained over the\nfiend\u2019s back will slip away under his belly;\u2019 and other old saws of the\nlike meaning, which don\u2019t refer to such money as that; but to unfair\ngains gotten by those thieves in heart who are too greedy to be honest.\nYet even such often hold fast the cash for themselves and theirs, when\nthe devil cries quits by taking them all at last.\u201d\n\nTrevail took up the bag, and, as he pocketed it, a flash of light drew\ntheir attention to the fiend\u2019s retreat, now so high that it appeared a\nmere dot in the clear sky. They saw a streak of fire leave it, and,\ndescending like a shooting star, fall in a neighbouring parish.\n\n\u201cMark that, Jackey!\u201d exclaimed Mr. Wood, \u201cfor it\u2019s no other than your\nwrestling devil, or one of his company, who has come down amongst St.\nEndor witches; and it strikes me that we havn\u2019t seen the last of him\nyet.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a hut on a moor just where he dropped,\u201d said Jackey, \u201cin which\na number of hags meet every now and then; and when they have agreed on\nthe mischief they are to work, about midnight they fly away on their\nbrooms or ragwort stalks. In the small hours of morning they are often\nseen beating homewards in the shape of hares. Many old hags over that\nway get what they like for the asking. If any one of them hap to be\nrefused she\u2019ll shake her bony finger at the one who denies her, and\nsay, \u2018You will wish you had,\u2019 and sure enow, from the fear of some ill\nwish falling on them or theirs, the old witch is pretty sure to get all\nshe looked for.\u201d\n\nOn their way home Jackey thanked the parson most heartily for his\nprotection, and told him that in the first bout he thought all was over\nfor him in this world, when the Old One rose with him off the earth\n\u201cever so high.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are mistaken in that, my son,\u201d replied Mr. Wood, \u201cit was only your\nfright on being seized unawares and suddenly lifted off the ground that\nmade ye think so; for, to give the devil his due, he never tried to fly\naway with you. I saw it all, and precautions had been taken to guard\nagainst foul play on his part, if any tricks were attempted, as you\nwill understand by-and-bye, when I tell you of my night\u2019s work.\u201d\n\nJackey didn\u2019t contradict the reverend gentleman, but he was of the same\nopinion still; and whenever he told the story in after years, always\nasserted that on his first hitch he was taken up \u201ctowers high,\u201d and\nstill getting higher, until he came to close quarters with the Old One.\n\n\u201cI have had a busy time of it,\u201d continued Mr. Wood. \u201cLong before\nmidnight I was on the ground\u2014which I knew from your description to be\nthe place of your encounter,\u2014and summoned thither many powerful\nspirits, who attended with pleasure to see such a wrestling. They\nhadn\u2019t, of late, beheld the like, though, in days of yore, contests\nbetween men and demons were not unfrequent. The one you have conquered\nis a devil of high rank. He came attended by a great number of lower\ndegree; and precautions were taken to place around ye a ring of my true\nand valiant spirits, who made your opponent\u2019s attendant fiends remain\nin an outer circle.\n\n\u201cBesides, there were crowds of vagrant spirits wandering to and fro, on\nthe earth and in the air, as is their custom from midnight to\ncock-crowing; all of them stopped to witness your contest. They were\nall visible to me, though by you unseen; and well for ye it was so,\nbecause a sight of such beings would be sure to shock ye or any other\nunprepared mortal. Many in the crowd were very ghastly in appearance.\nYour demon\u2019s retainers were in their usual form, which suits them for\nair or earth.\n\n\u201cMany bets were made between the spectators in both circles and\noverhead; and a great many of the demon\u2019s backers are bound to serve\nthe winners for ages. They don\u2019t much mind that, however. Time hangs\nheavy on their hands; and of all spirits, fallen ones are the most\nrestless, as it goes against their grain to do mortals a good turn. For\nthe sake of some change in their wearisome existence they rise\ntempests, serve the evil behests of witches, and perform other acts of\ndeviltry, such as we often hear of; yet they are a melancholy set that\none might pity.\u201d\n\nThe wrestler expressed his wonder at what the parson related; yet, from\nwhat he had heard of devils\u2019 doings, wasn\u2019t much surprised.\n\nOver a while Mr. Wood resumed, \u201cI am somewhat chagrined though all has\ngone well on the whole; for I was watching to see thee give three fair\nfalls, intending then to rush on the devil and shame him, if possible,\nwith a lusty thrashing with my hunting-whip, it\u2019s fastened round my\nwaist; but, as bad luck would have it, in getting hastily over the\nhedge my skirts caught in brambles, and I dropped my ebony staff. That\ninstant, whilst it lay on the earth, the demon took a form which used\nto be common amongst the infernal brood. At his signal the attendant\nfiends formed a thunder-cloud to receive their chief. The guardian\nspirits, well pleased, only quitted their charge when my hand was laid\non your shoulder; all the rest you saw.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have often heard,\u201d said Jackey, \u201cof a dragon that burned Helston,\nwas that a devil too?\u201d\n\n\u201cVery likely, or something as bad,\u201d replied Mr. Wood. \u201cThe tradition\nhanded down simply says that, in old times, before there was a bar\nformed at the Loe, and when the tide flowed past the site of St. John\u2019s\nMill, a dragon often came from over sea and burnt the ancient town. Yet\nthe dragon which visited Helston might only have been a northern\npirate\u2019s ship known by that name.\n\n\u201cI was going to tell you that I owe this wrestling devil a grudge. Who,\nindeed, in my place wouldn\u2019t be vexed with the beast for taking the\ndisguise he so impudently assumed? Decked as he was in a three cocked\nbeaver and black garments, he might easily pass himself off for a\nclergyman, without a close scrutiny.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought sure he was,\u201d said Jackey, \u201che wore a white neck-cloth too;\nand one could hardly make out if he had a cloven foot or no.\u201d\n\nFrom walking slowly home it was broad day when they arrived at the\nparsonage. Mr. Wood gave the wrestler a substantial breakfast of cold\nbeef, bread, and ale. After a hearty meal, Jackey said, \u201cI should be\nglad to serve your reverence at any hour by day or by night, for I owe\nyou more than life.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so, my son,\u201d the parson replied, \u201cfor I have only done my duty in\nguarding from the wolf a wild and thoughtless one of my flock.\u201d\n\nThe money, however, did the wrestler but little if any good, and it was\nthe cause of quarrels between him and his wife, and of both with their\nneighbours. Jackey soon learnt how it was rumoured all around that he\nhad sold himself to the Old One to have his wishes gratified for a few\nyears, with the usual consequences to follow. Now he had told nobody\nbut his wife\u2014of course, Mr. Wood\u2019s prudence was not to be\nsuspected,\u2014and she had only spoken of her trouble to her crony, who\nwent with her to the parson. Accordingly, dame Trevail accused her\ngossip of having spread many falsehoods round the parish, and abused\nher for the breach of confidence.\n\nThe crony retorted by saying, \u201cFool that thee art, however cust (canst)\nthee expect me, or anybody else, to keep thy secrets, when thee cusn\u2019t\nkeep them thyself? And what do I care; I han\u2019t had any share of thy\ndirty money; by golls! I wedn\u2019t touchen weth a peer of tongs; I han\u2019t\ngot a spoon long enow to sup weth thy old gentleman. All the neighbours\ndo say that of late, since thee hast had thy new rig out, from top to\ntoe, thee art become so huffish and toit (uncivil in reply) that they\ncan\u2019t venture to say \u2018What cheer,\u2019 or give thee the \u2018time o\u2019 day\u2019; and\nthat poor Cousin Jackey han\u2019t got a minute\u2019s peace in his own house\nwith thy constant ballarggan (abuse) and naggan that will fret am to\ndeath before long. Then thee mayst wring thy hands and cry \u2018bad as\nJackey was, a es wes (worse) to live without am.\u2019 Well, soase! my\nbedgownd and towser (large coarse apron to come all round and tie\nbehind) es good enow for me or any other honest workan woman. They say\nthat thee wert decked out like a lady in church a Sunday, with thy new\ncovertail (kirtle) gownd, who but thee forsooth! A clean bedgownd,\ncheck-apron, and quilted-petticoat do more become thee. \u2019Tes no wender\npeople do gibe thee for thy pride; and \u2019tes as good as an old \u2018merable\u2019\nplay to hear what they do say about thee. Now, go thee wast along home,\nand think over what I\u2019ve told thee.\u201d\n\nFor many years after this Jackey continued to be the champion wrestler\nof his neighbourhood; and the story of his midnight adventure took the\nform of a droll just like the above.\n\nShortly after Mr. Wood gave the wrestler his ghostly aid, the reverend\ngentleman had much fiendish annoyance on that account, as will be seen\nin the sequel to this story.\n\nOne may remark that many old folks often compare a droll subject to an\nold miracle play, though they have but a misty idea of what it was. The\nother day an elderly man of Newlyn, in speaking of old droll-tellers\nmeeting together and spinning their yarns, said, \u201cIt is as good as an\nold miracle-play to hear them.\u201d On my asking what an old miracle play\nwas, he replied that he couldn\u2019t say exactly, but from what he had\nheard, he thought it was much the same as an old guise-dance. He wasn\u2019t\nmuch out, as \u201cSt. George and the Dragon\u201d was the guise-dance he had in\nview.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FEATHERED FIEND.\n\n\nLadock men were famous ringers of old; but from a few weeks before\ntheir champion\u2019s victory over the demon-wrestler, the fine old bells of\ntheir church had been silent because their ropes were quite worn out,\nand other gearing connected with them required repairs to be used with\nsafety. Shortly after Trevail\u2019s victory, an evil spirit, in the form of\na very large bird, with coal-black plumage, and fiery eyes, but of a\nkind unknown to Ladock folks, was seen perched on the tower for several\nnights in succession, where it remained for hours jumping from one\npinnacle to another, and making an unnatural clamour, which was heard\nfar away. Shortly after it came by day, and even during Divine Service.\nThe pastor and his flock were distracted by its croaking and cawing, as\nif in derision.\n\nWhen the clerk, with five or six other elderly men and two women, who\nformed the choir, quavered through the psalms\u2014which they sung in parts,\nmuch in the mode of old \u201cthree-man-songs,\u201d\u2014this feathered fiend, just\nover their heads, on the tower, would utter such infernal noises as to\nmake sad discord of the old men\u2019s music. The clerk seldom used a book,\nas he knew pretty well, by heart, the three or four psalms they usually\nsung; but sometimes he would commence with a verse from one, and then\ngive out portions of others; and now his memory was so confused by\nirritation that one Sunday he concluded by giving,\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cAnd now may Heaven amend us all,\n    And into bliss us bring!\u201d\n\n\nHappily the two female singers discovered his mistake as he was going\nto finish the verse with\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cThis was the hunting of the Cheviot:\n    God send us all good ending!\u201d\n\n\nEvery now and then the accursed thing would mimic all sorts of familiar\nbut jarring sounds; sometimes it screeched \u201clike a pig caught in a\ngate;\u201d then quickly changed its note to imitate the cry of hounds in\nfull chase; or the cackling and scolding of old women. By such noises\ncoming down from the elevated site, many of the congregation were\nconstrained to burst out in roars of laughter, which, like yawning, is\nvery catching. Prim folks, who put great restraint on themselves in\norder to retain a solemn demeanour, suffered such pains that they had\nto leave Church and give vent to their pent up feeling.\n\nMr. Wood was nonplussed; the Evil One was too high up to be reached\nwith his hunting-whip, and the methods by which he had formerly\nexorcised demons now failed. From this one\u2019s position, he could not\ncomply with all the prescribed formulas, such as enclosing him in a\nmagic circle, &c. The reverend gentleman felt his fame as an exorcist\nwas at stake. He told his people that the accursed thing was no other\nthan a mean mocking devil sent thither by the demon-wrestler to torment\nhim, out of revenge for his aid to their champion, whereby Jackey\u2019s\nvictory and the Evil One\u2019s discomfiture were assured.\n\nThe increasing vexation continued for many weeks, until Mr. Wood was\nstruck with an idea which he turned to good account; and which should\nbe recorded for the benefit of others who may ever have to encounter\nthe like difficulties.\n\nOne Sunday, after evening service, when the congregation had\ndispersed\u2014the clerk and sexton waiting in the porch,\u2014the parson came\nout of the Church sighing, \u201cOh! for how long is this grevious trial to\nendure;\u201d and, turning to his clerk, said, \u201cWe and the people might as\nwell have stayed at home for all the benefit derived by them from\neither the service or the sermon this afternoon. I could not help\nobserving that their attention was more given to the horrid noises\nwhich reached them from the tower than to my instructions from the\npulpit.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a very hard tryal for you, to be sure,\u201d replied the clerk, \u201cbut,\nas for me, I\u2019ve more than once had a great mind to smash my bass-viol\nand rush out of Church; \u2019tes always hard work for me to keep our\nsingers in time and tune; and now, with this screechan devil on the\ntower, we are always in confusion, and might as well sing \u2018Chevy Chace\u2019\nfor all the words anybody can hear; et wed try the patience of Job ef\nhe, like me, had a \u2018pare\u2019 of singers to lead, and the devel makan such\na \u2018drilzey\u2019 (irritating noise) over hes head; it wed be wes for am than\nhavan to listen to hes conceited com\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cPray thee leave Job and his comforters for the time,\u201d exclaimed Mr.\nWood. \u201cThe good man, like many another, might well say, \u2018Save me from\nmy friends.\u2019 I noticed, too, that many strangers come from a great\ndistance, more and more every Sunday, drawn hither by curiosity. I have\ntried all authorised means for expelling demons that the position taken\nby this one admits of; but I find the truth of what has long been said,\nthat, of all devils, those of the mocking kind are the most difficult\nto subdue; they may be likened unto hairbrained, self-conceited fools\namongst mortals, who can only be ruled by the rod, and this fiend keeps\ntoo high up to be reached by my whip. Yet sometimes, indeed, when I\nread to the fiend at the utmost pitch of my voice, he remained so still\nthat I hoped he was being subjected to my will; but the conjuration or\nincantation ended, he always hopped upon a pinnacle, cocked his tail,\ndanced round, and cried caw, caw, as much as to say it\u2019s all a farce,\nand I like to hear your voice.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow only to think of es emperance,\u201d murmured the clerk.\n\n\u201cI have heard, too,\u201d continued Mr. Wood, \u201cthat some thoughtless\nyoungsters have proposed to try on him the virtues of powder and lead.\nI am glad to learn, however, that they have been better advised; the\nresult of such temerity would, probably, be something awful for them. I\nnow come to the particular matter I wish to speak with you about.\n\n\u201cDuring a long pause I had to make in my sermon this afternoon, whilst\nthe plumed devil took his turn, a thought occurred to me which I hoped\nmight be a happy inspiration.\u201d\n\n\u201cGoodness grant et,\u201d cried the impatient clerk; \u201cdo \u2019e tell me what et\nes, and hear the devil screaman now.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know what is said in Holy Writ respecting little children,\u201d\nresumed Mr. Wood. \u201cYou likewise know that sage old folks have a saying,\n\u2018the Evil One can\u2019t endure the sight of an innocent child,\u2019 and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, verily,\u201d interrupted the clerk; \u201cbless me, sure \u2019tes a wender I\ndedn\u2019t think of that before, why old people\u2014who are the only ones that\nknow anything\u2014say a babe in a house es more use to keep evil sperats\nout of en than a five-pointed star (pentagram) cut on the drussell\n(door-sill), and any number of hos shoes nailed to the lentran\n(lintel). Besides, we all know the rash lawyer who summoned the sperat\nof that unjust stewart, Jan Tregagle, into Court, by sayan, \u2018ef\nTregagle seed the money paid, may Tregagle appear and declare et.\u2019 By\nthe time the words were well out of hes mouth, the enraged sperat stood\nbefore am, sayan,\u2014\u2018Thee hast found et easy to bring me here, but thee\nwest find et harder to put me away agen;\u2019 and the enraged Tregagle wed\nha torn the lawyer lem from lem, ef he hadn\u2019t snatched a little child\nfrom a woman\u2019s arms and held et in hes own. Weth that protection he\ndefied the wild sperat\u2014who was jest the same as a devil, from beean\nweth them so long,\u2014drove am into a corner and pinned am there, while\nall the other people tore out of Court, for their lives, except the\ncheeld\u2019s mother and the judge. As a was \u2019sizes there happened to be\nmany passens in town (Bodmin), and they, on hearan of et, went all\ntogether to lay Tregagle. You know what trouble they had nearly all\nnight, and couldn\u2019t quell the sperat till the Rector of Roach came\namong them and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHo!\u201d exclaimed the parson, \u201cwest thee keep me here all night with thy\nendless fables about Tregagle, that we have all heard from our\nchildhood. Listen to what I was about to say regarding the means\nwhereby I hope to expel this fiend from Ladock.\n\n\u201cI suppose there are several unbaptised children in the parish, as many\nwomen have been in childbed, I know, since last Ladock-tide (the parish\nfeast), but none of their children have been christened.\u201d\n\n\u201cHaif a dozzen, or more, have ben in the straw,\u201d replied the old man,\n\u201cand all their children are kept tel next feasten-tide, to be\nchristened then, accordan to custom, that the same treat may serve for\nwitnesses (sponsors) and feasters; that et may be \u2018the more the\nmerrier,\u2019 for feasten-time; and some of them are nearly ready to tumble\nin agen before they\u2019ve returned thanks for their last deliverance. I\nwas gwean to say just now,\u201d continued the clerk, as Mr. Wood was about\nto speak, \u201cthat ef you had only been in the world in Tregagle\u2019s time,\nand qualified for a sperat-queller and devel-driver as you are now,\nthat Evil One, who es more like a devel than a mortal\u2019s sperat, wedn\u2019t\nha been left to carry on, in the way he ded, for many years; after\nsweepan the sand from one West country cove to another, in a crack,\nwhen they were miles asunder; stoppan up the Loo, and so changan\nHelston from a seaport to an inland town; then back again for another\njob, and frightnan people out of their lives almost, with the devel and\nhes hounds chasan am round and round Gosmoor and about, tryan to keep\nam from the Chapel on the rock, where Tregagle always took refuge.\nHappely passons fixed am, at last, to team out Dosmery. There he\u2019ll\nhave to stay, for ever and ever and aye. He mait as well try to dip the\nocean dry weth hes leaky croggan (limpet shell) as that bottomless\npool, which as a part of the sea, they say, as et do fall and rise with\nthe ebb and flow of the tide; and for a few minutes after the tide\u2019s\nturn to ebb, there\u2019s a whirlpool in the meddle of en, when bushes and\nother light things floatan near are sucked down, and sometime\nafterwards they rise agen in Falmouth Harbour or St. Austell Bay, I\nforget which,\u2014some say the one and some \u2019tother. I wanted to ax \u2019e\nsomethan about \u2019n, fearan I shud forget, but\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cStop, for goodness sake,\u201d cried the parson, \u201cleave Dosmery and\nTregagle to the charge of Old Nick and be\u2014be attentive to what I have\nfarther to say regarding our own devil, and the means to be essayed for\ndriving him; and when we have happily concluded, we will\u2014on some\nwinter\u2019s night\u2014overhaul these old stories, to see if there be a few\ngrains of truth underlaying the mass of fables.\n\n\u201cNow, as I take it that recently baptised children have the greatest\npower to drive away evil spirits, I wish you to go round the parish\nto-morrow, and request all prudent women who have lately undergone the\npains and perils of childbirth, to come and be churched next Sunday\nafternoon, if they are able, and to bring their babes to be christened\nat the same time. If a goodly number can\u2019t be got to come next Sunday,\nlet it be on the following week, but arrange with the mothers that they\nall come at the same time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do the best I can, accordan to your wishes,\u201d replied the clerk,\n\u201cbut they won\u2019t be willan to come before the feast, because poor people\ndon\u2019t care to make two treats when one would do.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell them to give the sponsors cake and ale, for the time,\u201d replied\nMr. Wood, \u201cand put off their chief entertainment till the tide, when\nwe\u2019ll have a merry time of it. The feasten week I\u2019ll go round and visit\nthem all; and you, being fiddler-in-chief, shall have enough to do.\nCall at my house when you come back to tell me how you have got on, and\nthat we settle on the number, and other matters to be observed.\u201d\n\nWhilst talking they had walked slowly towards the parsonage. The clerk\nhaving agreed to Mr. Wood\u2019s proposals, they wished each other good\nnight and separated.\n\nEarly on the following morning Clerk Courtney, as he was called, began\nhis journey round the parish to ask the mothers of all unbaptized\nchildren to bring them to be christened the next Sunday afternoon.\nAfter stating the urgent reason for his request, the women replied to\nthe effect that they would have preferred leaving their christenings\ntill the feast, for the sake of economy; yet being desirous, above all\nthings, to please their good parson, they promised to attend, as\nrequired, and thought it nothing strange that they should be wanted for\nsuch an occasion, as they knew the trouble the devil had given, and the\nprevalent belief in the power of young children to rout evil spirits.\nFew of the good dames were provided with wheaten flour, as barley-bread\nwas the \u201cstaff of life\u201d then in all labourers\u2019 and most small farmers\u2019\nhouseholds. They told the clerk, however, that if they couldn\u2019t get\nwheat to take to mill, in time for making a christening cake, they\nwould buy a few penny worth of biscuit, so as to have white-bread for\nofferings on their way to be \u201cuprose.\u201d They would on no account neglect\nthis old custom of giving to the first person met on the way to be\nchurched a good slice of cake or wheaten bread of some sort; it was\nbelieved to bring good luck to the giver, receiver, and child.\n\nThe mother also drew a presage, from the first person by whom met or\novertaken on leaving her threshold. She regarded encountering boy or\nman as a good omen that her next born would be a boy. Such was the\ndislike of many mothers to meeting another woman that they often left\nthe path, or, if they saw no way for avoiding a meeting, the poor woman\npassed the omen of ill-luck on the right hand, as she would a witch,\nand appear not to see her. Yet their most general plan was to turn back\nhome, if not far from it, and touch the \u201ccravel\u201d (mantle-stone across\nthe head of an open chimney) with her forehead, and cast into the fire\na handful of dry grass, or anything picked up, on the way back, that\nwould burn; then start again, hoping for better luck.\n\nThe practice of resorting to the hearth and touching the \u201ccravel\u201d [1]\nwith the head, is regarded as the most effectual means of averting any\nimpending evils of a mysterious nature.\n\nThe reasons for their preference of boys to girls may be found in the\nold sayings:\u2014\u201cWhile the boy is away his bread winning, the maid is home\ndoing nothing but spinning.\u201d \u201cBoys can take care of themselves, but\nmaidens can\u2019t.\u201d\n\nThe dames would all get a \u201chalf-a-strike\u201d of wheat each and take it to\nmill if they could. They liked going thither to \u201cserge\u201d (sift) their\nflour to their liking, and hear the latest gossip from the miller\u2019s\nwife, or other women who brought their grist. Mills were so noted as\nplaces for scandal, that any slanderous tale used to be called a \u201cmill\nstory.\u201d The mill, too, was the usual place of rendezvous for young\nfolks of summers\u2019 evenings, when they generally had a dance, to music\nfrom the miller\u2019s fiddle,\u2014all the old millers could play dance tunes.\nIf the miller hadn\u2019t leisure, some of the merry company either beat up\nthe time on a \u201ccrowd\u201d (sieve-rind with a sheepskin bottom, used for\ntaking up corn, flour, &c.), or they sung verses of old ballads which\nsuited the measure. We will no longer linger over our pleasing old\ncustoms.\n\nAs most of the sponsors were courting couples, living in the parish,\nthe clerk gave them timely notice, too, that the young women might get\nup their best rig-out, as he called it, against the grand occasion.\nSome of the mothers, poor dears, who were so earnest that there should\nbe no \u201chitch\u201d in the matter, accompanied the clerk to houses where they\napprehended finding any difficulty, to help him over it. They had no\noccasion, however, for the women, without exception, agreed they could\ngo through \u201cfire and water\u201d to please their good parson. \u201cBless hes\nheart,\u201d said they, \u201ches door es always open to a poor body in want;\nhe\u2019d give the shirt from hes back to any one in much distress; and he\nesn\u2019t a bit sticked up, though wise man as he es, he might well be\nproud of his learnan.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tes never his way,\u201d said another, \u201cto be like the old priest of the\nfable, who was ever ready weth hes blessan, but wed never bestow a\nfarthan; as for our passon, he wed have us all be merry and glad tell\nthe end.\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, we all know there esn\u2019t his equal round about,\u201d said the clerk.\n\u201cMoreover, et will be something for \u2019e all to remember weth pride; and\nyour cheldren\u2019s cheldren may well feel exalted to hear how their\n\u2018grammars\u2019 help\u2019t to rout the devil from Ladock.\u201d\n\nBefore night the old man was assured by as many mothers as he thought\nsufficient that they would bring their babes to be christened the next\nSunday. On his way home he called in at several farm-houses, in all of\nwhich he was made welcome with something substantial to eat, and good\nstrong ale to help him on. The folks were always glad to have him and\nhis violin at their merry-making times, such as \u201cgulthise\u201d\n(harvest-feast) weddings, christenings, feasten tides, &c., although he\nhad no great variety of dance tunes.\n\nSoon after day-down he arrived back to the parsonage, not a bit the\nworse for liquor, because he had taken little else than good wholesome\nhome-brewed. Having told Mr. Wood how he had succeeded, the reverend\ngentleman, after a pause, said, \u201cYou have done well, better in fact\nthan I expected; the number of women to be depended on amounts to\neight, though you thought them more. Now everything is significant. It\nwas held by wise men of yore, and is by many of the present day, that\npeculiar virtues belong to particular numbers, representing the signs\nof planetary and other powers; indeed, a magic square is as powerful\nfor controlling demons as the impress of Solomon\u2019s seal, which you call\nthe five-pointed star. So to neglect nothing which might tend to our\nsuccess, we will have a fortunate, or what you would call a lucky\nnumber of children. You know everybody hereabouts use nine in all their\ncharms and many other matters. They also call old stone circles\n\u2018nine-maidens,\u2019 though they are, for the most part, formed of many more\nthan nine stones. The latter part of this name, however, is a double\ncorruption, first from the old Cornish men (stone) into medn (just as\npen is changed to pedn); thence it became Saxonised to maiden, which,\nin turn, suggested foolish legends about dancing-maidens turned to\nstones to account for this unmeaning name. The general use of nine\nseems to indicate that the ancient inhabitants regarded it as a sacred\nnumber. According to eastern sages, twelve is the best of all, because\nit contains the number of signs on the sun\u2019s yearly circuit, and for\nvarious other reasons.\n\n\u201cSo we will make up a round dozen with four of the youngest christened\nlast year. You can go and select them to-morrow; the mothers will make\nno difficulty, as they have nothing to provide; and here, take this,\u201d\nsaid Mr. Wood, placing in the other\u2019s hand a good sum in silver, \u201cand\ngive it amongst the poor women, that they may buy biscuit for their\nofferings, and not want to ask for trust.\u201d\n\nThe clerk, having supped heartily, promised to find the additional\nnumber on the morrow, and went home well content, particularly so\nbecause \u201cthe master,\u201d as he called the parson, had given him money for\nthe poor mothers.\n\nNext Sunday afternoon a dozen matrons came with their infants and the\nsponsors. There were many strangers as well as the regular\ncongregation, and the devil on the tower, making his usual disturbance.\n\nThere were nine women churched; and as many children christened, after\nservice; when the parson walked out of Church, followed by twelve\nmothers, with their babes in their arms, and the godfathers and\ngodmothers, in a procession, marshalled by the clerk. They were all\narranged in lines, five deep, the mothers in front, opposite the belfry\ndoor. Mr. Wood directed each mother to pass her child from one of its\nsponsors to the other, the last handing it to him.\n\nHe then held it up awhile, that the devil might behold it, and returned\nit to its mother.\n\nAll the babes having been thus passed from hand to hand, their mothers\nheld them aloft, whilst the parson walked to and fro, before them,\nreading and cutting the air, in various figures, with his ebony staff.\nHe read and read for a long spell, in loud tones, yet the infernal\nbeing still remained,\u2014pretty silent, however,\u2014\u201cclutted  in\u201d close by a\npinnacle, on the tower\u2019s eastern edge, where he seemed quite heedless\nof the important proceedings below.\n\nAt last some of the children, becoming tired, perhaps, began to cry,\nthe others followed suit, and the twelve blessed babes, each one and\naltogether, seemed trying their utmost to scream the loudest; whilst\nthe parson read or recited with increased vehemence. Then it was that\nthe fiend hopped over on to the western parapet, and stretching his\nneck glanced down on the good folks.\n\nThe effect of what he heard and saw was magical; at least it seemed so\nto the spectators.\n\nGiving a prolonged scream, which was heard for miles around, he darted\nstraight up, to the height of a bow-shot, or more; then, shaping his\ncourse towards St. Ender, he quickly disappeared.\n\nMany of the spectators said they saw sparks and blue flames thrown off\nwith every flap of his huge wings; but all of them agreed that his\ndisplay of fire was nothing like what they had expected to behold when\na devil takes his departure. Over a while, when it was found that he\ndidn\u2019t return, there was great rejoicing in Ladock; and he has\nnevermore been seen there from that time to this. The bells were put in\norder without delay, and their frequent joyous peals kept all such\nfiends at a distance.\n\n\nNote.\u2014The clerk spoken of in the foregoing story was much respected by\nhis neighbours on account of his ancient lineage; he was a descendant\nof the Courtneys who long owned Tretnurf, in Ladock, and lived there\nfor many generations.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GHOSTS OF KENEGIE.\n\n\nOld folks of Gulval say that, in their grandparents\u2019 time, the ancient\nmansion of Kenegie and its grounds were constantly haunted by three\n\u201csperats,\u201d and, on some nights by many more.\n\nThe following stories respecting them were told by an aged tinner of\nLelant, as they had been often related to him by his mother, who had\nlived for many years in service at Kenegie, previous to her marriage,\nabout fourscore years ago; some incidents are also taken from other\nversions.\n\nThe first ghost, of whom there is any remembrance, and the one which\nremained longest, was the spirit of a thrifty old Harris, who made\ngreat additions to the house and walled-gardens, and was most unwilling\nto die and leave them. This spirit, however, gave but little trouble.\nHe merely came on a certain night in every year\u2014which was known to his\ndescendants\u2014to review the place in which he had taken so much delight;\nand only required that, on the night of his accustomed visit, the\nprincipal entrance door should be left open, as well as one opposite,\nopening into a paved court surrounded by offices.\n\nAt that time the grand entrance was approached by a straight, stately\navenue, flanked by a bowling green, with a picturesque two-storied\nsummer-house or \u201clook-out\u201d at its further end.\n\nIt was believed that any negligence in leaving open these doors, at the\nstated time, would be a cause of misfortune to the Harris family, or a\ntoken of its decline.\n\nConsequently, this custom was duly observed from farther back than\nthere is any remembrance, until within a few years of the time when the\nlast Harris of Kenegie disposed of his ancestral home. \u2019Tis said that\nwhen the spirit came and found the doors closed\u2014through some mistake,\nit is supposed,\u2014he made much unearthly wailing, till cock-crowing, then\nwent moaning away and never returned.\n\nIt is surmised that when the old family residence, in which he so much\ndelighted, came into the possession of strangers, he neither desired to\nsee it nor to hear of it again; and that he has, ever since, shut\nhimself up in his family vault, where he has plenty of company, as one\nmay judge from the great number of monuments in Gulval Church,\nrecording the virtues of his descendants. Before that unlucky time,\ncrickets were heard chirriping around the hearths of their old home all\nnight long; but afterwards not one was heard or seen,\u2014sure token of\nimpending misfortune.\n\nThe next ghostly visitor, and a more troublesome one, had been\nhousekeeper and a great favourite with a later Squire Harris, much to\nthe prejudice of his son and heir. The very night after her funeral,\ndisturbances began; the whole household were annoyed by this husey of a\nghost prancing along stone-paved passages, from one room to\nanother\u2014doors clashing and banging behind her,\u2014till she entered the\nkitchen, where she would next be heard winding-up the great\nroasting-jack,\u2014one of the old fashioned noisy clock-work machines, kept\nin motion by a heavy weight passing through the chamber floors, and\nattached to a rope or chain working over screeching pullies, fixed\nsomewhere in the upper regions of the mansion.\n\nAfter an interval of scolding, shrieking, and the other accessories of\na row, she would beat the table or dresser-bed with a rolling-pin, and\nmake the pewter-plates rattle, by way of announcing, as she was wont to\ndo, that the roast was ready, and to summon the servants to dish it up.\nBetween the thumps, she screeched \u201cQuick, come quick!\u201d and another\nvoice replied \u201cAnon, anon!\u201d Then the parlour furniture would be\nshifted, as if preparations were in progress for entertaining a large\ncompany. At length the inmates were glad to hear her high-heeled shoes\npatting over stairs and along the gallery, until they stopped at her\nlate master\u2019s bed-chamber door, which was usually the conclusion of her\nnoisy exploits for the night.\n\nThe shadowy figure of this old woman, in a long-bodied gown and kirtle,\nwas frequently seen passing quickly through the court. Now and then it\nhappened that a new servant, wishing to get ahead with her work\u2014on\nwashing days especially,\u2014and not hearing any disturbance, ventured\ndownstairs in the small hours of the morning; but, on entering the\nkitchen, her light was almost always blown out, and she got a slap in\nthe face, from an invisible hand, that \u201cmade her see fire before her\neyes;\u201d and, on turning to leave the room, received a kick behind which\nmade her remember to stay abed till cock-crowing.\n\nThis housekeeper was \u201cput to rest,\u201d however, many years before the\nHarrises left their old home, and bound to perform such a task as she\nrichly deserved. There are no particulars known of the way in which\nthis was done; it is only stated that some powerful\nexorcists\u2014neighbouring clergymen, who were then supposed to possess\npower over ghostly visitants\u2014succeeded, after much conjuration, in\nquelling her, in some measure; but, as she absolutely refused to leave\nthe place, they compromised matters by confining her to a small room,\non the eastern or northern side of the mansion; with her were placed a\nfleece of black wool, a pair of cards, a \u201cpole and kiggal\u201d (distaff and\nspindle) and knitting needles. With these she was required to card the\nblack fleece until it became white, and then to spin it and knit\nstockings of the yarn. Her closet door is walled up or plastered over,\nso that few know exactly where it is situated, though old folks who\nserved the Harris family say they have often heard the clicking of\ncards in some remote part of the buildings, and that there was always a\nlittle hole, such as sparrows might nest in, through and through the\nwall; if filled up, it was sure to be opened over night, without being\ntouched by mortal hands.\n\nWhether this old jade\u2019s ghost still gives signs of her presence, is\nbest known to the inmates. One would gladly dismiss her, but we shall\nhave to mention her again in connection with \u201cWild Harris,\u201d who next\ncame back and haunted the place, down almost to recent times.\n\nThe last Ghost of Kenegie\u2014at least of whom there is any trustworthy\ntradition\u2014was that of a spendthrift heir, known as \u201cWild Harris,\u201d who\nis best remembered, because ordinary parsons\u2019 collective power was\nfound insufficient to lay him. He extended his walks all over the\ngrounds and far away down in the \u201cbottom\u201d towards the mill. He was also\noften seen on horseback, chasing with one hound, on Kenegie Downs and\nelsewhere.\n\nBelated market folks and others dreaded to pass Kenegie Gate, for they\nfrequently saw the \u201cSquire\u2019s sperat\u201d standing in an alcove, just over\nthis grand entrance. The ghost mostly wore a steeple-crown and feather,\nhunting-coat and riding-boots, or a long, black gown and flat cap, with\nlace and plume.\n\nHe usually stood beside his family coat-of-arms, which may still be\nseen, and glared down on the road with a look as immovable as that of\nthe lions carved in stone, that, on either hand, then guarded the gate.\nSometimes, too, he was beheld seated beside the churchway-stile, a few\nyards further up the hill. Often on approaching this spot, people were\nmade aware of the spirit being near, though invisible, by a sulpherous\nsmell which pervaded the place.\n\nOn winter nights, the Squire\u2019s ghost, with a dozen or more of his \u201cold\ncomrades,\u201d or such-like spirits, would assemble in the bowling-green\nsummer-house, where they might be seen and heard from the mansion even,\ntalking, singing, swearing, and shouting, in a state of uproarious\nmirth. Altogether, Kenegie must have been a lively place of nights,\nwith the old housekeeper reacting scenes of her former rule within, and\n\u201cWild Harris\u2019s\u201d nocturnal carouse in the \u201clook-out.\u201d Few servants,\nhowever, lived there long; they didn\u2019t relish such ghostly merriment,\nin which they had no other share than to be kept awake and terrified\nall night.\n\nNo satisfactory account is handed down as to why these troublesome\nspirits could not or would not rest; there are, however, fragments of\nmisty traditions which throw a little light on the subject.\n\nOf the old improving gentleman, who delighted in building, no more\nseems to be known than what has been stated. The other unresting Harris\nis said to have been an eager sportsman, with much wild-oats in his\ncomposition, who cared for little else but his hunter and hounds,\nexcept a young lady, a poor relation, dependent on his family, with\nwhom she lived much like a fish out of water, being regarded as too low\nfor the parlour on grand occasions; and, at all times, as too high for\nthe kitchen, where she was treated as an intruder by the housekeeper\nand her creatures.\n\nThis unfortunate damsel passed much of her time in the pleasant upper\nroom of the summer-house with old maiden ladies of the family, who here\nwrought everlasting tapestry, fine lace, or embroidery, varying their\nlabours by spinning, to stretch their legs, and by doing much other\nuseful and ornamental work,\u2014then regarded as necessary accomplishments.\nHere, too, the ancient dames sipped choice cordials of their own\ndistilling or compounding; perhaps, in latter days, enjoyed their tea\nand gossip; and, from the balcony-like outer stair-landing, have\nwatched the gentlemen\u2019s healthy exercise and sports on the\nbowling-green. This choice retreat was finished with decorative wood\nand plaster-work; over the fireplace may yet be seen the family\ncoat-of-arms; a broad window, opposite the entrance, commanded a\ndelightful view over miles of rich pasture, orchards, and gardens; the\nwestern hills, with several parish churches; St. Buryan tower, standing\nboldly out, like a lofty landmark, against the sky. In the ground\napartment, which also contains a fireplace, gentlemen, after their\nexercise on the bowling-green, rested and partook of refreshments with\nmore enjoyment than\u2014\n\n\n          \u201cA party in a parlour,\n    Cram\u2019d as they on earth are cram\u2019d.\u201d\n\n\nWhen the poor gentlewoman was in her bloom, \u201cWild Harris\u2019s\u201d father was\na widower, in his dotage, and too much influenced by his housekeeper,\nwho had been, during his wife\u2019s lifetime, and was still, a special\nfavourite with him. The old faggot, may she never cease carding, and\nher wool never become white! She ever disliked her young master, and\ndetested the poor orphan lady, of whom she was jealous, fearing lest\nshe might supplant her one day in governing the household. The dame was\na malicious spy on the lovers, who frequently met in the summer-house\nand retired walks down the vale. Their interviews were all the sweeter\nfor being stolen; yet soon, alas, they resulted in sorrow to the young\nlady.\n\nThe old gentleman was much prejudiced against his poor cousin by being\npersuaded that, only for this unfortunate attachment, his son would\nhave wedded a rich heiress, whose lands lay near the Harrises\u2019\n\u201cup-country\u201d property. He declared that the day his son married his\ncousin, he would wed his housekeeper, so that she should still rule the\nroost. In spite of all opposition, however, the young man would have\nmade an \u201chonest woman\u201d of his betrothed, but was hindered by the malice\nof the old dame and his father until too late; for the poor damsel,\ndistracted with grief, wandered away one night, she knew not whither,\nand next morning was found, by her lover, drowned in a mill-pond.\n\nShortly after this tragic event the old Squire died, and \u201cWild Harris\u201d\nfound himself master of Kenegie, but disinherited of much other\nproperty, bequeathed to his brothers in the army or navy. He had some\nsatisfaction, however, in turning to doors the old mischief-making\nminion, but not much; she soon fretted herself to death, and was hardly\nlaid in her grave ere she was back again, making such a din, out of\nmere spite, as hindered the inmates from getting a wink of sleep during\nthe dead hours of night.\n\nThe master of Kenegie became more reckless than ever; his days were\nspent in hunting, or holding games on the bowling-green; and his nights\nwere passed in revelry.\n\nHe kept open house, for rich or poor, who chose to partake of his\nhospitality. One and all were cordially welcomed. With all his faults,\nhe had an open heart and hand; but, in a few years, he came to an\nuntimely end, whilst still in his prime, by a fall from his horse when\nhunting on the Castle Downs. It is said that his horse was startled by\na white hare that often followed him, and was believed to be the\nunfortunate lady\u2019s spirit.\n\nHe was borne to Gulval Church and laid in the vault at night, as was\nthe fashion then with some of our old families. His burial was attended\nby many friends; and when some of them\u2014who remained late at the funeral\nsupper\u2014came down the avenue to return home, they beheld him, as\nnatural, seemingly, as life, standing by the summer-house steps,\narrayed in his hunting-dress, and, by his side, a favourite old dog\nthat had died when his master breathed his last.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLAYING WILD HARRIS\u2019S GHOST.\n\n\nThe following account of this ghost-laying is given as related by the\nold tinner, [2] except where his dialect might be unintelligible to\ngeneral readers. It is curious that he made the spirit-queller address\nthe ghost by the uncouth word \u201cNomine domme,\u201d which he thought a proper\nname. One cannot doubt that the expression used by the original\nstory-teller was (In) nomine Domini, which became corrupted, as above,\nby the usage of more ignorant droll-tellers of recent times.\n\nOn asking my venerable gossip what the term signified, he replied to\nthe effect that it would take a conjurer to tell. He had heard it was a\nmagical word, very likely the spirit\u2019s name among spirits, for old\nfolks held that they acquire new ones quite different from what they\nbore when in mortal bodies; that persons, knowing and using these\nsecret names, obtained power over spirits, whether black or white; by\nthis means conjurers controlled them, and witches summoned fiends to\nwork their wicked will for a time. According to old belief, the\ninfernal gentry were fond of wandering incog., just like mortals of\nhigh rank, that they might not have too many witches to work for. That\nstrange word was the only one remembered of the parson\u2019s conjuring\nformulary; \u201cthe others,\u201d said he, \u201cwere as long as to-day and\nto-morrow, not like ours, for none but a parson, or some such learned\nbody, could utter them.\u201d\n\nWhen speaking of evil spirits, he called them \u201cBukkaboos,\u201d which is a\nrecent corruption of \u201cBukka-dhu\u201d (black spirit,) as old folks, who knew\nanything of Cornish, pronounced it. Within the writer\u2019s remembrance,\n\u201cBukka-gwidden\u201d (white spirit) was also in frequent use, though there\nwas great latitude allowed to its signification. All good spirits,\nincluding, \u201csmall people\u201d (fairies) were thus termed, except Piskey; he\nwas regarded as \u201csomething between both,\u201d like St. Just Bukka said he\nwas, on seating himself between a mine-captain and a \u201cventurer,\u201d who\nasked him if he were a fool or a rogue?\n\nIf Piskey threshed poor old people\u2019s corn and did other odd jobs for\nthem by night, he was just as ready to lead them astray and into bogs,\nfor mere fun; to ride the life out of colts; dirt on blackberries; and\ndo other mischievous pranks. A precocious child, one \u201ctoo wise to live\nlong,\u201d who bothered old folks by asking awkward questions, was called a\n\u201cBukka-gwidden,\u201d as well as a poor simple, innocent, harmlessly insane\nperson, or near to it. My old west-country schoolmaster, of a little\nmore than fifty years ago, often applied this name to his scholars.\n\nPersons who have been acquainted with our old droll-tellers know that\nthey gave free rein to fancy, provided they had an audience to their\nmind; being well aware that, for the most part,\n\n\n   \u201cA jest\u2019s prosperity lies in the ear\n    Of him that hears it.\u201d\n\n\nIt is often remarked by strangers that the Cornish don\u2019t understand a\njoke; but, if one may judge by the grotesque scenes and adventures of\nour old stories, that was not the case in past times, when there was\nless affectation and Puritanism than at present.\n\nSome of the incidents related seem absurd enough, yet, as they may\ndimly shadow forth some old belief, it was thought best to give them,\nfor better for worse, as consistency is not expected in very old\nstories, such as follow:\u2014\n\nThe housekeeper was confined to her task, as already stated, long\nbefore the family succeeded in getting \u201cWild Harris\u201d laid. Many\nineffectual attempts were made, which only resulted in harm, by raising\ntempests which destroyed crops on land and life at sea; besides, after\nthese vain trials of parson\u2019s power, the ghost became more troublesome,\nfor awhile, than he was before their interference with his walks.\n\nFortunately, however, the Rev. Mr. Polkinghorne, of St. Ives, acquired\nthe virtue whereby he became the most powerful exorcist and\n\u201cspirit-queller\u201d west of Hayle.\n\nFrom the little that is known of this gentleman, one may infer that he\nwasn\u2019t, by any means, such as would now be styled a \u201cpious character.\u201d\nHe is said to have been the boldest fox-hunter of these parts, but he\nwould never chase a hare; any attempt to kill one would make him swear\nlike a trooper. He kept many of these innocent animals\u2014the\nhares\u2014running about his house like cats; foolish people said they were\nthe parson\u2019s familiar spirits or witches he found wandering in that\nshape. He was a capital hurler, and encouraged all kinds of manly\ngames, as he said they produced a cordial \u201cone and all\u201d sort of feeling\nbetween high and low. The parson was mostly accompanied by his horse\nand dog, which both followed him. When he stopped to chat, Hector, his\nhorse, came up and rested his head on his master\u2019s shoulder, as if\ndesirous of hearing the news too. If he called at a house, both his\nattendants waited at the door, his horse never requiring to be held. He\nmade long journeys with his steed walking alongside or behind him, the\nbridle-rein passed round its neck and the stirrups thrown across the\nsaddle. Wonderful stories are also told about the high hedges and rocky\nground that the parson\u2019s horse would take him safely over, when after\nthe hounds; and how the birds, which nestled undisturbed in his garden,\nand other dumb creatures seemed to regard him as one of themselves.\n\nOn being requested to do his utmost in order that \u201cWild Harris\u2019s\u201d ghost\nmight rest in peace, or be kept away from Kenegie, the reverend\ngentleman replied that he hoped to succeed if it were in the power of\nman to effect it.\n\nOther clergymen, hearing of what was about to be attempted, expressed a\nwish to be present at the proceedings. Mr. Polkinghorne replied that he\nneither required their assistance nor desired their presence, yet, any\nof his reverend brethren might please themselves for what he cared.\nMoreover, he charged them that, if they came to Kenegie on the\nappointed night, not to intermeddle in any way, whatever might happen.\n\nA night in the latter end of harvest was appointed for this arduous\nundertaking. Several clergymen being anxious to see how the renowned\nspirit-queller would act with a ghost that had baffled so many of them,\nabout an hour before midnight four from the westward of Penzance, a\nyoung curate of St. Hellar (St. Hilary), and another from some parish\nover that way, arrived at Kenegie, and waited a long while near the\ngate, expecting Mr. Polkinghorne. At the turn of night, a terrific\nstorm came on, and the six parsons, drenched to their skins, took\nrefuge in the summer-house. Candles had been lit in the upper room of\nthis building, as it was understood that the spirit-quelling operations\nwould be performed there. They waited long, but neither Polkinghorne\nnor Harris\u2019s ghost appearing, the curate of St. Hellar\u2014impatient of\ninaction\u2014took from his breast a book, and read therefrom some conjuring\nformulas, by way of practice, or for mere pastime. As he read, a\ncrashing thunder-clap burst over the building, shook it to its\nfoundations, and broke open the window. The parsons fell on the floor,\nas if stunned, and on opening their eyes, after being almost blinded by\nlightning, they beheld near the open door a crowd of \u201cBukka-dhu\u201d\ngrinning at them, and then partially disappear in a misty vapour, to be\nsucceeded by others, who all made ugly faces and contemptuous or\nthreatening gestures. \u201cIt was enough to make the parsons swear,\u201d if\nthey hadn\u2019t been so frightened, to see how these jeering \u201cBukkas\u201d\nmocked them.\n\nThe reverend gentlemen crawled to the window and looked out, to avoid\nthe sight of such ugly spectres, and to get fresh air,\u2014that in the room\nsmelt worse than the fumes of brimstone. Presently, an icy shiver ran\nthrough them, and they felt as if something awful had entered the room.\nOn glancing round, they beheld the apparition of a man standing with\nhis back to the fireplace, and looking intently towards the opposite\nwall. His eyes never winked nor turned away, but seemed to gaze on\nsomething beyond the blank wall. He wore a long black gown or loose\ncoat which reached the floor; his face appeared sad and wan, under a\nsable cap, garnished with a plume and lace. He seemed unconscious of\neither the black spirits\u2019 or parsons\u2019 presence. Over a while, he turned\nslowly round, advanced towards the window, with a frowning countenance,\nwhich showed the parsons that he regarded them as intruders; and they,\npoor men, trembling in every limb, with hair on end, pressed each other\ninto the open window, intending to drop themselves to the ground, and\nrisk broken bones and an ugly \u201cqualk\u201d (concussion), for they were most\nof them fat and heavy.\n\nMeanwhile, scores of \u201cBukkas\u201d continued to hover behind the ghost,\ngrimmacing as if they enjoyed the parsons\u2019 distress. Every minute\nseemed an hour to the terrified gentlemen; but, as some of them got\ntheir legs out through the casement, the tread of heavy boots was heard\non the stone stairs, and Polkinghorne bounced into the room, when the\nghost, turning quickly round, exclaimed, \u201cNow Polkinghorne, that thou\nart come, I must be gone!\u201d The conjurer quietly holding out his hand\ntowards the ghost, quietly said \u201cIn nomine Domini, I bid thee stay;\u201d\nthen he turned to the black spirits, made a crack with his\nhunting-whip, said, \u201cAvaunt, ye Bukkadhu,\u201d and off they went, at his\nword, howling and shrieking louder than the tempest. The ghost stood\nstill; Polkinghorne uttered long words in an unknown tongue whilst he\ndrew around it, on the sanded floor, with his whip-stick, a circle and\nmagical signs, with a \u201cfive-pointed star\u201d (pentagram) \u201cto lock the\ncircle.\u201d He continued speaking a long while without pausing, and his\nwords sounded deep and full, as if, at once, near and afar off, like\nthe \u201ccalling of cleaves\u201d and surging of billows on a long stretch of\nshore, or thunder echoing around the hills.\n\nAt length the spirit felt the able conjuror\u2019s power, crouched down at\nhis feet, holding out his hands, as if praying him to desist.\n\nMr. Polkinghorne, whilst still saying powerful words, unwound, from\naround his waist, a few yards of new hempen \u201cbalsh\u201d (cord), leaving\nmuch more of it attached. Having made a loop at the end, he passed it\nover the ghost\u2019s head and under his arms; then, addressing him, said,\n\u201cIn nomine Domini, I bid thee stand up and come with me.\u201d On saying\nthis, he lifted from the floor, with his whip-stick, the spirit\u2019s\nskirts, and under them nothing was seen but flaming fire.\n\nWhen Polkinghorne had the spirit standing beside him, with his eyes\nfixed and limbs motionless, like one spell-bound, he exclaimed, \u201cThank\nthe Powers, it\u2019s all right so far.\u201d\n\nCasting a glance towards the other parsons, and seeing a book on the\nfloor, he took it up, opened it, and speaking for the first time to his\nreverend brethren, said, \u201cYou, too, may thank your lucky stars that I\ncame in the nick of time to save ye from grievous harm.\u201d Holding it\ntowards the St. Hellar curate, he continued, \u201cThis belongs to you, my\nweak brother; strange such a book should be in your possession! The\npenmanship is beautiful; it must have cost a mint of money, yet it is\nworse than useless,\u2014nay, it\u2019s perilous to such as you. By good luck,\nyou read what merely brought hither silly \u2018Bukkas\u2019; one can\u2019t properly\ncall them demons, though no others were known here in old times; they\nnow mostly keep to old ruined castles, \u2018crellas,\u2019 and \u2018fougoes,\u2019 yet\nthey are always abroad in such a night as this. But, if you had chanced\nto have pronounced a word, that you don\u2019t understand, on the next leaf,\nyou would have called hither such malignant fiends, flying in the\ntempest this awful night, as would have torn ye limb from limb, or have\ncarried ye away bodily. Perhaps, becoming tired, they might have fixed\nye on St. Hellar steeple. For my part, I wish you were there, lest a\ngreater evil befall ye this night.\n\n\u201cYou ought to have known, as any old \u2018pellars\u2019 (conjurors) would have\ntold ye, if you had deigned to talk with such without preaching to\nthem, that the secret of secrets, the unwritten words which make this\nbook of use, are the names of powerful and benevolent spirits, by whose\naid fiends are expelled. These secret names, by which alone they may be\ninvoked, are only taught, by word of mouth, to the few who are\ninitiated, after long probation, mental and bodily, and a more severe\nexamination, by nine sages, than the likes of you would ever pass.\nMany, to their sorrow, have been presumptuous to make the essay. Sages\nhold that if these sacred names were written they would lose their\nmagic power.\n\n\u201cThe mystic signs, necessary for obtaining mastery over some spirits,\nare only traced in sand, or other substance from which they are readily\neffaced when those deemed worthy have this knowledge imparted. Not so\nvery long ago, the learned in occult science met, at stated times, on\nthe lonely downs, and at the same places in which sages were wont to\nconfer in days of yore for the examination of such as sought admission\ninto their fraternity, and for the preservation of their mystic lore.\nNovices were principally examined as to their proficiency in the\nscience of extension, and in making such reckonings as are required for\nconstructing a planetary scheme at any given time. Not that these\nsciences had much connection with the more mysterious subjects treated\nof in this manuscript; but, it was justly considered that the person\nhaving a mind capable of comprehending geometrical problems, and of\nmaking abstruse astrological calculations, was worthy to be admitted\ninto the brotherhood of sages, and, in time, to their higher\nmysteries.\u201d\n\nAfter a pause, in looking sadly at the ghost, who seemed to listen with\nattention, he continued, addressing the gentlemen of St. Hellar, \u201cI\nsuppose you have heard the old saying, \u2018Women and fools can rise\ndevils, but it takes wise men to lay them.\u2019 Indeed, tradition says\nthat, in ancient times, fair young witches first obtained this dread\nknowledge from their demon lovers, to summon them whenever they\ndesired; old hags soon pried into the secret\u2014as they will into all\nkinds of deviltry,\u2014and quickly communicated from one to another, until\nwitches became numerous in all Christian lands; thousands of them were\nburnt as a warning, but their burning didn\u2019t deter others from the like\nevil practices.\n\n\u201cThe demons became disgusted of witches continually crying after them,\nto wreck their vengeance on innocent man and beast, and did their best\nto evade them. Much more may be said on the subject, but time presses.\nI have still arduous work to perform, so only another word, my\nover-curious brother,\u2014burn this book of magic in the first convenient\nfire.\u201d\n\nSaying that, he cast down the book; spoke a few words, which the others\ndidn\u2019t understand; drew his foot over a mystic sign that \u201clocked\u201d the\ncharmed circle; and, turning towards the spirit, said, \u201cIn nomine\nDomini, come thou with me,\u201d and \u201cWild Harris\u2019s\u201d ghost was led away,\nquiet as a lamb.\n\nMr. Polkinghorne, having reached the outer gate, took his horse, which\nhe had left there. The poor beast trembled, though this ghost was not\nthe first, by many, that had been near it. Having mounted, he gave the\nghost more rope, and bade him keep farther from Hector. A minute\nafterwards the four west-country parsons, without as much as saying, \u201cI\nwish\u2019e well, till we meet again,\u201d took down hill as fast as their\nhorses could \u201clay feet to ground;\u201d it was \u201cthe devil take the hindmost\u201d\nwith them.\n\nIn passing up Kenegie lane, the parson\u2019s horse was very \u201cfractious;\u201d it\njumped from side to side, tried to leap over hedges, and screeched like\na child; yet it became pretty quiet at last, when the spirit kept off\nto the end of his tether. Few bleaker places are to be found than the\nold road to St. Ives, passing over Kenegie downs. When they got there,\nthe wind seemed to beat on them from all points at once; rain and\nthunder never ceased; the Castle-hill seemed all ablaze with lightning;\nat times, too, when a more violent blast than usual whirled around\nthem, clouds of fiends hovered over them like foul birds of prey; the\nsky was pitch black, and demons were only seen by the forked lightning\nthat burst from their midst. The ghost, as if seeking protection, came\nnearer the parson; then his horse\u2019s terror became painful to witness,\nuntil a few magical words and a crack of his whip sent the devils\nhowling away, and the ghost to the end of his rope. At last they came\nwithin a stone\u2019s cast of a few dwellings called Castle-gate, and\nleaving the highway took a path on the left that wound up the hill to\nCastle-an-dinas.\n\nWe leave them for awhile to look after St. Hellar curate and his\nfriend.\n\nOne might think that the two parsons from eastward would have taken\ntheir nearest way home, over Market-jew-green; but no, St. Hellar\ncurate thought he would rather go many miles out of his way than miss\nthis opportunity of seeing a spirit put to rest, and his friend was\nafraid to go home alone; so they both started after the ghost-layer,\nkeeping sufficiently near to see him on horse-back, leading the spirit,\nas they ascended the hill. The lightning was almost continuous,\notherwise the night was very dark. On reaching the open downs, however,\nthey found it impossible to keep their saddles, even by holding on with\nboth hands to their horses\u2019 manes. Their hats were blown away, and\ntheir cloaks flying from their necks like sails in a hurricane rent\nfrom the yards. They alighted and trudged along, in single file,\ndragging their unwilling steeds behind them, for the horses wanted to\ntake their accustomed road home, and didn\u2019t like the ghostly company\nahead.\n\nWhen Mr. Polkinghorne reached the hamlet, called Castle-gate, and\nentered a narrow lane leading up to Castle-an-dinas, they were so far\nbehind as not to see his departure from the highroad; and, on coming\nnear the lonely cottages, decided to stay there, if they could find\nshelter; but, on a closer view, the dwellings appeared to be deserted;\nthe thatch was stripped from their roofs, leaving bare rafters on all\nbut one of them.\n\nOn approaching that dwelling, they heard Mr. Polkinghorne\u2019s Hector\nneigh from the downs; their horses replied, and there was more\nwhinnying from Hector, which showed the direction taken, and set St.\nHellar parson all agog, to follow the ghost-layer. As they crossed the\nroad and paused a moment, a whirlwind passed over the house, where they\nthought of seeking shelter, and took up a bundle of spars (small rods,\npointed at both ends, and used for securing the thatch) which a\nthatcher, who had been repairing the roof, had left there, pinned to\nthe work with a broach, that he might find them to hand when he\ncontinued his thatching. The bundle being taken high up and whirled\nabout, its bind broke, and one of the devil-directed spars pierced St.\nHellar curate\u2019s side, just above his pin-bone, (hip-joint) like an\narrow shot from a bow. He fell on the ground like as if killed, and his\ncompanion, in drawing the spar out of his friend\u2019s side, had his hand\nburnt, just as if he had grasped red-hot iron.\n\nPresently, the black clouds rolled away westward, and the wind lulled.\nThen the spar-wounded man was raised by his companion; lifted on to his\nhorse; and laid across the saddle, like a sack of corn. They went\nslowly on and reached Nancledery about daybreak. Having rested a few\nhours at the Mill, it was found that the St. Hellar curate was still\nunable to sit on horseback, and he was taken home in a cart.\n\nThe reverend gentleman was, ever after, lame; and bore to his grave\nmarks of his spar-shot wound; that\u2019s the last we heard of him.\n\nWe now return to Mr. Polkinghorne. At the time of this ghost-laying\nthere were, around the Castle-hill, extensive tracts of open heath,\nwhich are now enclosed; and the highway is skirted by hedges, where it\nwas then open downs, there being several more small dwellings built at\nCastle-gate.\n\nThe parson\u2019s Hector was well acquainted with the lay of the country all\naround, as he had often crossed it following the hounds; and, after\nscrambling through the narrow lane, tried his utmost to take away down\nover the moorland to a smith\u2019s shop in Halangove, where he had often\nbeen shod. By a firm hand on the bridle-rein his master kept him\nup-hill for a furlong or so, when they came to an old gurgie (ruined\nhedge) that once enclosed a fold. On one side there was a bowjey\n(cattle or sheep-house). A dwelling and outhouses have since been\nbuilt, and a few quillets (small fields) enclosed near this spot. Mr.\nPolkinghorne alighted, turned his horse into the old \u201cshelter,\u201d and\nbade the ghost approach.\n\nThey walked on in silence until they came to the Castle\u2019s outer\nenclosure, which screened them from the blast. Then the reverend\ngentleman said, \u201cNow that we are alone, and not likely to suffer any\nmore intrusion, tell me, my unhappy brother, what it is that disturbs\nthy rest? Be assured, my desire is to procure thee peace.\u201d\n\nThe spirit replied to the effect that, at the time of his decease, he\nwas much troubled, because he owed several sums to work-people and\nothers, fearing they wouldn\u2019t be paid by his successor. Moreover, he\nrelated how he had walked about for years, hoping some honest body\nwould speak to him; how the longer he was left unspoken to the more\nuneasy and troublesome he became; and when his relations brought the\nparsons to lay him, who were unqualified for that office, he was much\nexasperated, and he determined never to leave Kenegie.\n\n\u201cYet, it gave me some pleasure,\u201d said the ghost, \u201cto make those who\ncame and read long curses, as if exorcising an evil spirit to \u201ccut and\nrun\u201d and nevermore return, by only advancing a step towards them.\nThough spirits seldom speak until first addressed, I couldn\u2019t help\nexclaiming, as I did, and wished to escape when you surprised me by\nentering the summer-house; but I am now satisfied to be in your power,\ntrusting you will procure me rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe assured, my son,\u201d replied the parson, \u201cthat I will see all thy\ndebts paid.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will relieve me of much,\u201d said the spirit, \u201cyet there are other\nsubjects that trouble me; but you must promise me never to divulge\nthem, ere I make a clean breast of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy profession obliges secrecy in such cases,\u201d replied his adviser,\n\u201ctherefore speak on without reserve.\u201d\n\nThe poor ghost having unburthened himself, Mr. Polkinghorne gave him\nwords of comfort, and concluded by saying, \u201cthink no more about your\nlittle faults and failings, for if, when in mortal life, you had more\nof what we call the devil in ye, you would have overcome your\nopponents, and much grief would have been spared to yourself and\nothers.\n\n\u201cBesides, my son,\u201d continued he, \u201cfrom your simple, honest, and\nconfiding disposition, you were unable to cope with sly, mercenary\nhirelings.\u201d\n\nThen the parson took the cord off, saying, \u201cThis is no longer required\nto protect ye from evil spirits, for they have all departed with the\ntempest they raised, and the sky is now serene.\u201d\n\nAs they ascended the hill the moon shone bright on the old fort\u2019s inner\nenclosing wall, which was then almost intact. The upper enclosure is\nnearly oval in outline, and they entered it at its south-eastern end.\nStopping a minute on the hill-top, Mr. Polkinghorne said to the ghost,\n\u201cThere is no cure for a troubled spirit equal to constant employment,\nand I shall allot you an easy task, which, with time and patience, will\nprocure ye repose; but I must first make the whole of this enclosure\nsecure against infernal spirits.\u201d\n\nMr. Polkinghorne then used a form of exorcism, which, as far as it\ncould be understood by the old story-teller\u2019s account, was something\nlike the following:\n\nHaving placed the ghost on his right hand side, he passed with him\nthree times around the enclosed hill-top, going from east to west, or\nwith the sun, and keeping close to the wall. At the first round, he\nmerely counted the number of paces; at the next, he uttered, in some\nancient eastern tongue, such exorcisms and adjurations as serve to\nexpel infernal spirits; at the last circuit, he made, near the bounding\nwall, twelve mystic signs, at equal distances. He then passed through\nthe middle of the ground to its north-western end, \u201ccutting the air\u201d\nwith his whip, and tracing on the earth more magical figures. Being\narrived at the end opposite the entrance, he drew a line with his whip\nstick, from a large stone in the wall, on one side, to another\nopposite, and told the spirit to remember them as bound-stones. The\nspace thus marked off might be three or four \u201claces\u201d of pretty even\ngrass-covered ground, with a few furze bushes and large stones\nscattered over it.\n\nThe reverend gentleman rested a while on the ruined wall, which rose\nsome ten feet above a surrounding foss, and three or four from the\ninner ground.\n\n\u201cNow, my son,\u201d said he, turning towards the ghost, who stood near, \u201call\nwithin the Castle\u2019s upper walls is as safe for ye as consecrated\nground; and here is your task, which is merely to count the blades of\ngrass on this small space, bounded by the wall and a straight line from\nstone to stone, that you can always renew or find.\n\n\u201cYou must reckon them nine times, to be sure that you have counted\nright; you needn\u2019t set about it till I leave, there\u2019s plenty of time\nbefore ye.\n\n\u201cWhilst at your work, banish from your thoughts all remembrance of past\ngriefs, as far as possible, by thinking of pleasant subjects. There is\nnothing better for this purpose than the recollection of such old world\nstories as delighted our innocent childhood, and please us in mature\nage.\u201d\n\nThe spirit looked disconcerted and said something\u2014the old tinner didn\u2019t\nknow his words exactly,\u2014to intimate that he thought the assigned task a\nvain one, as it produced nothing of lasting use. He would rather be\nemployed in repairing the Castle walls, or some such job.\n\n\u201cNo, my dear son,\u201d replied the parson, \u201cit would never do for ye to be\nemployed on anything that would be visible to human eyes; the unusual\noccurrence would draw hither such crowds of gazers as would greatly\nincommode ye. No more need ye trouble yourself on the score of its mere\nuse, in your sense; for if restless mortals employed themselves solely\nin such works of utility as you mean, the greater part of them would\nfind nothing to do, and be more miserable than ghosts unlaid.\u201d\n\nThe poor ghost assented to the greater part of what the parson said,\nand the reverend gentleman resumed his discourse, which was enough of\nitself to \u201cput spirits to rest\u201d one might think.\n\n\u201cBelieve me, gentle spirit,\u201d said he, \u201cthe world is just as much a show\nas our old Christmas \u2018guise-dance\u2019 of St. George; for a great number\npass their lives in doing battle with imaginary dragons; others in\nracing about on their hobby-horses, to the great annoyance of quiet\nfolks. There are numerous doctors, too, both spiritual and physical,\nfor ever vaunting of their \u2018little bottles of elecampane,\u2019 as sovereign\ncures for all ills but their own; whilst the motley crowd is bedizened\nin fantastic rags and tinsel, just like \u2018guiseards.\u2019 Indeed, except\nhonest husbandmen, simple artisans, and a few others, the rest might\njust as well pass their time in spinning ropes of sand, counting blades\nof grass, or in any other ghostly employment, for all the good they do,\nunless it be to tranquilize their restless minds.\u201d\n\nThe ghost made no reply, but seemed \u201call down in the mouth,\u201d which\nexpression of sadness the parson remarked, and said, \u201cDon\u2019t ye be out\nof heart, brother, but have patience, and you will find that, with\nconstant work, years will pass away like a summer\u2019s day. Then you will\nwonder how your mortal crosses ever had the power to trouble ye. All\nremembrance of them will fade like a dream, and you will rest in peace.\n\n\u201cWhen you have a mind to pause awhile\u2014say after each time of\ncounting,\u2014you can go around the hill-top and enjoy the extensive\nprospect, as all within this higher rampart is a charmed circle for ye,\nwhere fiends dare not enter. There are other pleasant sights which you\nwill often behold; for the small-people (fairies) still keep to the\nCastle-hill and hold their dances and fairs, of summer nights, within\nthese ramparts. On May-day, in the morning, they are frequently seen\naround the spring, just below, or going up and down the steps which\nlead to it, by young men and maidens who come at early dawn to clean\nout the Castle-well, and to deck it with green boughs and blossoming\nMay, as is their wont. These gay beings are the spirits of old\ninhabitants who dwelt\u2014it may be thousands of years ago\u2014in the\n\u2018Crellas,\u2019 at Chysauster.\n\n\u201cThere is something more which will serve to divert ye; people from far\nand near often come here to enjoy the charming prospect; you may learn\nby their talk what is going on in the country round, if you care to\nhear anything about it. Perhaps some of the neighbours may speak of you\nand your family, and say things neither pleasant nor true; but let me\nbeg of ye, however much you may be vexed to hear their slander, for\ngoodness sake, don\u2019t ye contradict them, nor show yourself; for your\napparition, in its rich but antiquated garb, would frighten poor\nweak-minded mortals into fits.\u201d\n\nThe poor ghost seemed \u201cdumbfoundered,\u201d and said not a word: so the\nparson went on as if in his pulpit. At length he stood up and said,\nhastily, \u201cOne might mention more of what will make your abode pleasant,\nbut it\u2019s high time for you to become invisible and for me to leave ye.\nThe cocks will soon be crowing; see how fast the light increases on\nCarn Marth, Carn Brea, and other noble hills that were giants\u2019 dwelling\nplaces in days of yore, and stand out against the grey sky like\nsentinels over this favoured Western Land.\u201d\n\nThe parson, pointing to the eastern sky, told the spirit to put off his\nform. In a minute or so the apparition became indistinct, and faded\ngradually away, like a thin wreath of smoke dissolving in air.\n\nMr. Polkinghorne said farewell, and, as he turned to leave the spirit\nto his task, he heard a hollow voice say, \u201cGood friend, do thou\nremember me, and visit me again.\u201d\n\nWhen the reverend gentleman entered the old \u201cbowjey,\u201d the joy that his\nhorse showed at his approach was like recalling him from death to life.\n\nAs Mr. Polkinghorne slowly wended his way homeward, he was grieved to\nsee the wreck made by the preceding night\u2019s tempest. In Nancledry,\nlow-lying as it is, dwellings were unroofed, and trees, which had\nwithstood the storms of centuries were all uprooted. On higher ground\n\u201cstones were blown out of hedges,\u201d arish mows laid low, and the corn\nwhirled around fields.\n\nAbout sunrise, St. Ives folks, standing at their doors, were surprised\nto see their beloved parson, coming down the Stennack, looking so sad\nand weary, and that he didn\u2019t give them \u201cthe time of day\u201d (a greeting\nsuitable to the time, as good morning, &c.,) with his accustomed\ncheerful tone and pleasant smile. Neither Mr. Polkinghorne nor his\nsteed were again seen in the street for several days after their\nghostly night\u2019s work.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCORNISH CASTLES.\n\n\nIt is not generally known to strangers that what are called Castles in\nCornwall are little more than simple entrenchments, consisting of large\nand small stones built up about ten or twelve feet high and held\ntogether by their own weight, without any cement. These embankments are\nsurrounded by a ditch, formed by excavating the soil which fills the\nramparts. A well is always found within the Castle\u2019s enclosure.\n\nTraditions, which have been handed down by old stationary folks, such\nas freeholding farmers\u2014whose families have long dwelt near these\nprimitive strongholds\u2014say that they were constructed by the ancient\ninhabitants, as places of refuge where their cattle and other property\nmight be protected from the \u201cred-haired Danes,\u201d who frequently marauded\nthe country in days of yore. Near the outer entrenchment of Treen Dinas\nstood a barn, where there is now a dwelling called Caer Keis. This barn\nwas inconveniently situated for farming purposes, and old proprietors\nof Treen held that it was used in old times for storing hay and corn,\nwhich might be wanted for cattle when they were placed in the Castle to\nbe safe from northern pirates who were accustomed to land at\nParcurno,\u2014then free from sand.\n\nIt is a matter of regret that such interesting examples of primitive\nfortifications, as Castle-an-Dinas and others, should have been almost\ndestroyed of late years, when they have been resorted to as to\nquarries, and the stones removed for building huts and hedges.\n\nSome years ago, a bad example was shown by the proprietor of Trazza,\nwho was lord of the land on which Castle-an-Dinas stands, by his having\na good portion of the inner entrenchment demolished at its\nsouth-eastern end, and the stones taken to construct, on the brow of\nthe hill, a nondescript object, which looks best at a distance.\n\nIn looking at the few fragments of \u201cdry walling\u201d that remain, one can\nbut admire the thoughtful way in which the stones were laid\u2014perhaps\nthousands of years ago\u2014so as to \u201cbreak the joints\u201d and bind each other.\nThe Castle Well, near the summit of the hill, used to be regarded as\none of the curiosities of this old fort. The water was reached by\ndescending ten or a dozen steps when the spring was low.\n\nFrom the upper entrenchment may be surveyed one of the most extensive\nand varied prospects west of Carn Brea. The rugged brown hills on the\nnorthern side offer a striking contrast to the beautiful bay and rich\nland, cultivated almost to the water\u2019s edge, on the other side.\nEastward, the view is only bounded by hills which rise beyond St.\nAustell and stretch northward, Roughtor and Brownwhilly being in this\nrange.\n\nLooking westward the hills of Sancreed and St. Just, hide the Land\u2019s\nEnd; yet, with a clear atmosphere, Scilly Isles may be descryed, on the\nhorizon\u2019s verge, like clouds resting on the ocean.\n\nThe fine tower of Buryan Church is a very conspicuous object, and it\nreminds one that near it, in Buryan parish, are the ancestral, but\nforsaken, homes of some who have made their mark in England\u2019s history;\nand of others whose names live in romance and hearthside story, as\nBoscawen, Noy, Tresillian, Vivian, Le Velis, &c.\n\nThe more immediate objects in the landscape are familiar to us all, yet\nthe kind of bird\u2019s-eye view obtained from this elevated site gives a\nnovel appearance to the scene scarcely to be expected.\n\nOne may find a pleasant walk from Penzance to Castle-an-Dinas, nearly\nall the way through fields, by taking the Churchway path from Gulval to\nAngarrack; thence across two or three small fields the heath-covered\nhill is reached, and one is soon on its summit.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAUNTED LAWYER.\n\n\nA little while ago an aged native of Gulval spoke of another ghost that\nhaunted Kenegie, but only for a short time. Whether it was the \u201cspirit\u201d\nof a Harris or an Arundel he couldn\u2019t say, because it was so long past,\nbut it was all in the same family; for a Harris, he believed, changed\nhis name for that of Arundel; then, over a generation or two, the\nfamily resumed their former name. People round about always called them\nHarrises, and this one was spoken of as the proud squire of Kenegie. He\nalways rode a high horse. If he met people in the narrow lanes (and\nthere were but few broad ones in his time) they had to get out of his\nway, by leaping hedges sometimes, else he\u2019d ride over them.\n\nThey say that the only person who wouldn\u2019t make way for him was an old\nRogers of Treassowe. On Castle Downs there was a wide piece of ground\nleft for horse-tracks where the road to St. Ives passed, so that when\none path was too much worn another might be taken, on the turf. In some\nplaces the principal paths were divided by rocks or brakes of furze;\nand in a little way the branches united again, or crossed others, in a\nbewildering maze. \u2019Tis said that if Rogers, when on a heavy horse,\ncould make out at a little distance, the track which would lead to that\non which Harris rode, he would be sure to take it; if a deep one all\nthe better; and so they would both ride up, \u201cfull butt,\u201d against each\nother, like \u00c6sop\u2019s two goats crossing the brook on a plank, and either\nhave a \u201cscruff\u201d or a slashing fight with their whips. Yet they were\ngood friends, at times; hunted together over each other\u2019s lands; and\nvisited one another on ceremonial occasions.\n\nThis burly gentleman-farmer of Treassowe, however, has nothing to do\nwith the story about to be told; yet thoughts of him occur in\nconnection with the proud Harris from his being so often spoken of as\nhis opponent. He was, also, a fair sample of \u201cLudgvan Hurlers\u201d of old,\nwho were noted as sturdy \u201csticklers\u201d for their rights, with a trifle\nmore from those inclined to domineer, as well as for their devotion to\nthe manly game which procured them their honourable nickname\u2014still\nretained, though for many years past they had never strengthened their\nmuscles and minds as they were wont to do in days of yore, by hurling\ntheir silver ball, for miles, forward and backward along Market Jew\nGreen, then a common of great extent, or away inland \u201cto the country.\u201d\nThe game on the Green was called Hurling to the Goal.\n\nNow, when Harris the proud was on his deathbed he sent a man to\nPenzance for a lawyer, because he wanted to make an addition to his\nwill. \u201cTake the fleetest horse in my stable,\u201d said he to his servant,\n\u201cride for thy life,\u2014for thy life; stop not for anything in thy road;\ntell him to take thy horse and hasten away if his own be unsaddled.\u201d\n\nOn a chest, near the squire\u2019s bed, sat his son John, rocking himself to\nand fro, and crying bitterly. \u201cWhat art thou crying for, my son?\u201d asked\nhis father. \u201cBecause you are going to die, father,\u201d replied the boy.\n\u201cOh, what shall I do, what shall I do?\u201d And he went on crying more and\nmore. \u201cStop crying, my son,\u201d said his father, \u201cthou wilt do very well,\nfor I am going to give thee Trengwainton; and Castle Horneck, to look\nat; don\u2019t cry any more, my son, for I\u2019m very weak and want to sleep, my\nson.\u201d\n\nThe lawyer having arrived at the squire\u2019s bedside, and writing\nmaterials being ready, asked what must be added to the will? The\nsquire, when propped up with pillows, gasped out, \u201cI wish, I wish,\u201d\nseveral times, until he became exhausted, and fell back in bed. After\nresting awhile he made signs to be raised again, and then only repeated\nthe same words, \u201cI wish, I wish,\u201d until the lawyer told him to stop a\nmoment and then say what it was that he wanted to have written. \u201cThat\nmy son John shall have Trengwainton,\u201d gasped the dying man.\n\nThe lawyer, who had also been the squire\u2019s steward for a long time, was\nquite confounded. In a minute or two he said, \u201cI don\u2019t know what you\nmean; how can your son have Trengwainton? The place doesn\u2019t belong to\nyou, I can\u2019t understand \u2019e at all.\u201d The little blood in Harris\u2019s body\nseemed to rush into his face and turn blue; then he became pale, and\ncried, as hard as he was able, \u201cThou fool of a lawyer not to know how,\nwhen\u201d\u2014\u2014unable to say any more he fell back in bed, more exhausted than\nbefore.\n\nThen he began twitching at the bedclothes, and kept on murmuring \u201cI\nwish, I wish,\u201d lower and lower, and slower and slower, until he\nbreathed his last, with the words on his lips.\n\nThe lawyer returned homeward, feeling very sad and much perplexed. He\nand the deceased had been constant friends from their boyhood. Of late\nyears his connection with Harris was mainly as steward of his estate,\nand in that character we have to speak of him. The late squire had\nundertaken many improvements of his farm, then in progress, as well as\nalterations in his premises by his advice; and the steward took just as\nmuch interest in his friend\u2019s family and estate as if they had been his\nown. He was, also, the only solicitor of note then in Penzance. People\nof that time did not run for legal advice to settle trifling matters in\ndispute; they were often a law unto themselves, rough and ready, as\nwell as warm-hearted; though far less hypocritical then than now.\n\nThe unsatisfied dead man was laid in the family vault, when the\ncustomary time for keeping people of his quality above ground had\nexpired. On the night of his funeral, towards the morning, doleful\nsounds were heard proceeding from the late squire\u2019s bedroom, with\nplaintive cries of \u201cI wish, I wish,\u201d followed by agonising moans and\ngroans.\n\nNext day the steward came over to arrange some business that required\nhis presence on the place; old greyheaded servants of the family soon\ntold him of the ghostly sounds heard in the ancient mansion, only a few\nhours past. The strong-minded man of law ridiculed them, and said it\nwas only their fearful fancies, followed by disturbing dreams, which\nhad caused all their dread of their old master\u2019s return. The old\nservants followed the lawyer to the outer gate, begging him to stay at\nthe house over night. \u201cNo, no, I\u2019ve other fish to fry,\u201d replied he,\n\u201cgo\u2019e to rest before you\u2019re all tipsy, and let the squire come if he\nwill or can.\u201d\n\nThe steward proceeded slowly down the hill, thinking of his deceased\nfriend. As he passed a churchway stile, a little below the principal\nentrance gate, a gentleman came over and walked close beside him,\nkeeping pace with his horse. Neither spoke. The steward didn\u2019t even\ngive the customary greeting of \u201cGood night,\u201d so usual here when people\nmeet in country lanes. The strange gentleman\u2019s broad brimmed hat and\ndrooping plume so shaded his face that his features could not be\ndistinctly seen; but his tall figure was attired in a dress precisely\nlike that which had been usually worn by Harris, and which was of too\ngrand a mode for anybody else in the immediate neighbourhood. The horse\nshowed signs of great terror by rubbing his rider against the hedge,\nand by trying to run off at a gallop; yet, however the steed altered\nhis paces, the stranger kept alongside, with such an easy motion as if\nhe floated in air, until, passing the stream which flows to Ponsandane,\nwhen this strange companion disappeared,\u2014there was no knowing whither.\n\nHaving crossed the water, and the road ascending for a little way, the\nrider let his steed take its course; then it went off at a furious\nrate, and only ceased its race when near the watering-trough at the top\nof Market-jew Street, opposite the \u201cStar\u201d Inn. After slaking its\nthirst, it went down a lane, now built on, and called New Street, which\nled to a yard, stable, and garden, at the back of the lawyer\u2019s house,\non the eastern side of Chapel Street (formerly called Our Lady Street)\nand a little above the end of Vounder Ver.\n\nIt is not known whether the lawyer surmised or not that the companion\nof his ride down Kenegie Hill was his late friend\u2019s ghost, which it\nwas: for he, like most of his profession, could keep his own counsel,\nespecially in doubtful cases.\n\nNext day, however, when he was expected by the family at Kenegie to\nsettle such business as could only be arranged with his help, he begged\nfor delay, on the plea of illness, and took to his bed, which he did\nnot quit for some days.\n\nNight was dreaded in the old mansion at Kenegie. Even the decline of\nday made its inmates shudder with apprehensive terror. The slamming of\ndoors, rattling of furniture, and other disturbances commenced earlier\nand continued later into the morning than they did at first; and the\nspirit\u2019s cries of \u201cI wish, I wish,\u201d seemed to be uttered in anger\nrather than in grief. During all the family\u2019s trouble the steward was\nunable, or unwilling, to come near them. Yet, almost daily, one or\nother of Harris\u2019s old servants came in to enquire after the lawyer\u2019s\nhealth, and told his family how their late master\u2019s ghost had been seen\nand heard before candle-lighting time in a court behind the house; and\nthat it was intended, over a few nights, to try what \u201cspirit-quellers,\u201d\nas ghost-layers were called, could do in order to give the troubled\nspirit rest.\n\nThe steward was still far from well, when one night, about a week after\nhis last visit to Kenegie, and just after he heard an eight-day clock\non his stair-landing strike two, whilst he was listening for the\ntown-clock, five minutes slower than his own, he heard a loud knocking\nat his front door. Shortly afterwards his housekeeper came to his\nbedroom door, and asked, \u201cAre \u2019e waking, master?\u201d Having spoken to her,\nshe said, \u201cThere\u2019s an old clergyman, from over Hayle way, below; I\u2019ve\nseen him here before; he must speak with you, he says: he has a message\nof the utmost importance to you.\u201d The steward told her to strike a\nlight and show the parson up at once, as he was an old acquaintance who\ndidn\u2019t stand on ceremony with him.\n\nThe old dame sat on her three-legged stool, hammering away with flint\nand steel, in making vain endeavours to kindle the tinder, which wasn\u2019t\ntouched by a spark, for the box had overturned in her lap without her\nknowing it; her skirts being huddled on in a hurry she hardly knew\nwhere to find her knees to steady the tinder-box between them. There\nwas a glimmer of light coming through the diamond-shaped lead lights\nfrom a ghostly-looking bit of a morning moon, when the venerable\ngentleman told her to take no more trouble; as he was well acquainted\nwith the house and her master he could find the way to his room without\na candle and alone; his business was too urgent for any farther delay.\n\nThe reverend gentleman, on entering the lawyer\u2019s bedroom, drew back the\nwindow curtains, and said, whilst shaking hands, \u201cI hope to be excused\nfor calling at this unseasonable hour on account of the message I\nbring; the importance of which, to you, will be best understood when I\ntell ye of this night\u2019s occurrences.\u201d Now, the lawyer was impatient to\nlearn this urgent business, but it would seem as if the parson were in\nno hurry\u2014such good men take things easy. For he went to the window,\nopened a casement, and looked out, as if to recollect his thoughts. It\nwas too obscure then for him to enjoy the extensive prospect, as seen\nby day\u2014only bounded by distant eastern hills. Returning to the lawyer\u2019s\nbedside, the reverend gentleman seated himself and continued thus:\u2014\u201cI\ncalculate, by the stars now rising, as well as by the altitude attained\nby others, that it is now two hours and forty-five minutes since I,\nwith four other clergymen of our neighbourhood, by a request of the\ndeceased squire\u2019s family, assembled on the Bowling Green, at Kenegie,\nin order to give rest to the unquiet spirit which quitted Proud\nHarris\u2019s mortal tenement a fortnight since. Having marked on the turf a\ncircle, and placed on its circumference three lighted candles, to mark\nthe points of an equilateral triangle, within which a ghost is as safe\nas in consecrated ground\u2014the devil and his hounds are always on the\nwatch for vagrant spirits, roaming from churchyards\u2014we formed ourselves\nin line, facing south and behind the lights, in order of precedence, my\nstation being at the right hand of all. Then a reverend gentleman, who,\nlike myself, has much knowledge of planetary influence and other occult\nsciences, as well as great ability in laying obdurate spirits, spoke a\nform of citation. Not a dozen words of this solemn summons were uttered\nwhen Proud Harris\u2019s ghost, in winding-sheet and shroud came before us,\nand, with a frowning countenance and angry gestures, abruptly said,\n\u2018Begone about your own business, if you have any, for you have none\nwhatever here; and learn, vain mortals, that I will not leave this\nplace for anything you can do or say, until it pleaseth me to do so.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cAh, I see,\u201d said the steward, \u201cit\u2019s the same resolute spirit still\nthat always animated my deceased friend, for he never liked those of\nyour cloth; in fact he couldn\u2019t abide to see men feathered all in black\nand white; he used to say, \u2018They are like Market-jew crows.\u2019\u201d \u201cWell,\nwell, let that pass,\u201d replied the reverend gentleman, \u201cYou have not yet\nheard the matter of importance to you. On my commencing a powerful form\nof conjuration the spirit approached me and said, \u2018Dear old friend of\nmy youth, for the sake of those many happy days that we have passed\ntogether in the hunting-field, do thou go from me, and at once, to that\naccursed lawyer and steward of mine; tell him that unless he comes\nhere, and that shortly, to mind his business, I will go to him. Aye,\nyou see that thin rim of the waning moon; if he be not here, attending\nto his duty to me and mine, ere that moon be renewed, I will appear\nbefore him when least expected, whether he be in his office, his\nbed-chamber, or elsewhere, alone.\u2019 On my assenting to convey his\nmessage the ghost vanished, and I at once came hither with such speed\nas my three-score and six years permit.\u201d\n\nThe parson paused a moment, but, the lawyer remaining silent, he\ncontinued: \u201cI advise you as a friend, go, as desired, before you are\nthree days older, for by that time this moon\u2019s diminished horns will\nhave recommenced their growth. As I have now faithfully delivered the\nspirit\u2019s message, I bid you adieu, hoping you will have grace to follow\nmy advice.\u201d\n\n\u201cI intend going to Kenegie,\u201d replied the lawyer, \u201cbefore another night\ncomes round. Stay and take breakfast; you must need rest after such\ntrying work.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I must be gone,\u201d said the parson, \u201cthough I have neither eaten nor\nslept since my leaving Ruan yesterday morn.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen if you won\u2019t stop, I wish \u2019e well,\u201d said the steward, \u201choping\nnever more to see ye here with a message from the dead. Farewell.\u201d\n\nAfter this unpleasant interruption to his night\u2019s rest, the steward lay\nawake and turned out of bed before his accustomed time of rising, with\nthe intention of going to Kenegie without delay. Yet, from feeling very\nmuch out of order, when partly dressed, he returned to bed and sent for\na medical man.\n\nThe doctor felt the lawyer\u2019s hot forehead and rapidly-throbbing pulse,\nwhilst the sick man told him that he could neither get tranquil sleep\nnor take his food with any appetite.\n\n\u201cMy good friend,\u201d replied the doctor, \u201cyou are working yourself to\ndeath, in trying to grapple with your extensive practice. Now, you must\nnot think of entering your office for a month at least. Go away to the\ncountry; when you are able, for the sake of getting rid of business\ncares; your clients must have patience until you get well. If they\nwon\u2019t, let them go to Old Nick for advice. His counsel will please the\ngreater part of them much better than the advice of an honest\nattorney.\u201d\n\nThe patient then said, \u201cI am most anxious first to go over and arrange\nsome business in Kenegie which requires my presence there.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d replied the doctor, \u201cyou can do nothing better, when well\nenough, mind you, than ride over there daily; but don\u2019t stay long in\nthe house, and say but little about professional matters. After taking\nsome light refreshment, ride away up to Castle-an-Dinas, or, at least,\nas far as the hamlet called Castle Gate, and ride easily forth and\nback, over the stretch of level road on that high ground. When there\nyou will breathe the sweet air of the hills, mingled with ocean\u2019s\nbreezes, which will do you more good than any amount of drugs. You\nmust, however, take a small dose at once, in order to procure tranquil\nsleep. Never mind your appetite, that will return when you are able to\ntake daily rides over the hills, and you will be able to eat like a\nhorse, as the saying is.\u201d\n\nThe doctor having sent for medicine, and seen his patient take the\nsame, went downstairs, charged the household to keep still, and on no\naccount to let their master be disturbed with business callers. \u201cIf he\nshould sleep for 24 hours, let him,\u201d said the doctor, \u201cand I\u2019ll call\nagain shortly.\u201d\n\nThe steward said nothing of his having been accompanied by Harris\u2019s\nghost in his ride down Kenegie Hill, nor of the spirit\u2019s message, well\nknowing that his medical friend had no faith in supernatural\nappearances; and the ailing man himself had but slight belief in such\nmatters until the evidence of his own eyes, as well as the reverend\ngentleman\u2019s words, convinced him, in spite of his reason.\n\nThe \u201cdoctor\u2019s stuff\u201d had its desired effect. The steward slept soundly\nthrough the night, and until nearly noon next morning, when he took\nbreakfast in bed, then more medicine, and slept again. About two\no\u2019clock the doctor called and asked the housekeeper how her master was.\n\u201cI suppose,\u201d said she, \u201cthat he\u2019s going on as well as can be expected,\nfor he slept well last night, ate a good breakfast for a sick man, and\nis sleeping again. A few minutes since I went into his room, and saw\nhis eyes were shut, and didn\u2019t speak to him, as you told me not to, but\nI talked a little to myself, and he didn\u2019t ask me what I was grumbling\nabout, as he mostly does if I speak a few words to, myself.\n\n\u201cA precious nurse you are,\u201d said the doctor, \u201ccan\u2019t you keep your\ntongue still when in your master\u2019s room?\u201d\n\nThe lawyer had the same tranquil rest on the following night; got up at\nhis usual time, and soon after an early dinner, took horse for Kenegie.\n\nThe steward arrived at the old mansion about three or four o\u2019clock.\nHaving stayed a few hours with the bereaved family, and said all he\ncould to comfort them, he recollected that there were alterations, or\nrepairs, going on down at the mill, which he ought to see. The\nlengthening shadows warned him that it was time for his departure, that\nhe might see the mill on his way home. Having sent his horse down, by a\nservant, he took a pathway which made a short cut thither across some\nfields. This was always a favourite walk with him and the late squire,\nbecause it afforded delightful views over land and sea. When on the\nclear ground, and in sight of Rosemorran, he saw the sunbeams still\nshining through a few leafless trees on the hill, but the valley was\nall in shadow. On coming to a high-hedged and narrow lane, near the\nmill, the gentleman went on slowly, with eyes cast down, musing on\ntimes past. Glancing upwards, when his reverie ended, he beheld, at the\ndistance of ten or a dozen paces, the late squire, looking as formerly,\nand slowly approaching him. The steward, though much terrified at\nfirst, noticed that the garb taken by the apparition was, from\nlooped-up hat to silver spurs, exactly like that which Harris had\nusually worn when following his hounds. At a glance the steward saw the\nsame bright and unsullied attire for which the late owner of Kenegie\nhad been distinguished. There were the same untarnished gold-lace and\nbuttons on his bright scarlet coat; and the boots, with their tops just\ntouching, without hiding, the jewelled knee-buckles of his nether\ngarment. Yet, for all this brightness of dress, the ghostly face, as\nseen by the terrified man on coming nearer, made his blood run cold.\nThe eyes were like the unclosed eyes of the dead; and the other\nfeatures were pale and motionless as those of a marble image lying on a\ntomb. The lawyer had heard, like everybody else here, that one should\nnever turn back from a ghost, but speak, if only a single word, as a\nspirit is powerless to impart its wishes till spoken to; and if long\ndelayed the person is in danger of receiving bodily harm, and will be\nhaunted to death if he speak not before. The poor man forced himself,\nas it were, to advance with his eyes cast down, for he couldn\u2019t bear to\nsee the ghastly countenance. When near he could only murmur, \u201cWhat\nshall I do for \u2019e?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am rejoiced that thou hast come to meet me here, and spoken in time,\nfor on the morrow I should have gone to thee. The anger I felt at thy\ndelay hath passed; why shouldst thou fear me, frail mortal that thou\nart, when, ere long, thou wilt be as I am, and then seek me with a\ngreater desire to meet me than thou hast now to shun my company?\nBesides thou knowest I always liked thee for thy honesty, and thy\nregard to me and mine, as well as for thy doing justice to thy poorer\nclients\u2014as far as unjust laws and judges would allow thee. Now, with\nregard to my son John,\u201d continued the ghost, looking sorrowfully on his\nfaithful steward, \u201cDeath, as thou knowest, cut short my efforts to\nexplain how my wishes were to be accomplished touching Trengwainton.\nThy eyes are cast on earth; dost thou attend to what I say?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do my best to,\u201d replied the poor steward like one in a waking dream.\n\n\u201cWell, as thou knowest, there is much money owing to me on the place;\nno interest has ever been paid, and more cash is wanted. Do thou supply\nmore and more until the place be indebted to nearly its value. Our boy\nJohn is now about fourteen. Before he will be of age, foreclose the\nmortgage, as the place by that time will be burthened to nearly its\nfull value. If the estate be offered for sale there will be no\npurchaser; everyone hereabouts has enough to do to keep the land he\nhas. All landowners here are much embarrased to hold what they have.\nYet if the place be worth anything more than its encumbrance, pay over\nthe balance on putting my son in possession. The management of my\nfamily\u2019s property will be entirely on thy hands for many years, and\nthou wilt still be my trusty steward. Now understand me clearly, of a\nHarris it must never with truth be said that he got his lands unfairly.\nMark the little more I have to say, that I may depart for good, and no\nmore have to revisit this miserable world. Look up now, that I may know\nthou attendest to my words, and learn that unless my wishes be\naccomplished none of my family, nor of thine, will be known in this\npart of the country for half the time they have flourished here, nor\nhave an inch of land more than their graves occupy. Behold those aged\ntrees which my forefathers planted. Ere they return to dust our ancient\nhomes will know us no more, if my last wishes be disregarded.\u201d\n\nBefore the lawyer could reply\u2014if he had anything to say\u2014Harris\u2019s ghost\nhad vanished.\n\nThe servant, who awaited the lawyer at the Mill, became uneasy when it\nwas almost night and the gentleman had not arrived; knowing him to be\nunwell and that he was a man who would never \u201csay die whilst there was\na shot in the locker,\u201d as the saying is (everybody liked the steward\nfor his pluck and kindly disposition.) He rode slowly up the lane by\nwhich he expected the steward to arrive, and, at last found him sitting\non a bank beside the road, seeming all bewildered and stupid, like a\nperson recovering from a trance or just come out of a fit. The servant\nroused him up, as he said, but the steward didn\u2019t speak, even when he\nmounted his horse, and rode slowly homeward, with the servant following\nto his own door, where the doctor was anxiously awaiting his patient\u2019s\nreturn. We heard no more of the good lawyer, but hope he rode out no\nmore until perfectly recovered.\n\nHarris\u2019s ghost, satisfied with having told the lawyer how its wishes\nwere to be carried out, has never more been seen nor heard in Kenegie,\nfrom that day to this.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHALLANTIDE: OR A ST. JUST FEAST FIFTY YEARS AGO.\n\n\n\u201cThe Saint\u2019s Feast is kept upon the Dedication Day, by every\nhouseholder of the parish, within his own dores, each entertaining such\nforrayne acquaintance as will not fayle, when their like turne cometh\nabout, to requite them with the like kindness.\u201d\u2014Carew\u2019s Survey of\nCornwall.\n\n\nMany persons of Penzance and its neighbourhood, whose memories take\nthem back fifty years or more, may recollect an aged man, usually\ncalled Dick Rastram, who for some weeks before Christmas, and after it,\nused to be heard calling around the market,\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cMoore\u2019s almanacks new,\n    Some lies and some true.\u201d\n\n\nThe almanacks he sold were supplemented with advertisements of patent\nmedicines and other special articles kept by his master.\n\nOn the whole Dick must have been a good servant, or his master would\nnever have had the patience to bear with his provoking ways for so many\nyears as he did. Dick was very fond of arguing the point as to the best\nmode of doing any job he was set about, and the time wasted in settling\nthe matter was more than would have sufficed to do the work many times\nover; but he would exert himself with double vigour when allowed to\nhave his own way. Sometimes, however, the master becoming tired of his\nman\u2019s pig-headedness, would say \u201cdo the work as thou art told to;\nwhether right or wrong no blame will rest on thy shoulders.\u201d Then Dick\nwould keep a sharp look-out for a mistake, and if his master made any,\nby a \u201cslip of the tongue,\u201d he would be sure to execute it to the very\nletter.\n\nOne morning this precious man-servant was sent to the bake-house in\nBack Lane, for a twopenny loaf of the proper age for mixing with other\ningredients in making pills. In a few minutes he returned, placed the\npence on the counter, and said \u201cthere\u2019s no bread there stale enough;\nwhere must I go next?\u201d Then he was told some other place, and as often\nreturned without bread, asking each time where he was to go next? So he\ndawdled away great part of the forenoon, when everyone knew that if he\nhad a mind he would find a suitable loaf in some shop best known to\nhimself, in a few minutes. The last time he returned with the two-pence\nand asked, \u201cWhere must I go next?\u201d his master, provoked beyond measure,\nsaid go to \u2014, naming a place said to be very hot; and to soften the\nangry expression, added the word \u201cstone\u201d in a lower voice; but the man\nheard this cooling word, took up the pence, and went out to get the\nbread, it was supposed from some shop of his own choice. Night came,\nhowever, but no Dick; and the following day passed without his having\nbeen seen or heard of in Penzance.\n\nA little after the usual closing time Mr. Harvey was in his shop with a\nfew of his neighbours, wondering what had become of his man, and\ngetting rather uneasy at not having had any tidings of him, and was\nabout to have his shop closed, when Dick entered, put a two-penny loaf\non the counter, and said, \u201cHere\u2019s a loaf that\u2019ll please \u2019e I \u2019spose.\nI\u2019ve ben where you told me to go for ut. You will, of course, pay me\nfor what it cost me in lodgings in Helston last night, and for meat and\ndrink on the road. I went as cheap as I cud; \u2019tes only two and twenty\npence; seeman to me you have kept the shop open very late, and all the\nlamps burnan, when every shop round the market es shut up except the\ntwo grocers\u2019 that are always the last.\u201d\n\nDick then put up the shutters, turned down all the lamps except one\nnear his master\u2019s desk, and asked if there was anything more for him to\ndo that night. \u201cIf there esn\u2019t,\u201d said he, \u201cI\u2019d like to go home and go\nto bed at once, that I may rise early in the mornan.\u201d\n\nDick\u2019s master being one who always saw the humourous side of a\nmatter\u2014and who had a keen relish for it, couldn\u2019t, for his life, keep a\nstern look when he replied, \u201cgo into the kitchen and get thy supper and\ndon\u2019t let me see thee any more to night.\u201d\n\nYet, with all the man\u2019s deviltry, he was extremely proud of his\nmaster\u2019s repute as a skilful chemist and a clever man; as well as of\nthe old-established business, to which he regarded himself as a most\nimportant adjunct.\n\nThe warehouses where Dick reigned supreme, as far as he could, were\nextensive and somewhat scattered. The shop was a large one for those\ntimes, with groceries on one side and drugs on the other. Grocers\u2019\nkitchens were then the usual places in which their regular country\ncustomers left their baskets when their marketing was finished; and\nthere, too, boiling water was kept that country-folks might make\nthemselves tea, after which the warehouseman helped them take their\nmarketing to the inn-yard, at which their horses were left\n(market-carts were but few then.) All were anxious to keep in with\nDick, to have his assistance, for he was as \u201cugly\u201d as sin with some who\ngadded about to new shops, that they might pick up things sold cheap as\na draw for a short time.\n\nAmongst the old regular customers, to whom Dick paid much attention,\nwas Mary Angwin, or Chygwin, the wife of a well-to-do miner in St. Just\nChurchtown, who also cultivated a few acres of land, in his spare time.\nA few weeks before Hallantide [3] Mary invited Dick to come out the\nFeasten Sunday, and he promised to come.\n\nOn Feasten Eve, Mary and Jackey, her husband, were both in Penzance, to\nget meat and other things for the feast. They didn\u2019t want to kill their\npig for winter\u2019s store before it was fat, and sell one side of it on\nthe Thursday before the Feast, as many did that they might buy beef and\nother good things for the Tide. \u201cBe sure you come early, in time to go\nto Church,\u201d said Jackey, when his wife had reminded Dick of his promise\nto come. St. Just folks, and others in Feasten time, were proud to show\na goodly number of visitors in Church. \u201cAnd now, Dick,\u201d said she, when\nready to leave the shop, \u201cif you will take one side of the basket, with\nme, Jackey will shoulder the sack of meat. The basket is heavy with\nHallan apples, the largest I could get, and with other things; the old\nmare will groan and grunt at some rate, all the way home, as she always\ndo, the creature, when there\u2019s a few pounds more than usual on her\nback.\u201d\n\nAfter Mary had jogged away, seated on a bow-pad, with the heavy basket\non her knees and the sack across the beast, Jackey stayed awhile\nwaiting for some comrades who were going to tramp it home as well as\nhimself. \u201cYou can find our house, mate, without any trouble,\u201d said he\nto his expected feaster, \u201c\u2019tes nearly the first you will come to on\nentering Churchtown by the Penzance road; and you will know et by the\nlargest turf-rick you\u2019ll see close to the end of et, and \u2019tes sure to\nbe sanded all about, from the door to the turf-rick and pigs\u2019 crow.\nI\u2019ve ben along to Percurnow on purpose for a load; none else will\nplease Mary, for the Feast, but the sand from that Cove; and I brought\nhome \u2018gard,\u2019 (decomposed granite) from the Tinpit Hill, in St. Levan,\ntoo, that she may scour the life out of tembran things,\u2014the dairy door\nand all, as well as the benches; she\u2019s a capital wife, she es. Now good\nnight, and be sure to come early.\u201d\n\nBy 10 o\u2019clock Dick arrived, and was treated to a dram, first thing,\nwhilst Mary laid before him a substantial breakfast. The only one there\nbefore, except those belonging to the house, was an old maid, a\nmantua-maker of Kelynack; she was a staid old dear, yet not out of\nhopes of getting married. Hearing that Dick Rostram was expected she\nhad invited herself to come and help Mary cook the feasten dinner; and\nit was funny to see this dry old creature \u201csetting her cap\u201d at old Dick\nall the time he was there. Next came an elderly couple from Sancras;\nthen two blooming damsels, sisters, from Morvah. And when all those\nexpected were come, Mary said, \u201cJackey, my son,\u201d (though speaking to\nher husband) \u201ces time for thee to take our Feasters to Church, for I\nand Cousin Gracey want all the room to cook dinner. You\u2019ll stop a spell\nin the public-house as usual, and all will be ready to place on the\nboard by the time you come in.\u201d\n\nThough late for service in Church they had one comfort, as Jackey said,\n\u201cthey would be out as soon as the rest.\u201d\n\nAbout two o\u2019clock the feasters came home and found the big crock lifted\noff the brandes (trivet) on to the hearth. In the large vessel were\nboiled a rump of beef, a couple of fowls, and a nice piece of streaky\npork to eat with them; as well as turnips, carrots, and other\nvegetables, all in kipps (net-bags) to keep them separate and for\nconvenience in taking up. The vegetables were placed to drain on bars\ncalled \u201ckipp sticks,\u201d placed across the crock; the beef was dished up\non a round pewter platter; the fowls had melted butter and parsley\u2014some\nof the butter poured on them, the rest served in a boat. A rabbit-pie\nwas steaming on the chimney stool; and a baked figgy (plum) pudding was\non the dresser, turned out of the baker on to another pewter platter,\nand powdered over with white sugar. On one end of the hearth, over a\nfew embers, stood a little pot, the very model of the larger vessel but\nnot more than a tenth of its size, containing choice red-apply\npotatoes, steaming under a cloth, all the water having been poured off.\nAt the sight of this Dick clapped his hands and cried \u201cwhat a dear\nlittle crock!\u201d\n\nWhen the female guests came down, with their dresses pinned up, that\nthey mightn\u2019t be foust (soiled or rumpled) they found dinner served.\nMary took from the dresser pewter flagons, which shone like silver and\nwere only used on grand occasions, to serve the ale. If the feasters\ndidn\u2019t make a good dinner it was from no fault of their entertainers,\nfor it was \u201ccut and come again\u201d till all declared they were \u201cchoke full\nand ready to burst.\u201d Then they had a nip of brandy all round, to settle\ntheir stomachs. Jugs of hot toddy were next placed on the board, with a\nlittle tray of shag tobacco and long pipes. Crocks and pans put away,\nthe fire was gathered to one end of the hearth; fresh turves put on;\nand the chimney-stool put back to its place on the other end of the\nroomy hearth, that those who liked best to smoke in the chimney corner\nmight sit there. The men being made comfortable as their hearts could\ndesire, Mary and her female friends went upstairs to have a cosy chat\nto themselves; and there they had a bottle of old sweet-drink (mead)\nwhich had been kept for the feast. Didn\u2019t their tongues go, two or\nthree together, talking over the births and marriages that had lately\ntaken place or were likely soon to occur amongst their acquaintances;\nthe new dresses seen in Church; and scores of other matters dear to\nfemale hearts.\n\nWhen weary of being without the men, down they came to have a look\nround the \u201chale\u201d (hall?) Jackey asked if they,\u2014the two blooming\nones\u2014would like to have a run down to the Cape? \u201cNo thank \u2019e, Jackey\ndear,\u201d said the elder, \u201c\u2019tes too cold a place this time of the year,\nbut well enow in summer. After we have warmed ourselves a bit we want\nto see the pretty things in your hale, brought home, from over sea, by\nyour cousin, Tom Hattam.\u201d \u201cYou shall, my dears, and take a glass of hot\ntoddy to warm \u2019e all through. I spose your sweethearts will be here\nsoon?\u201d \u201cNo not yet, for hours,\u201d said the elder again; \u201ces time enow for\nthem to come here when we want to be going home, and that won\u2019t be yet\nawhile. But I shouldn\u2019t wonder if Nanny\u2019s Tom es here before long to\nknow where he shall meet you and some other San Tusters to-morrow to go\nrabbit shooting. You must come over to Morvah, he said, for he can tell\nyou where a hare\u2019s likely to be found and rabbits in plenty. Her boy,\nTom es roving mad sometimes to get married and be off over sea to a\nplace where many of his comrades went some years ago, and are doing\nwell there, so Tom says. What\u2019s the place called Nancy, that thee art\nalways dreaman about?\u201d \u201cDodgeville,\u201d replied the younger; \u201ces near\nMineral Point.\u201d\n\nJackey having set the Morvah girls a-talking about their sweethearts,\nand the subject of their discourse being of little interest to any but\nthemselves, the Sancras man, taking Jackey\u2019s two elder children, went\nto visit some relatives of his and theirs in another part of\nChurchtown. His wife was asleep on Mary\u2019s bed, being tired after her\nwalk from Trannack and a hearty meal. At last when the girls paused a\nmoment they and the rest went to look at the pretty things in Mary\u2019s\nhale.\n\nWhether Jackey Angwin\u2019s best room be called a hale or a parlour, it was\na very neat little place,\u2014almost too bright and nice and full of\nnick-nacks for one\u2019s eyes to rest on anything.\n\nThe mantel-shelf was so crowded with china cattle, chiefly cows and\nsheep, with a shepherd and shepherdess under a tree, taking care of\nthem, that they had scarcely room either to lie or to stand amidst\ncrystals of quartz, or Cornish diamonds, and other choice specimens,\nand foreign shells. There were also two circus horses, red and white\nones, rearing on their hind legs, on either end of the shelf, and ready\nfor a spring down on the floor.\n\nHanging on the walls over the mantel was that red-hot picture of\nVesuvius and the Bay of Naples, which seamen so often bring home from\nsome Levantine port to let their friends know something of the wonders\nthey have seen. \u201cCome here, Dick, and the rest of \u2019e, and tell us about\nthis picture and other foreign things that Cousin Jack brought home on\nhis return from his first voyage abroad.\u201d Dick looked at the picture\nand said, \u201cThis is the same that one may see in almost every house in\nCapens Row, and in many on Sandy Bank. Sailors all tell a story about\nit and say that a long while ago, a vessel was becalmed for three days\nand two nights within sight of that burning mountain. About one\no\u2019clock, or earlier, on the third night, they heard a loud voice,\ncoming from that mountain, say, \u2018the hour es come, but the man esn\u2019t\ncome.\u2019 Lookan to windward just after, the sailors saw a black cloud\nrising from out over the sea and coming straight towards them. When\njust over the main-tops they saw plainly that what they had taken for a\ncloud was a company of infernal spirits, carrying off among them a man\nthey had known. He was a Barbary pirate whose vessel they had sunk with\nall on board not long before. The men heard dreadful cries as the\ninfernal spirits bore the pirate away right to the mountain that had\nonly ben smoakan for days before; but as the infernals approached and\ntook the man down et blazed up and roared like thunder. Then a gale\nsprung up and brought the ship into port\u2014thereabouts, where you see the\nred-lookan housen,\u201d said Dick pointing to Naples.\n\n[This sounds much like an old kmonish legend, and it probably is one\nadapted from the ancient myth which tells of Etna and Vesuvius being\nthe chimney-tops of Tartarus.]\n\n\u201cCan that story be true?\u201d asked Gracey, looking at the picture as if\nshe expected to see the cloud of infernals. \u201cI don\u2019t know I\u2019m sure,\u201d\nAngwin replied, \u201cfor Jack told us the same; but sailors spin such queer\nyarns, and so besmeared with their tarbrush, that one can\u2019t ever tell\nwhat\u2019s in them of truth. Now when Jack brought us this picture (and\nother things we\u2019ll see bem by) Granny was here. She put on her\nspectacles to have a good look, but couldn\u2019t make out what it was. When\nJack told her et was a burnan mountain she said \u2018Hold thy tongue; I\u2019ll\nnever believe that; es a bad picture of a house a fire I spose.\u2019 \u2018Well,\nold dear,\u2019 replied he, \u2018you won\u2019t credit me weth haven sen many things\nthat you havn\u2019t. You wan\u2019t believe praps that when on the Red Sea\nshores I seed the axle-trees of Pharoah\u2019s chariots stickan out of the\nsand weth the linch-pins still in them. The wheels and the other tember\nwas rotten and washed away.\u2019 \u2018Perhaps I may believe that,\u2019 said she.\n\u2018An old ship-mate of mine,\u2019 continued Jack, \u2018who had ben a long way\ninland told me he had sen Lot\u2019s wife turned into rock-salt. \u2019Tes still\nstandan in that dry climate, and he cracked off the little finger of\nher right hand. It\u2019s grown again: fingers and toes shoot out, or sprout\nanew, during a flowing tide.\u2019 \u2018Why what is become of the finger?\u2019 asked\nshe. \u2018That, at the bottom of the sea, now,\u2019 replied he, \u2018weth many\nother strange things, such as Eve\u2019s apples, very fair to see but all\nfull of ashes within jest like \u2018colebrands\u2019 (smutty ears of wheat.) His\nship was sunk with a blow from a whale\u2019s tail, and he wed a ben\ndrowned, ef by good luck he hadn\u2019t a got hold of a dolphan, which he\nmounted when sinkan, and the good fish, always friendly to sailors,\nbore him safe to shore.\u2019 \u2018Now I wan\u2019t heer any more of thy stories,\u2019\nsaid Granny, \u2018for one can\u2019t tell what to believe of them.\u2019\u201d\n\nWhen Jackey ceased talking the company passed on towards a large table,\nwith turned-down leaves, which stood against the wall opposite the\nwindow. Resting on this table and supported by the wall was an oval\nmahogany tea tray of the old fashion, and above it pictures of the four\nEvangelists, seemingly painted on glass. The saints\u2019 raiment was of as\ndeep a dye as the lurid flames of Vesuvius or the purple waters of\nNaples Bay. In front of the tea tray was a pile of books, and at either\nend a large foreign shell, so turned as to show the delicate pink of\nits inner surface. \u201cPut one of these to your ear, my dear,\u201d said Dick\nto the younger Morvah damsel, \u201cand you will hear waves surging on the\nshores from which they were brought, and that\u2019s over the water which\nyou expect soon to cross.\u201d Nancy having placed a shell to her ear and\nlistening, said, \u201cI surely hear it murmuring as if in grief to be taken\nfrom its old home and companions. What do you hear, sister?\u201d \u201cMuch the\nsame, I think,\u201d replied the other sister. \u201cOh, what a lot of things you\ntownsmen know,\u201d said Gracey; \u201cI should dearly love to live in Penzance;\none can hear and see so much more there than in the country.\u201d \u201cCome and\nlive with me then, my dear,\u201d said Dick; \u201cI\u2019ve a lot of pretty things to\nshow \u2019e and we\u2019re a suitable couple,\u2014just of a height,\u201d continued he,\ntaking Gracey\u2019s arm in his, whilst she looked down and simpered in a\nway she thought would seem modest.\n\nLeaving the table, all Mary\u2019s guests came to a corner-cupboard or\n\u201cbuffet,\u201d as it was usually called. About a third of its height was\nclosed with doors; over which were three open shelves. On the lower\nshelf, or cupboard-bed, was a rare old china punch-bowl, turned on its\nmouth, with old china plates lining the sides, and around the bowl,\nbasins and small cups, without handles, all of rare old India china. On\nthe middle shelf was a china tea-set. On the upper one many curious old\nglasses, some of them coloured, with high twisted stems, and patterns\ncut on their inner surfaces. Whilst looking over these, Gracey spoke of\nher feet being cold, and the gallant Dick led her to the kitchen fire.\nWhen they had passed out Mary opened the cupboard doors and took out a\nvariety of such trifles as sailors usually bring home from foreign\nparts; and these were, most of them, either from Quebec or South\nAmerican ports, to which ships in the timber trade resort. Amongst the\nformer were moccasons and pouches of curious patterns, worked by the\nsquaws of Indian Lorrett, about ten miles from Quebec; strings of those\nrare seeds called Indian shot, the product of Canadian plants. (The\nlarger ones, looking like bits of pear-shaped porcelain, and just as\nhard, are often strung for rosaries: although so hard that their sides,\nwhen dry, cannot be pierced with steel, they have a natural cavity from\nend to end, running lengthwise, through which a fine needle and thread\nmay be passed.) Next a clear broad-mouthed bottle, full of smaller\nforeign products, was taken out and brought to the window, when Mary\nnoticed that the day was darkening, and, looking up at the old\neight-day clock, which stood beside the fireplace, was surprised to\nfind it so late, and said she must be off to get tea, opened the door a\nlittle, then closed it, and came back and said to Jackey, \u201cI be hanged\nef old Gracey and Dick ain\u2019t upon the chimney-stool sitting as close as\nthey can get, head to head, courtan. Who but they! She\u2019s ben tryan all\nshe cud do in that way ever since Dick es here.\u201d\n\nMary then went to the dairy to make a cake. The window being darkened\nby many choice plants, chiefly roses, they brought the bottle of\nwonders up to the kitchen table and turned out its contents.\n\nOne may remark, before going farther, that the clock was made by\nMatthew Wearne, of St. Erth, early in the last century. Many of them\nare still in this neighbourhood, keeping good time.\n\nSuspended from a beam, near the middle of the room, was a\nsilvered-glass globe reflecting objects around. Against vacant places\non the walls were placed the usual six chairs and two armed ones, all\nfurnished with neat, patch-work covered cushions. The bottle being\nemptied on the table, there were found various small tropical shells\nand seeds, strung together like necklaces; also some of those\nbean-shaped seeds frequently picked up on our sands, and on all shores\nlaved by the Gulf Stream. In the West Country these have no particular\nname that we know of, but they were often perforated, strung, and hung\nfrom children\u2019s necks to make them cut their teeth easily; and were\nworn as amulets for preventing diseases. It is pretty well known that\nthose seeds of tropical trees being found on many shores of Europe, and\nnot being those of any known trees in the Old World, learned men\nconcluded before the time of Columbus, that they must be produced in\nlands either in, or beyond, the Atlantic; consequently, they had\nsomething to do with the discovery of America.\n\nThe bottle repacked and put away tea was ready and all the guests\nassembled.\n\nBesides the heavy cake just baked,\u2014black with currants, and too rich\nwith cream for any one to eat much of, there were risen cakes; and\napple-cakes, baked on Saturday; with bread, cream, and honey.\n\nTea being over, the old Sancras couple left. They wern\u2019t much missed,\nfor they were a dull old pair, who passed nearly all their time either\neating, drinking, or sleeping. The old man had walked down to\nNancherrow, \u2019tis true, but then he went to visit an old acquaintance,\nwere he was sure to have more drink; yet he tasted every thing on the\ntable at tea-time, finishing with bread and honey, as he said the cream\nwas too \u201cquaffing\u201d (luscious) to eat with honey.\n\nIn the meantime Jackey had placed on the embers a faggot of furze, and\non it a few heathy turves, to keep in the flames and gradually kindle\nthe whole. Then a high-backed settle was brought to the hearth from the\nstair-rail against which it usually stood. The settle-back could be\nturned down to rest on the ends, so as to form a table if wanted. Mary\nsat back by the table, feeling too warm, with all her moving about, to\nsit nearer the fire; and looked around with pride on her\ndresser-shelves, full of rare old earthenware (the queer faces in her\nold clome jugs grinned with joy in the warm firelight;) then on her\nbright brass warming-pan, candlesticks, pewter flagons, and other\nthings on the chimney-piece, and she was not less pleased to see the\nwhite \u201cvalance,\u201d called the chimney-cloth, which hung along the\n\u201ccravel\u201d (mantel-stone or tree.) Old housewives were just as careful to\nhave clean chimney-cloths as caps. They kept everything about their\nfire-places as clean as if they venerated the hearth as an altar.\n\nCome to Mary\u2019s house at any time, you would always find this room dry\nand comfortable. All sloppy work was done in a pretty large room at the\nback, under a lean-to roof all the length of the dwelling.\n\nAt one end of this scullery, or back kitchen, a portion was screened\noff for a dairy. Over this, and projecting a few feet, was a \u201ctalfat\u201d\n(loft) where some of the children\u2019s beds were placed. At the other end,\na few feet were taken up with a spence; near which was an outer door\nopening to a court, with the peeth, large stone-trough, fuel-ricks, &c.\n\nShortly after the old Sancras \u201cpigs\u2019\u201d departure, in came two sturdy\nyoung fellows,\u2014one from the north of St. Just, the other from Morvah.\n\n\u201cWill \u2019e have a cup of tea? We\u2019ve only just finished\u201d asked Mary. \u201cThey\ndon\u2019t care for the women\u2019s drink,\u201d Jackey answered for them; \u201cmake a\njug of toddy.\u201d \u201cThey had no business to come yet,\u201d said that talking\nelder sister, \u201cwe shan\u2019t go yet for a good while.\u201d \u201cBut Tom and I must\ngo early,\u201d said Hannibal, that sister\u2019s sweetheart; \u201cTom to be up early\nand after the rabbits. I must work the first core to bal or be spaled\n(fined.) Es hard that a worken man can\u2019t have a day or two once a year,\nto hold the Feast, when those we work for have a feast every day, all\nthe year round. Besides, we\u2019ll all be here early to-morrow evening that\nwe may dance altogether. Perhaps it\u2019ll be the last time for many\nyears.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear Nanny,\u201d said Tom to the younger sister, as she laid her head\non his shoulder and wept, \u201cwhat art a-cryan for? Thinkan about beean\nfar away from father and mother, next year this time? Cheer up, my\ndarling, for we shall soon have a comfortable home there and they will\ncome to us, perhaps, before next Feast; who can tell? Older folks than\nthey are going away to their children every day, and taking much longer\nvoyages too. Come now, when over there thy Tom may hunt better game\nthan any here, without so much as askan leave or licence, and you will\nmake venison pasties instead of dry \u2018fuggans\u2019 or \u2018hoggans.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cCatch thy dears first,\u201d said the teasing elder sister.\n\n\u201cWell, Nelly,\u201d replied he, \u201cwest a believe what Simon Mitchell wrote\nhome? He\u2019s only been there about two years and he said that he wouldn\u2019t\nbe home agen for the fee of Boscarn, and that workan men there may, and\ndo, have turkeys on their tables oftener than we can get rabbits. Now\nI\u2019ll tell thee, sister Nell,\u201d continued he, rising and taking Nanny to\nthe door, \u201cef I\u2019d been in thy Honny\u2019s place I\u2019d jest say ef thee\nwestn\u2019t go thee may\u2019st stay, and then we should hear another tune.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind her, Tom,\u201d replied Hannibal, \u201ces only that I may court her\nthe more.\u201d\n\nSoon after they had settled on a place to meet next morning with\nJackey, the blooming damsels and their lovers left, with a promise to\ncome again early to-morrow evening.\n\nShortly after the young peoples\u2019 departure Dick got out of his warm\ncorner on the chimney-stool and said \u201cEs time for me to be goan, for\nI\u2019ve further to go than any of your other feasters.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d said Mary, \u201cstop over to-morrow and till servy day\u201d (Feasten\nWednesday) \u201cif you will, and go with me and Grace to the fiddler, for I\ncan shake my shoes in a three-handed reel yet and shall for years to\ncome, I hope.\u201d\n\n\u201cI trust thee west,\u201d said Jackey, \u201cfor my old grandmother danced of a\nFeasten Monday till she was eighty-two, and a better woman there never\nwas. Now do \u2019e stop,\u201d said he to the guest, \u201cand keep a \u2018Mazed Monday\u2019\nfor once. Master won\u2019t mind et. Whilst I\u2019m after the rabbits, only for\na few hours, early in the morning, the boy will go with you to see the\nyoungsters\u2019 games. To be sure they arn\u2019t kept up now like in old times\nwhen there was hurling and wrestling, and all the gentle folks of the\nparish came to see, or join in the sports; a hundred years ago there\nwere many of their old family seats occupied by the owners (one may\ncount five or six of them now, let as farm houses, at no great distance\nfrom the road leading through St. Just, from Sennen to Morvah,\nbeginning with Brea and ending with Pendeen.) The prize-wrestling was\nleft till Feasten Monday, the standards having been all made many weeks\nbefore hand. Though the weather was often bad and grass wet and\nslippery, the youngsters in their well barked canvas jackets, didn\u2019t\nmind a trifle of mud, and the ladies encouraged their lovers\u2019 or\nbrothers\u2019 manliness.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d like to stay and see anything like it now,\u201d said Dick; \u201cbut our\npeople have been expectan goods for a long time. Only yesterday the\nFurley came in and Captain Hosking es goan to have the cargo broken out\nto-morrow. So I must be home to stow our things in the warehouses; else\nI shall find everything in a \u2018migle-cum-por\u2019 (confusion or mess.) You\nsee the weight of the business es upon my shoulders. How shud\u2019na be,\nfor I\u2019ve ben weth our people all my life-time\u2014, weth my present\nmaster\u2019s father first, when I was no bigger than your boy Jackey; so I\nmust love \u2019e and leave \u2019e, and you will be sure to come in and see me\nMadron Feasten Sunday won\u2019t \u2019e Mary? You shall go to our grand Church\nand hear the organ. Lots of people go a purpose to hearn, and you\u2019ll\nsee grand folks and things sure nuf.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, thank \u2019e,\u201d said Mary, \u201cI\u2019d like to go very well, but don\u2019t see\nhow I can leave Jackey; he\u2019d be like a fish out of water of a Sunday,\nhome without me.\u201d\n\n\u201cJackey must come too,\u201d replied Dick, \u201cand little Mary and John, ef you\nwill.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe four younger ones,\u201d said Mary to her husband, \u201cmight be left with\ntheir grandmother, the same as to-day, ef she\u2019ll be troubled weth them\nagen so soon, for I should dread to leave them here weth anybody but\nmyself. They will be always playan weth the fire when they arn\u2019t\nploshan in the water, and our wood-corner is a dangerous one.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow I\u2019ll tell \u2019e how you can manage et,\u201d said Grace. \u201cThe Sunday I\u2019ll\ncome over early, to see that you are all to-rights, and the children\nshall go home weth me; then you can put out the fire, turn down the\nbrandes on the bakan-ire, cross the fire-hook and prong, sweep up the\nhearthstone, put on it a basin of spring water, for the \u2018Smale People\n(fairies) and good luck,\u2019 like as the old folks ded, and some do still\nbefore leaving their houses shut up, then touch the cravel before\ncrossing the drussel, lock the door, and away to Feast. I\u2019ll come and\nsee that you are all smart and tidy to go to Penzance Church and hear\nthe organ. I\u2019ll come over very early and titevate \u2019e off, for the\ncredit of the parish, before you go to Penzance Feast to see grand\npeople and things; and I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll be made very welcome weth\nMr. Rostram.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh cuss \u2019e,\u201d cried Dick, \u201cthat esn\u2019t my name; that\u2019s a nickname some\nblackguards put upon me, years ago, and fools keep it up still. I\u2019d as\nsoon hear thunder.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh laws,\u201d sighed Gracey, \u201cI ded\u2019n know that, and have ben thinkan all\nday what a pretty name that es and how I shud like to be called by\u2019n.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen take\u2019n and welcome,\u201d said Dick, going outside the door.\n\n\u201cStop a minute,\u201d said Mary \u201cfor me to put on my bonnet and shawl;\nJackey and I will go along wh\u2019y to the North Road or farther.\u201d\n\nThey didn\u2019t offer a parting dram, knowing that he had taken enough for\nhis old crazy head to bear, nor try to detain him, lest Gracey might\nshoot more fools\u2019 bolts. Among other talk, by the way, Dick remarked\nthat the elder Morvah damsel seemed unwilling to leave home with the\nrest.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s only her way of teazing those best liked by her,\u201d Mary replied,\n\u201cef Honney were less eager to go with Tom and Nancy then the other\nwould urge him to go, for she likes her sister, and the two men have\nalways been the same as twin brothers.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd capital fellows they are,\u201d said Jackey, \u201cto get on in any land\nwhere their native tongue is known. Hannibal es as good a man for\nunderground work as may be found; besides, he can do any rough\ncarpenters\u2019 work better than many who served a time to learn the trade,\nand can make a strong wall in the old fashion by laying the stones to\nbind each other, without mortar, like they were in our old castle\nwalls, such as Choon; and Tom, besides beean a good miner es very handy\nwith blacksmiths\u2019 tools and so well acquainted with a fire-engine that\nhe\u2019s often trusted to work her, in place of the regular engineman.\nThere\u2019ll few be found in Yankey-land to beat them. And their intended\nwives can turn their hands to any kind of work fit for women.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell ef I\u2019m never married in this world, I\u2019ll never have old snuffy\nGracey,\u201d said Dick to himself. \u201cHow can one after seean such dear\nMorvah maidens?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re on the great road now to Penzance,\u201d said Jackey, \u201cand I think,\nmate, that you\u2019ll get home very well ef you don\u2019t try to make any short\ncuts across the fields. The longest way round is often the shortest way\nhome.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood night, and I wish \u2019e well,\u201d said Dick. \u201cYou\u2019r coman in to Madron\nFeast, and be sure you come early one and all of \u2019e.\u201d\n\nAfter parting, Dick called back several times, \u201cBe sure to come early\nMadron Feasten Sunday.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMILL STORIES.\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY TO HALLANTIDE.\n\n\nI remember being down in Uncle Oliver Pooley\u2019s Mill, in Nancherrow\nBottom, one afternoon about the time Dick Rostram went to St. Just\nfeast. Two women were there awaiting their turn to serge their\nbarley-meal. In making remarks about a new house that a neighbour of\ntheirs had just built for himself, one of the women said to the other,\n\u201cWhat do \u2019e think, cheeld-vean? They\u2019ve got a planchan put down in the\nlittle room, t\u2019other side of the \u2018entry,\u2019 and they cal\u2019n a pare-lar,\nforsuth; why a es but a good hale and make the most of n. Aw, the pride\nof some folks who have jest got a sturt! Es enough to make one sick to\nthink o\u2019 them, cheeld-vean.\u201d \u201cNow hold thy clack: thee art sick with\nenvy,\u201d replied the one addressed in such endearing terms. \u201cThey have\nalways minded their own business and ben careful enough to save the\nmoney to build a new house weth a planched parlour. Thee west like to\nhave one thyself, I suppose. I shud, and hope I may one day, planched\nparlour and all. Then I\u2019ll have a carpet for\u2019n, to be comfortable in my\nold years. Now go and mind thy flour; es nearly all down. Thee west\ndearly like to be a witch,\u201d continued the outspoken dame, \u201cto put a\nspell of ill luck on thy neighbours and blast both man and beast, but\nthou artn\u2019t crafty enow yet; but live in hopes that the devil will\nteach thee some day, for a es of women like thee that witches are\nmade.\u201d\n\nThe woman thus reviled, then took her meal with no other sifting than\nwhat it had in the jigger, and went away without making any reply.\n\nThen the angry out-spoken one, turning towards An Polly, the old\nmiller\u2019s wife, said, \u201cEf that faggot hadn\u2019t stopped her jaw I\u2019d a\nchucked her, by asking her how the little pig was gettan on that her\nboys, weth their dog, chased into the peth t\u2019other night, thinkan a\nbelonged to somebody else. Have \u2019e heard the story, An Polly?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, nor I waant,\u201d replied she, \u201cfor you are all alike in backbitan one\nanother, and as great as inkle makers sometimes when you\u2019ve got another\nwoman to tear to pieces among \u2019e. I wish, for my part, that old Oliver\ncould bear the mill-dust, and play the fiddle to set \u2019e all a dancing,\nwhile you\u2019re waiting, like he used to, and like the mellar of Pendeen\nMill do still, for you can\u2019t be quiet a minute, and a es better to pass\nthe time dansan than slanderan one t\u2019other.\u201d\n\nLovey (Loveday) the daughter, came down from the mill-bed, as her\nmother went into the house. \u201cDo tell me, An Jenny,\u201d said she, \u201cwhat a\nes about the pig.\u201d \u201cThat woman,\u201d replied An Jenny, \u201cjest gone es as\nfull of spite as an egg es full of meat. She didn\u2019t know, or perhaps\nforgote, that those she sneered at were cousins to me; a good wey off\nto be sure they are, but blood es thicker than water, and when fourth\ncousins get well off they seem nearer than poor first cousins, or\nothers. Well, I was goen to tell \u2019e how a neighbour\u2019s pig can\u2019t show es\nnose near her door, but a es sure to be scalped by havan a kettle full\nof boilan water thrown over am; and her ashes\u2019 pile, close to her door,\nes always covered weth pieces of sour half-sooked barley fuggans, left\nto go sour and vinneyed; with fish and other things left to go stale\nand stinkan. Pigs have good noses, poor things, and when out to lanes\nwill come and muzzle-up the ashes to get at any offal. One night last\nweek a neighbour\u2019s boys, whose pig had often ben ill-used,\u2014sometimes\nburnt over head and ears weth a showl full of turfey fire, when she had\nno water boilan,\u2014watched to find the way clear when she was gone out to\n\u2018coursey\u2019 until et was time for her to get supper for Bill and the two\nboys when they come home from bal. The boys whipped into the crow where\nBill\u2019s little white pig had a few days before been put to feed agenst\nwenter, and they so smeered et with gudgeon gress [4] and soot that a\nlooked jest like one of the new sort of black pigs. Soon after, when\nthey saw light in Bill\u2019s house, they turned his pig out and bolted the\ncrow door. A few minutes after the boys who painted Bill\u2019s pig heard\u2019n\nscreechan and seed\u2019n tearan round the town-place like mad, till he got\nbetween his crow and the turf-rick and there stopt. P\u2019raps you dont\nknow what a trap Billy\u2019s peeth es, and more dangerous than before a\nhedge was made close to one end ofn; the broad, flat stone in which the\nwinze-\u2018millar\u2019 do work es built into this new hedge, and the\nhook-handle on another broad stone weth the peeth between, only\nhalf-covered weth a few loose, broken pieces of old bal tember. After\nthe poor pig had been there a few minutes Bill\u2019s boys, as ugly as their\nmother, came home, and their snappish cur found the pig and gave chase\nto\u2019n; it run\u2019d slap up agen the hedge and tried to turn, but, bean\nnearly ef not quite blind, and the dog bitean es hinder parts, tha poor\nlittle thing in tryan to scramble over the peeth fell into\u2019n. Now they\nwere for life to get ropes, and a ladder to take up the pig lest they\ngot into trouble; they were hours in bringen the pig to grass, and\ndedn\u2019t find out tell next day that it was their own!\n\n\u201cWhatever An Polly may say,\u201d continued Jenny, after pausing a moment to\ntake snuff, \u201cI never say anything but the truth about anybody. I pity\nthem sometimes, from my very heart, and when I go to meetan pray that\nthe Lord may give them grace to turn from their wicked ways; and I\ncan\u2019t help pittyan Billy even now that I think what a wisht feast a had\nlast year, and don\u2019t suppose he\u2019ll have any this.\u201d\n\n\u201cStop a minute,\u201d said Lovey, \u201cI must turn off the water from the\nmill-wheel.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow tell us about Billy\u2019s feast,\u201d said Lovey, on seating herself, \u201cand\nwe won\u2019t interrupt \u2019e.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know both of \u2019e and everybody else here-abouts,\u201d said An Jenny,\n\u201cthan ef a San Juster don\u2019t keep up the feast in some way jest as a can\nhe\u2019s looked down on and jeered at.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA POOR TINNER\u2019S FEAST.\n\n\nBill killed his pig, which wasn\u2019t half fat,\u2014not so good to kill as many\nrunning the lanes. He took one side to market and left the other\nhanging in his kitchen. Now Halan Market es the west (worst) in the\nyear for sellan pork; so many Santusters\u2019 poor lean trash are there\nthat they keep down the price, and people who want good pork seldom\ncome to that market. Bill made a few shillans, laid out a trifle in a\nbit of beef, and kept the rest to pay off a little of his long score at\nthe shop in churchtown, that he might be trusted agen. In the Green\nMarket he met a Zennor man who had been an old comrade of his. He\ninvited him over for feasten Sunday. He didn\u2019t wait to be asked twice\nbefore he promised to come early.\n\nWhilst Bill was away, Mary Ann began upon the side of pork, hanging up\nin the kitchen; cut off a sliver from the back, put the baker upon the\nbrandes, and fried away. Before she was satisfied, there was a great\nhole made in the side. Then, when the boys came home from bal, they\nfried again; and, believe me, they weren\u2019t satisfied before nearly half\nthe side was cut off, except the bones. Then, when Bill came home, she\nhad to cut into the leg to have a little for his supper. By Saturday\nnight there was nothing left of the pig but thin flaps of belly-pieces,\none shoulder, and pile of bones. She was puzzled to contrive a feasten\ndinner out of that for a hungry Zennor man, who would eat the bit of\nbeef and look over his shoulder for more! At length she determined to\nmake a pie of all the odds and ends she sould scrape off the bones, the\nthin bits of skin from the belly, and other scraps.\n\nNow, you know, one may make a pie of a\u2019most anything and pascen off for\nwhat one will. If she could have got plenty of parsley she might have\npassed\u2019n off for a veal-and-paasley pie, she thought; because Zennor\nfolks never get any better veal than \u201cstaggering bob\u201d (a calf killed\nbefore it can stand steady.) The pie was baked, bit of beef cooked, and\nplenty of petates boiled (whether there was cabbage or turnips I can\u2019t\nsay;) when two Zennor men arrived and were ready for dinner.\n\n\u201cThis es my cousin Mathey,\u201d said the man invited, pushing the other\nforward; \u201che\u2019s come for company to me, and he\u2019s one of our best\nsingers. Es late now for church, I spose, but he will sing to \u2019e after\ndenner, for we\u2019ve none better than Mathey for singan that pretty psalm\nabout the precious ointment runnan down from Aaron\u2019s beard to the\nskirts of his coat, or t\u2019other pretty one about a timmersome bird.\u201d\nBill said nothing, for he knew that Zennor men think themselves welcome\nto feast or funeral, for the sake of their singing.\n\nThey soon finished the bit of beef; then Mary Ann helped them to pie;\nand even these goats of Zennor men, whose diet when home es fish and\npotates every day of the week and conger-pie of a Sunday for a change,\nturned up their noses at the mess of \u201cglit\u201d she put on their plates;\nthen they tried the pie-crust, and found that too dry and hard, though\nthey arn\u2019t particular, as they get nothing but conger-fat put in their\ncakes and pie-crust at home; that will make them eat short enuf ef\nsomewhat nasty. They stopped to have a cup of tea, but that was hardly\ncoloured, except with the scaled milk and brown sugar; and the cake she\nmade with scroves (remains of lard which has been melted), the only fat\nleft. How she could ever manage to bake anything so as to know when et\nwas ready I can\u2019t tell, I\u2019m sure, for she hadn\u2019t so much as a\nhour-glass to keep time.\n\nWell, the two feasters couldn\u2019t be without seean what a bad plight Bill\nwas in, and all through his wife\u2019s bad management; they took pity upon\nam, and, when passan the Square on their way home, asked him into \u201cThe\nKings Arms,\u201d and treated am to a glass or two of beer.\n\nSo much for Bills feast last year, and this they\u2019ll have none at all.\n\nAn Jenny took the meal, which the miller\u2019s daughter had serged for her,\nand brought it to the door. On her coming into the light I noticed that\nher dress was different from that usually worn by working women.\nInstead of a bed-gown, skirt, and check apron, or a \u201ctowser,\u201d she was\nattired in a long-waisted gown and kirtle over a quilted petticoat, all\nof some dark stuff. Her abundant grey hair was turned back over a pad,\nor cushion, which was crossed by her cap-border, also turned back on a\nbroad ribbon around her head; and a small silk hat, fixed jauntily on\none side, finished her head-dress. She also wore a necklace of curious,\nold-fashioned green and red flowered beads, coated with clear white\nglass, and large hooped-shaped earrings.\n\nHer figure was remarkably tall, slim, and upright, and her face what is\nusually called long-featured, with a high forehead, straight nose, and\npointed chin.\n\n\u201cPolly would like to set the mill-women a dancing,\u201d said she; \u201cand I\nhan\u2019t forgotten all my steps yet, as you shall see.\u201d Holding out her\ndress she then showed off several dancing steps with much liveliness,\nand was preparing for others when the dame of the mill opened the door\nfrom her dwelling, and called out, \u201cCome \u2019e along in, do, like a good\nboy, I\u2019ve had a cake baked and tea made this ever so long.\u201d The\nsprightly old damsel then took her bag of meal and went away.\n\nYoung Oliver, being gone to buy corn of the neighbouring farmers, and\nhaving to await his return, I was glad to pass the time with An Polly.\nThe dwelling-room, entered from the mill, was a long one, with a large\nopen fireplace at the inner end; a small side window near it. All the\nroom was either in strong light or deep shadow, and this old building\nof the mill and dwelling together, both within and without, afforded\ngood subjects for an artist.\n\n\u201cWell, I should think you liked Miss Jenefer (Genevere) and her stories\nbetter than tea; for I\u2019ve called \u2019e ever so many times. What had she to\nsay about Mary Ann\u2019s boys chasean a pig into a peeth?\u201d\n\nHaving told An Polly what Jenefer said about it, and of Bill\u2019s poor\nfeast, \u201cMay the Lord forgive the old faggot!\u201d said she, \u201cI never can.\nOnly to think she should make out that one of her parish wed ever be\ntreated by a Zennor man in his own Churchtown, and on the Feasten\nSunday too. No, Bill wed eat\u2019s hat rather than suffer such a disgrace\nas that. Her whole story es made out of an old \u2018bam\u2019 told in other\nparishes about poor tinners tryan to keep up the feast as best they\ncud. Can \u2019e tell whose new house they were talkan about when she got\ninto her \u2018fegary\u2019 weth the poor woman she abused so?\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t hear any name mentioned,\u201d I replied; \u201cthey were talkan about\na planched parlour when I entered the mill; yet, from what Jenny\nafterwards said, it\u2019s one of her relations.\u201d\n\n\u201cHer relations,\u201d returned An Polly, \u201cshe han\u2019t got a near one in the\nworld, nor has she ever had one since she was left an orphan when quite\na child. Then the nearest she had were the two old ladies of Kellinack,\nwho took her as their own; they were only her grandfather\u2019s sisters;\nand then, when she was about thirteen, with those old ladies she must\nhave heard scores of such stories. Where she could find any kindred\nnear enow to be called relations when her great aunts died, I can\u2019t\ntell. Yet if you believe her, all the old families of the parish are\nher kindred; most of them poor folks, whose forefathers owned lands in\nthe parish; there are such sudden ups-and-downs here that some of the\nEllises may have made a sturt and be building a house. By her account,\nand theirs as well, they are all from the same family as the owner of\nBrea. She says too that the Veals, now all very poor, once owned much\nlands in this parish and Sancras; so they must be her cousins, of\ncourse.\n\nYet Mary Ann thought to curry favour weth the crazy old thing by\nspeakan with scorn of such as the other would term upstarts, when none\nof her kindred, to get knittan or spinan done for her.\n\nNow, when Jenefer do have a tiff with anyone, she\u2019ll rake up all the\nold defaming stories she ever heard, turn them upside down or inside\nout, till she can make them fit to her mind, and then fix them on any\none disliked by her.\n\nThat story of a woman scaldan her own painted pig, and her boys chasan\nof\u2019n into a peeth was told about a spiteful woman before Mary Ann was\nborn or thought of. \u2019Tes merely an old droll, such as used to be told\nof winters\u2019 nights. When such stories were in vogue people regarded\nthem as fables, by which none but fools would be deceived; and from\nthem much worth rememberan was learnt. Now I\u2019ll tell \u2019e the old droll,\ntold in other parishes, of the poor tinner\u2019s feast, that you may see\nthe changes made by Miss Jenefer.\n\n\u201cYet they are no greater,\u201d continued the old dame, after taking a pinch\nof snuff, \u201cthan were purposely made by old story-tellers, and looked\nfor by their hearers, when the same drolls were often repeated of\nwinters\u2019 nights.\u201d\n\nHaving told An Polly that I would much like to hear more of the old\nladies of Kellinack, as I\u2019d often heard them spoken of, but never by\nany one who remembered them well. \u201cEf I once begin to talk about these\nold dears,\u201d said she, \u201cI shall never know where to stop; ask Uncle John\nWilliams, the old man of Dowran, you know am very well, and he can tell\nmore about them than anybody else. Uncle John, when a youngster, used\nto keep their garden in order, plant their beds of peppermint, sow\nsummer savory; and often go with them to collect herbs for distillan\nand makean ointments.\n\n\u201cThey much liked to doctor their neighbours, and themselves too; though\nthere was nothing in the world amiss with them. Yet they were very\nskilful, and made better  [5]skawdower ointment than one cud get\nanywhere else. That salve, of their makean, was better than any\ndoctor\u2019s stuff for curean a skin disease which was very common in their\ntime, when people lived more on salt pork and fish than they do now,\nand had but little greens, or any other garden sass. Often enow then ef\npoor people hadn\u2019t fish, it was\n\n\n   \u201cPease-porridge hot, pease-porridge cold,\n    Pease-porridge in the crock nine days old.\u201d\n\n\n\u201cThey made an excellent eye-salve, too, with cellandine, that growed\nabout on their old garden walls; and people came from miles away to get\na bit of it for sore eyes.\n\n\u201cThe old dears left Miss Jenny a great oak chest full of grand old\nfashioned cloathes, more than she can ever wear out ef she shud live to\nbe as old as Methuselah.\n\n\u201cThey are much too fine for common use, and only fit for one who may\nsit down all day long like\n\n\n   \u201cThe King up in his chamber, countan of his money,\n    Or the Queen in her parlour eatan bread and honey.\u201d\n\n\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t \u2019e invite Miss Jenny to take a cup of tea too?\u201d I asked.\n\u201cShe tea! she can\u2019t abide\u2019n,\u201d replied An Polly; \u201cthat\u2019s one of her\nwhimsies, some people say; she\u2019s very welcome, I\u2019m sure.\n\n\u201cNearly all her diet is gerty-milk. She will trot away miles to get a\nfew gallons of pillas, [6]\u2014over along to Morvah, or Zennor, because few\npeople grow et now in St. Just. She do manage et the same as olk folk\nalways ded. Two or three quarts of the grain es damped, weth her, at a\ntime; then put into a small tray; kept a purpose, till its beginning to\n\u2018cheeny\u2019\u201d (to show signs of being ready to sprout.) \u201cThe tray es put\nupon her chimney-stool, where et may have a little warmth. As soon as\nthere\u2019s the least sign of the pillas bean ready to throw out a shoot\nit\u2019s put into a \u2018baker\u2019 on a slow fire, and stirred all the time till\nwell dried and \u2018scroched\u2019 a little. Roastan of pillas es a very nice\njob, that but few can be trusted to do; yet it\u2019s worth all the labour.\nThe change made in the grain, for the better, wedn\u2019t be believed by\nanybody not acquainted weth it.\n\n\u201cIt must be left to \u2018cheeney\u2019 only till the grains become sweet and\n\u2018plum\u2019 (soft) enough to crush between one\u2019s finger and thumb. When\nroasted and spread out on a cloth to cool Miss Jenny\u2019s plan es to put a\nhandful or two at a time into as pretty a little moorstone traff\n(trough) as ever eyes ded see and pound\u2019n till crushed fine enow\u2014the\n\u2018crusher\u2019 es a handy \u2018bowl\u2019 (pebble) picked up from the sea-shoar.\n\n\u201cYou ought to see her beautiful little pillas-traff; et will only hold\nabout a gallon; es as smooth as a basen inside and out; and es so light\nthat one can move \u2019n about with ease. Miss Jenny had\u2019n boft from\nKellinack, where et had been used for hundreds of years for the same\npurpose. Old people used to take much the same plan weth their pillas;\nthey are too lazy now, and buy oatmeal from shops, or thicken their\nmilk with barley-flour; yet neither of them is half so good as the\npillas-gerts that used to be grown by most everybody here who had a few\nacres of land. There was much other good food made with pillas, the\ngerts, mind \u2019e, always prepared as I\u2019ve told \u2019e; et made a nicer baked\npuddan than flour or rice. Above all, a little ov\u2019n was often used to\nhelp out malt, when good old housewives wanted to have their ale extra\nstrong.\n\n\u201cAt length\u2014and that was jest as far back as I can remember\u2014the cussed\nexcisemen interfered with old women puttan their pillas to \u2018cheeney.\u2019\nI\u2019ve heard Miss Jenefer say that her Aunts and others detested them\nmore than they ded the press-gang. Excisemen were all \u2018foreigners\u2019\n(strangers to the county) then, for no West Country man wed belong to\nsuch a crew. They wed come about, every now and then, mostly when the\nmen were away to bal, and rummage every hole and corner in search of\nbay salt, [7] liquor, and other goods, brought from over sea by the\npoor men, at the risk of their lives; and ef they found ever so little\npillas-gerts, et was seized and a fine threaten\u2019d, for they caled\u2019n\nmalt.\n\n\u201cBesides, I\u2019m afraid that we shan\u2019t have a little coarse salt brought\nhere again, by the fisher-women, at a reasonable price for a long time;\nthe excisemen have found out that there are trap-hatches in the floors\nof nearly all dwellans where the fisher folk live\u2014over cellars. When\nthe way was clear, the fisher-women drawed up salt with bags and lines.\nNow \u2018all the fat es in the fire;\u2019 a heedless harum-scarum fool of a\nwoman hurred away to meetan without takan care to see that the\nhatch-boards were down snug upon the beams. Whilst she was out, the\nexciseman, going his rounds, entered the cellar and saw the\ncontrivance. On puttan hes head up through the hatch, he saw that all\nthe sand, with which the floor had been covered, was swept away and a\ngood lot of salt left on the floor. On examinan other dwellans, over\nfish-cellars, he found trap-hatches in nearly all of them. There\u2019s ben\nthe devil of a row amongst them ever sence; all the other women are\nready to kill that thoughtless fool; and\u2014serve her right. I pray to\ngoodness that they may soon find some other way to fool the plague of\nan exciseman, I do.\n\n\u201cYou know seine-owners are allowed what salt they require to cure their\nfish, duty free. They seldom use all their stock and know what es\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cMother! Mother!\u201d cried Lovey, \u201cstop do, tellan about the excisemen;\nnever fear but the Bay women will be a match for them yet. You are\ngettan all crankey because we have but little \u2018fair-trade\u2019 now; yet\nlive in hopes that times will mend, and tell us the old droll that Miss\nJenny twisted into her story of Bill\u2019s feast.\u201d\n\nOver a while An Polly became more tranquil and told us the following\nstory, which she called \u201ca mere bam of a Droll.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAN OLD DROLL ABOUT A POOR TINNER\u2019S FEAST.\n\n\nWhat the miller\u2019s wife said of the old \u201cdroll\u201d about a tinner\u2019s feast\nwas to the following effect:\u2014\n\nA poor tinner was determined to keep his parish feast as well as he\ncould, that he mightn\u2019t be looked down on, and sneered at by his\ncomrades. He killed his pig before it was as fat as it should be; sold\none side in Hallantide market; and left the other home to be put in the\n\u201ckool\u201d against winter. A piece of beef and other things were bought to\nkeep a decent feast. The tinner whilst stopping at the Market Cross, in\nthe Green Market, fell in with a Zennor man who had been an old\ncomrade. The Santuster asked him into the public-house to take a pint,\nand they had pint upon pint, all at the tinner\u2019s cost; the other never\nonce offered to stand treat; yet the tinner was so glad to have met his\nold mate that he invited him over to feast, and the other said he\u2019d\ncome, with a half a word of asking.\n\nThe tinner\u2019s wife put all the pork left at home in salt, except the\n\u201cleans,\u201d and saved them to make a good pie the Feasten Sunday. She made\nthe \u201chinges\u201d (liver and light) and other things serve them till then.\n\nOn Feasten Day the beef was boiled with such vegetables as were liked\nin broth; and dumplings made of great Hallan apples; a good \u201cleans of\npork pie\u201d and \u201cfiggy\u201d pudding baked. She had made a good cake on\nFeasten Eve; and that, when cold, had been placed upon a shelf over the\nwindow, just opposite the table.\n\nThey waited a good bit after their usual dinner-time, and, no feaster\nhaving arrived, the tinner began to think he might have promised to\ncome on the Monday (he didn\u2019t remember clearly what passed between them\nin the public-house;) so his wife laid by the beef, the pie, and the\npudding till next day, in case the feasters might then come, so as to\nbe provided for them. They made their own dinner, and a very good one\ntoo, of broth and the apple dumplings.\n\nWhen she was going to take the table-cloth off, in came the Zennor man\nand his wife. The tinner thought then he must have asked his old mate\nto bring her. Next came in half-a-dozen or more children. \u201cThusey\n(these) arn\u2019t all mine,\u201d said the feaster; \u201csome of \u2018themey\u2019 are her\nsisters cheldran\u201d pointing to his wife; \u201cbut they cried to go to feast\ntoo, as their cousins were goan.\u201d\n\nThe tinner\u2019s wife said nothing, and the children took the window-seat,\nwithout telling, that being their place at home.\n\nAll the tinner\u2019s children had gone away out to play with their\ncompanions. The feaster and his wife being seated on the form outside\nthe table, the beef, pork-pie, and such vegetables as were then in use\nwere placed on the board.\n\n\u201cYou needn\u2019t cut away the beef for the cheldran,\u201d said the Zennor man,\n\u201cgive them a basin of brath a piece.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, we waan\u2019t have brath,\u201d cried the youngsters, \u201cfor we\u2019ll have flesh\ntoo.\u201d\n\nIn short, beef and pie were soon served out and devoured. The tinner\u2019s\nwife had, happily, kept her pudding in the spence out of sight, when\nshe found that her feasters would neither eat bread nor vegetables with\ntheir meat. On turnips, carrots, and cabbage being offered them, \u201cNo,\nno, thank \u2019e, all the same,\u201d said they, \u201cfor we\u2019ve plenty of \u2018themey\u2019\nhome: we can eat the fat with the lean, and the whole will go down\ntogether, honey sweet.\u201d\n\nThere was nothing left on the table, in the way of meat, but the\nbeef-bones, almost bare.\n\nThe pie was all eaten, and the children were licking out the dish, as\nthey did at home, when in came an old couple and seated themselves on a\nbench at the lower end of the board.\n\n\u201cWe arn\u2019t come to feast,\u201d said the old man, \u201cfor we wern\u2019t asked, and\nwe\u2019ve had dennar hours ago; but granny couldn\u2019t rest for thinkan about\nthe cheldran, fearan they might run into shafts and other dangerous\nplaces over this way. After you have all finished your dennar, we\u2019ll\nsing to \u2019e, for I and the old oman both belong to our Church choir.\n\n\u201cYou know, I spose, that Zennor people have always been famous singers,\nand et must be long ago when a meremaid left the sea, changed her\nshape, and came to Church, dressed like a lady, all to hear our\nsingers. She \u2018comed,\u2019 Sunday after Sunday, and singed so sweet herself\nthat she, at last, enticed away a young fellow called Mathey Trewella,\nson to the church\u2019warn, and neither of them have ever ben sen\nsence\u2014that es, upon land, for I waan\u2019t tell \u2019e a word of a lie and know\net. You\u2019ve heard, I spose, that in rememberance of this meremaid, her\nform, as sen in the sea, or of another like her, was carved on the\nbench-end on which she sat and singed so sweet right opposite Trewella\nup in the singan-laft (gallery); and even our cheldran are born\nsingers, as you shall hear bem by, you shall.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe want more flesh, granfer, we do,\u201d cried the young singers.\n\n\u201cAnd seeman to me, I cud eat a mouthful of beef, too,\u201d said granny; \u201cef\nyou cud cut a little off themey bones. I like to pick the bones, for\nyou know we say the nearer the bone the sweeter the flesh.\u201d\n\nThe tinner placed a pewter platter, with all that remained of the beef,\nbefore this dear old couple: then the old man took from his pocket a\nclasp knife and scraped the bones, when the youthful singers again\ncried, \u201cWe want more flesh, granny, we haan\u2019t had half enough.\u201d\n\nThe old grandame, in her eagerness to clutch the scrapings, got her\nfingers cut, and slapped the old man\u2019s face with her bloody hand. The\ntinner\u2019s wife had a tender heart, poor woman; and, being grieved to\nhear the children crying, put a \u201cbaker\u201d on the \u201cbrandes,\u201d took from the\nbussa (earthen crock) a piece of nice streaky pork, and fried it for\nthem.\n\nJust then it was that the younger Zennor woman, in looking about for\nsomething more, spied the feasten cake, on a shelf over the window.\n\n\u201cWhatever ded \u2019e put that cake there, right in my sight for?\u201d cried\nshe, turning round to the tinner\u2019s wife, and then said to her own\nhusband, sitting beside her; \u201cHold my hands behind my back, do, that I\nmayn\u2019t touch myself anywhere in sight till I\u2019ve had a piece of that\ncake; for fear I mark the cheeld weth that cake. I\u2019m in as bad a\ncondition now as the poor oman who langed for treacle, and dipped the\ntwopenny loaf she had in her hand, into a barl of tar, and dedn\u2019t find\nout her mistake till she had eaten nearly all the bread,\u2014her mind was\nso runan upon treacle, poor dear oman.\u201d\n\nThe cake was at once taken down and cut up. The feasters all, young and\nold, wanted a piece, and nothing of it was left\u2014not even the \u201cbruyans\u201d\n(crumbs.) Then the youthful singers cried again because their bellies\nached.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t \u2019e cry, my dears,\u201d said their granny, \u201cthe \u2018quaffan\u2019\n(fulsomeness) will pass away when on the road home; hush dears, we\nshan\u2019t stop much longer.\u201d\n\nWhen they had sat to eat, drink, and \u201csquat\u201d (stuff themselves) till\nthey were ready to burst, they all straddled away as fast as they were\nable with the heavy loads they bore in their stomachs, and without so\nmuch as once asking the tinner to their own feast in return.\n\n\u201cNow, any one with a grain of gumption may see,\u201d said the old miller\u2019s\nwife, \u201chow Jenefer made up her story out of this old \u2018bam,\u2019 just like\nthe actors in a guise-dance changing parts. The passon do say that our\ndrolls and guise-dances are hundreds of years old, and well worth\npreserving.\u201d\n\nIt appeared, from what the old miller\u2019s wife afterwards said that Miss\nJenefer was crazy on the subject of her kindred, and that she had none\nso near as to be called relations. If any persons crossed her, when\nmounted on this hobby, she would go at them, \u201cfull tilt,\u201d like she did\nat the poor woman who spoke scornfully of a \u201cplanched\u201d parlour, or of\nits owners, whom the crazed old damsel claimed as her kinsfolk.\n\nYet most people liked the old maid very well and humoured her whims, as\nfar as they could remember them.\n\nLike a true Santuster she\u2019ll never bear a \u201ccoresy\u201d (a grudge, or\nill-will) against anybody for long, but have it out and be friends.\nBesides she\u2019s just as good a story-teller as the old blind droll teller\nand ballad-singer, Anthoney James, who takes a turn round the county\nevery summer, and passes the winters in Plymouth, with other old\npensioners. When living there he is often fetched to gentlemen\u2019s houses\nwhere there is company who like to hear him tell his \u201cDrake Droll,\u201d and\nsing old ballads all about Sir Francis and privateering.\n\nThe arrival of An Polly\u2019s big happy-looking son put an end to her\nstories, for the time.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA MADRON FEAST OF FIFTY YEARS AGO.\n\n\nIt may be remembered that Dick Rostram, on taking leave of Mary Angwin\nand her husband, on his return from St. Just feast, asked them to come\nto feast with him at Madrontide; and be sure and come early, that they\nmight go to Church and hear the organ. Mary knew where he lived in Back\nLane, as she had often noticed his little dwelling when going to Mr.\nLuke\u2019s brewery for barm. But Dick saw nothing of them in the three\nweeks between the two Tides. Jackey and Mary had expended more money in\nproviding for their feast than would have served them a month, in their\nusual frugal way of living; and Christmas being near, bringing with it\nbills to be paid, they lived very carefully, in the interval, buying\nthe few groceries they wanted in Churchtown.\n\nDick, too, was much occupied and busier than he needed to have been,\nowing to his conceit that unless he had a hand in almost every kind of\nwork going on in the establishment to which he belonged it would be\nbadly done. When the warehouses were arranged to his mind he would go\ninto the shop, to see if he were wanted there; if there was nothing\nelse to do he would take a bundle of Moore\u2019s Almanacks, containing his\nmaster\u2019s advertisements, and away out in the market, calling them. But\nthis was more an excuse for talking with any one who came in his way\nthan anything else. If Dick met nobody to chat with, he would talk to\nhimself for hours together, practising crabbed questions and answers.\n\nThen, before the time of wholesale drug-millers, every druggist made\nhis own preparations, and his apprentices had often something like real\nwork, in using the pestle and mortar, if there were no other person to\ndo it.\n\nDick, from long practice, had great dexterity in using the pestle and\nthought the young men of the shop spoiled the drugs by their irregular\naction and feebleness of arm; and the youngsters encouraged a conceit\nwhich led to their own ease.\n\nDick felt proud when pounding things that might kill or cure, and\nthought himself an important member of the medical profession. In\nworking up resinous gums he would beat slowly, at first, that they\nmight\u2019n warm by the friction, repeating to himself the words \u201clinger\nand live\u201d to keep time. The sticky substances being pounded and mixed\nwith dryer things, he\u2019d sing a lively old ballad and keep time with the\npestle. Getting louder as he proceeded, the chemist\u2019s big bell-metal\nmortar would be heard ringing merrily all over the Market-place, as he\nhammered away and sung until the drugs were sufficiently worked.\n\nDick\u2019s mouth always kept in motion with the pestle, just like a\nfiddler\u2019s with his bow. The master humoured his cranky ways when not\ntoo troublesome, and, in return, he always confirmed what his master\nsaid, though he knew nothing whatever about the matter; but that only\nmade it the more generous of this old jewel of a servant, by showing\nhis undoubting faith in his master\u2019s words.\n\nMadron Feasten Eve was, as usual, a very busy time in shops, and the\none to which Dick belonged dealing in groceries and other articles, as\nwell as drugs, customers kept coming until very late, and, by the time\nhe got home, had drunk a small bottle of porter, which was his custom\nof a Saturday night, and went to bed, it was past midnight. \u201cBut never\nmind,\u201d said Dick, in closing an outside shutter to his bedroom window,\n\u201cthis blessed shutter will keep out the daylight, and I\u2019ll have a good\nlong snooze in the morning.\u201d The ground making a rapid descent from\nBack-lane to Market-jew-street, Dick\u2019s bedroom window was only a few\nfeet above the road, and his bed near it.\n\nAn hour or more before most working men in Penzance are accustomed to\nrise of a Sunday morning, Dick was disturbed by a knocking on his\nwindow-shutter. \u201cHallo, you stupid thing,\u201d cried he, \u201chast a forgotten\nthe day of the week? Go thee way\u2019st to \u2018milky,\u2019 I don\u2019t want to rise\nfor hours yet.\u201d He thought, or dreamt, that the noise was made by a\ngirl going to milk the cows, kept in a shed near, and who was in the\nhabit of rousing him on week days, by his request, as she passed if the\nshutters were closed.\n\nWhilst he was still muttering something about a fool of a woman, Mary\nstepped back from the window and said to Jackey, just behind, \u201cAw, what\nfools we were to hurry away so early; there\u2019s nobody down yet any where\nin town that I can see but the bakers; we arn\u2019t expected, I suppose.\u201d\n\u201cFools, sure enough,\u201d returned Jackey, \u201cinstead of hearing the organ we\nare come to hear Dick snoaring, but I don\u2019t think he was awake. Knock\nagain, and speak to\u2019n; he\u2019ll know your voice.\u201d Over a few minutes she\ntapped on the shutter again. \u201cWhy I\u2019ve told thee,\u201d said Dick, \u201cthat I\ndon\u2019t want to rise yet; go along home.\u201d \u201cWhy, hav\u2019e forgotten that you\nasked me to feast?\u201d said Mary, in a tremulous voice. \u201cAsked \u2019e to\nfeast, ded I, perhaps I ded,\u201d replied Dick; \u201cI\u2019ve asked scores, I bla,\nmerely for the sake of asking, and that they might have it to say they\nfeel proud to tell their neighbours how they have been invited to\nPenzance to feast, but you ought to know \u2019tes manners to ask and\nmanners to refuse.\u201d \u201cThere now, think of that for a change,\u201d said Mary\nto her husband, \u201clev us begone home again. The little cake I brought in\nwill serve us for a stay-stomach till we get to New Bridge and have\nsomething more.\u201d \u201cWe\u2019ll do no such thing,\u201d returned he; \u201cI am\u2019at\nwithout a few shillings in my pocket; lev us begone to the old\npublic-house where we always put up and leave there this couple of\nrabbits that I\u2019ve brought in for Dick.\u201d \u201cNo, no, le\u2019s begone before the\npeople throng the streets. I\u2019d rather be on the top of Dry Carn than in\nthe best house in this town.\u201d \u201cSa, sa,\u201d said Jackey, \u201cI\u2019ve a good mind\nto try again mysel and make sure that he\u2019s awake; he may be just like I\nam sometimes of a Sunday morning, after a drop too much of a Saturday\nnight: the third time may be lucky.\u201d\n\nSaying this he gave some thundering blows with his stick on the\nshutter, and bellowed out \u201cDick, art a wakean yet, my sonny? Get up and\nsee who\u2019s here, or, by golls, I\u2019ll smash thy confounded shutter.\u201d \u201cLord\nhelp me, as I\u2019m a sinner,\u201d cried Dick, \u201cwhy that\u2019s Jackey\u2019s voice; I\u2019ll\nbe down in a jiffy, my son; where\u2019s Mary? Open the court door and come\nin.\u201d \u201cWe tried that door first and found\u2019n barred,\u201d replied Jackey.\n\nBy the time the feasters reached the yard-door they heard Dick shouting\n\u201cI\u2019m coming, Mary,\u201d whilst hurriedly washing face and hands.\n\nDick unbarred the door, and welcomed them heartily.\n\n\u201cI deserve a sound kolpan (beating with rope\u2019s end) for laying a bed so\nlate,\u201d said he, \u201cand forget it\u2019s Feasten Sunday, and that you would be\nin early.\u201d \u201cHere, take these instead,\u201d said Jackey, laying the rabbits\nacross Dick\u2019s shoulder; \u201chang them up and they will keep for days, as\nthey were killed only yesterday.\u201d \u201cTake a dram and cake, first thing,\u201d\nsaid the delighted host, putting a bottle of rum, some cake, and\nglasses on the table, to make them drink and eat whilst lighting his\nfire.\n\nTea being made, and bread, butter, and cheese placed on the table, Dick\ntook a jug and said \u201cI\u2019m going to the \u2018Golden Lion\u2019 (inn) for milk;\nit\u2019s always taken up there for me; the landlady is a good woman as ever\nlived; she\u2019s just such another as her sister out in your Churchtown.\u201d\n\nWhen Dick\u2019s back was turned, Mary put the cake she brought for him into\nhis cupboard and told him nothing about it. Shortly he returned with\nmilk and a large plate, heaping full of boiled ham. \u201cThe dear mistress\ncut this ham herself,\u201d said he, \u201con my telling her that I\u2019d feasters\nfrom St. Just. Now you must turn to and make a hearty breakfast.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve\nslept late, sure \u2019nuf, this morning,\u201d said Dick, \u201cthough a woman, in\ngoing to milky, called me, as usual with her on week day mornings; but\nI slept soundly again till Jackey roused me out of bed. The bakers will\nhave their oven hot shortly, and I must take our dinner there to be\ncooked; that bake-house is a blessing to people living near it. Making\nsure you\u2019d be in, I got a pair of ducks and a piece of beef, and we\u2019ll\nhave a rabbit-pie too.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen keep the ducks or beef till another day,\u201d said Mary, \u201cwe don\u2019t\nwant three dishes unless you expect more feasters.\u201d \u201cWe\u2019ll have them\nall three,\u201d returned Dick, \u201cand eat what we like best; I don\u2019t expect\nanybody else.\u201d\n\nAn hour or so before noon the pie was made, ducks and beef, with\npotatoes to roast, were put on tins all ready for the oven, when Dick\nand his two feasters marched off to the bake-house, each one taking a\ndish.\n\nThe feasters wondered to see so much to be cooked, and however the\nbakers would contrive to dress all the geese, ducks, and other things,\nas Mary remarked on their return. \u201cNow arn\u2019t they good fellows, to work\nso hard on a Sunday, that we poor folks may have a holiday then?\u201d said\nDick. \u201cNearly all the neighbours who haven\u2019t the new-fashioned\ncontrivances, called slabs, send their meat to the bakehouse, though\nthey say of some bakers, but not of ours, that\n\n\n   \u2018They cut the meat both ready and raw,\n    Skim the fat, and pinch the dough;\u2019\n\n\nand one can\u2019t blame them if they take a little, now and then, for\nworking so hard of a Sunday.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey well deserve it, poor fellows,\u201d said Jackey, \u201cI\u2019d rather work to\nbal for my part.\u201d\n\nPublic ovens being heated with furze, bakers had a very laborious\noccupation; and, almost all their customers having ducks or geese at\nMadrontide, made it much harder at that particular season.\n\nThe old bachelor, anxious to entertain his visitors handsomely, was \u201cas\nbusy as a hen with one chick,\u201d and his restlessness made them\nuncomfortable. On coming in he placed on the table tobacco and new long\npipes; then, thinking he ought to have a pudding, he proceeded to get\nthe materials for making one, till Mary stopped him by saying he should\ndo nothing of the sort, as what they had taken to the bakehouse would\nbe a capital dinner without it.\n\n\u201cSit thee down, mate,\u201d said Jackey, \u201cand touch pipe a bit; lev Mary do\nthe rest about dinner.\u201d\n\nAt last he sat down for a few minutes, and Jackey said, \u201cThis es a\ncomfortable little place, large enough for one man and a cat; it\u2019s like\na town house on this side; looking downwards you see plenty of walls\nand roofs, with a glimpse of sky, and have the morning sun, when\nthere\u2019s any going; that\u2019s as much as one can expect in town; and, on\n\u2019tother side, it\u2019s like being in the country with green fields all the\nway up from Leskenack, and trees growing on the hedge and overhanging\nthe lane.\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, I\u2019m better off here by far,\u201d replied the happy occupier of two\nsmall rooms, \u201cthan hundreds who live in other parts of the town where\nthe old gardens and courts are built on with dwellings for poor people,\nwho are glad to get under a roof anywhere near their work.\u201d\n\nWhen Dick thought his dinner ready, he and his guests fetched it from\nthe bakehouse, each bearing a dish.\n\nVegetables had been boiled and ale fetched in the meanwhile. Having\ngood appetites they enjoyed their dinner and praised the bakers.\n\nWhilst drinking their toddy, and the men smoking, in the afternoon,\nDick asked, between puffs, if Mary knew how Conny Trevail\u2019s pig was\ncome? \u201cWhy I never heard there was anything amiss with n,\u201d replied she,\n\u201cand I saw long-legged Conny, as we call her, yesterday, gadding about\nfrom house to house, as usual, to hear and tell the news, her clothes\nall in \u2018skethans\u2019 (strips), and one would think she liked them so, for\nshe\u2019ll never sew up a \u2018skate\u2019 (rent) so long as the pieces hang\ntogether; and her stockings (never darned) have the holes dragged\ntogether, tell their tops won\u2019t reach her garters. But what made you\nask about her pig?\u201d In reply Dick told the story which follows,\nsomewhat abridged.\n\n\u201cOn the last Thursday Conny came into the druggist\u2019s shop, in great\n\u2018stroath\u2019 (fussy haste), her hair all hanging about her face, her\nbonnet tied down weth a \u2018nackan\u2019 (handkerchief) and cloak all on one\nshoulder.\n\n\u201cGoing to the master, she asked if he could give her anything to do her\npig good. \u2018What\u2019s the matter weth n?\u2019 asked he in return. \u2018Es like a\nthing bewitched,\u2019 said Conny, \u2018a\u2019ll neither live nor die, and the best\nmait I can give n es all muzzled out of the \u2018traff\u2019 weth n, and es gone\nto skin and bone. I knaw a was begrudged to me when I was in price for\nn. I was in two minds when I left home whether a was best to go to the\n\u2018pellar\u2019 or come to you, but now I\u2019m here I\u2019ll try what you can do.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018You can have something that may bring the pig to an appetite,\u2019 said\nthe druggist, \u2018ef you give it as I\u2019ll direct \u2019e.\u2019\n\n\u201cHaving put up some powders, he told Conny she must thoroughly clean\nthe pig\u2019s trough, wash it out, and have it sweet; then give the pig\nfresh food, and a little of the powders, two or three times a day. \u2018The\nmedicine comes to sixpence.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Gracious me; es a lot of money,\u2019 said she, \u2018and are \u2019e sure a\u2019ll do\nthe pig good.\u2019 \u2018I can tell \u2019e as truly as if I\u2019d been a conjuror,\u2019\nanswered the druggist, \u2018that if you do as I\u2019ve told \u2019e, by next\nThursday this time your pig will either be better or worse, or much the\nsame.\u2019 \u2018Aw, thank\u2019e sar,\u2019 said Conny, \u2018I\u2019ll pay the money with a good\nheart, now you\u2019ve told me that.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe druggist having taken the money went into the house. Now Dick had\nbeen at the mortar all the time, but pounding easily, that he might\nhear what passed, and get in a word if he found the chance.\n\n\u201cConny turned to leave the shop, but, seeing Dick, she came over to him\nwith the drugs in her hand, and said, \u2018Dost a think, you, that this\n\u2018trade\u2019 \u2018ll do any good at all? I wish I\u2019d gone to the pellar, for his\nwork es sure, ef a do charge three shellans before he\u2019ll do anything to\nstop the witchcraft.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Well, you heard what master said,\u2019 replied Dick, \u2018and I firmly\nbelieve him.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Now I\u2019ll tell thee what I\u2019ll do before I\u2019m a day older,\u2019 said she,\n\u2018to serve out that strollop who begrudged me the pig, and ef her ill\nwishes have fallen upon am I\u2019ll make her suffer torments. The conjuror\ncan\u2019t tell me any more than I know about that. I\u2019ll bury the bottle of\nwater before night ef I can; she shall come to me and beg, and pray,\nand promise never to ill-wish anything belongan to me agen, she shall.\u2019\nDick told her to make haste home, and let him know how the pig got on\nthe next time she came to town.\u201d\n\n\u201cAw the old fool,\u201d said Jackey, when the story was ended. \u201cBut she is\nno worse than scores of others who put more faith in the conjuror than\nin a doctor. She\u2019s too lazy to clean the pig\u2019s trough, or mend her\nclothes, yet she\u2019d go a score miles or more to consult the pellar.\nThere are many that might be expected to know better than old Conny who\nwill visit the pellar and pay him well to have what they call their\nprotection renewed in a few months more. This is done when the sun is\ncoming back and getting strong\u2014the wise-man has more power then\u2014about\nthe end of March, so they believe; and soon after the time of visiting\nthe pellar, old Tammy, his wife will ride round the West Country,\nbringing the \u2018protection\u2019 to such as are unable to go for it. Old\nbedlyers have it put into their pillows; others wear it on the breast.\u201d\n\nAn hour or so before sunset, Jackey becoming tired of being shut up in\nDick\u2019s bird-cage of a dwelling, and wishing to breathe sweet country\nair, said to his wife, \u201cEs time for us to be jogging home along.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must have tea first,\u201d said Dick, \u201cthen I\u2019ll go part of road wh\u2019y.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake your hat and pipe and come now,\u201d replied Jackey; \u201cwe don\u2019t want\ntea, and Mary had a cup after dinner; she can get home before we want\nany more.\u201d\n\nThey started\u2014all three\u2014and went down along joyfully; and so ended their\nPenzance feast.\n\nOn taking leave of Dick, a mile or two from town, Mary told him to\nsearch his cupboard when he got home,\u2014she never told him of the cake\nshe\u2019d put there for him. They were satisfied on the whole, yet glad to\nget home, and never wished to go again.\n\n\n\nFifty years ago, and longer, Madron Feast was dying out. The principal\npeople were strangers there, who cared nothing for the parish feast,\nand had no sympathy with the old inhabitants or their customs.\n\nThere is no remembrance or tradition of Madrontide ever having been\nkept heartily, by \u201cOne and all,\u201d like St. Just feast, nor of any\nholiday-games on their Feasten Monday, such as wrestling, hurling,\nthrowing quoits, &c. The old game called \u201ckook\u201d was a trial of casting\nquoits the farthest and nearest to goal. This is all but forgotten. As\nfor hurling, it is now unknown, in every place west of Hayle, except at\nSt. Ives, and there only in the mild form of hurling to the goal. On\nthe feast their silver ball is aired for a short time on Permester\nSand.\n\nWhat is here known as a pellar\u2019s \u201cprotection\u201d is usually two or three\ninches of parchment inscribed with planetary and other signs or\ncabalistic words. It is a mystery how these inscriptions were first\nacquired, as they are not found in any books which were likely to have\ncome into the hands of our wise-men; and the words are quite unlike\ncharms for the cure of many ailments. These are grounded on Christian\nlegends, but the Pellar\u2019s \u201cprotections\u201d have nothing Christian in their\nconstruction. They are probably of greater antiquity than the said\ncharms.\n\nAs an example, here is the only one I have met with which can be given\nin type. The others have all, more or less, signs and figures which\nwould require woodcuts to show them.\n\n\n                        R   O   T   A   S\n                        O   P   E   R   A\n                        T   E   N   E   T\n                        A   R   E   P   O\n                        S   A   T   O   R\n\n\nThis magic square may be read four ways the same; beginning at the top,\nit must be read from right to left as Sator, Arepo, &c. This is the\ncase with some others of the Pellar\u2019s talismans. Our wise-men (call\nthem conjurors if you please, but they do not like the term) have no\nknowledge whence their formul\u00e6 were obtained, nor what the name of\n\u201cpellar\u201d means. Yet it is probably a corruption of the old Cornish word\n\u201cpystryor\u201d which means a conjuror or magician. The name of wizard is\nunknown here amongst old folk who have no book-learning.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nZENNOR HEARTHSIDE STORIES.\n\n\n                \u201cAnd each, in turn, would some fond theme relate;\n                Not of perplexing plans to mend the State,\n                But seriously renew some oft-told tale,\n                Or ancient legend of some spectre pale,\n                Or wondrous deeds by their good fathers done,\n                And stories strange, long passed, denied by none.\u201d\n\n                                                         John Williams.\n\n\nBeing on the road to Zennor with a stranger to Cornwall, who wished to\nsee all he could of the place and people, we had the good luck to fall\nin with a very intelligent old miner, returning to his home from Ding\nDong. He at once entered into conversation with that ease and candour\nfor which the true Cornish have ever been remarkable.\n\nOur destination for the night being Zennor churchtown, and his cottage\nnot being far out of our road, we gladly accepted his invitation to\naccompany him home and rest awhile; the more so as we were soon\nsensible that our companionship was mutually agreeable.\n\nOur comrades\u2019 constant flow of joke and story, told in the quaint way\nso peculiar to Droll-tellers of the West, made the time pass\nunobserved, until we found that night was closing around us as we sat\nby his fireside, when (wishing to retain some of the tinner\u2019s peculiar\nwords, old proverbs, and the novel points of some rare drolls) the\nstranger produced pencil and paper. The writing materials seemed to\nsuggest\n\n\n   \u2018A chield\u2019s amang ye, taking notes,\n    And faith he\u2019ll prent it,\u2019\n\n\nas our very communicative friend \u2018fought shy\u2019 all at once. After we had\nassured him that nothing of what he told us should be published without\nhis consent, he gave the reason for his sudden reticence; which, as he\nno longer objected to taking notes, I will give in his own language.\n\nMy old friend began by saying, \u201cThe reason I felt a dislike to your\nwriting down any of the foolish drolls I have been telling is because\nmany have lately published stories pretended to be Cornish which would\nmake strangers think us void of common sense, and that our lingo is\nsuch a gibberish as was never jabbered in this world nor any other.\nThey should remember the old saying about foul birds dirting their own\nnests. True, I remember the time when many used more old Cornish words,\nand spoke broader than we do now; as, for example, in St. Just, where I\nwas born and bred. In the \u2018daddy,\u2019 \u2018mammy,\u2019 and \u2018porridge\u2019 days we\ncalled the cape the caape; and the hall we called the hale. Then, over\na while we got a good schoolmaster among us, and came to \u2018father,\u2019\n\u2018mother,\u2019 and \u2018broth.\u2019 We learned to say the \u2018cape\u2019 and \u2018hall,\u2019 just\nlike other folks. At last, what they called good times came, and, would\nye believe it? many of the St. Tusters,\u2014the \u2018red-tailed droans,\u2019\u2014got so\nrich and proud that nothing would do but they must send their boys and\ngirls away to boarding school. When they came back it was nothing but\n\u2018pa,\u2019 \u2018ma,\u2019 and \u2018soup,\u2019 and \u2018will you take a walk down to the keep?\u2019\nThe poor old \u2018hale\u2019 was then refined into \u2018hele,\u2019 with their confounded\nmincing, unless they called it a \u2018parlour.\u2019 A \u2018parlour,\u2019 forsooth. It\nwas but the old hale, make the most of it. Besides, I was rather shy\nwhen the paper came in sight, because we have many manners and customs\nwhich appear singular to strangers, when they first come among us,\nalthough we, who are raised in the midst of them, think all our ways\nquite natural, and that it must be the same everywhere else. Faith,\nbefore a spell of bad times came, and sent me and a good many other\nCousin Johneys off to the Lakes and Mineral Point for a time, where I\nbelieve many of us would have stopped and sent home for our families if\nit were not for the cursed kick-up the Yankies made about their\ndarkies, and old Virginia\u2019s shore. Well, before we crossed the\nherring-pool I was as bad as the old woman down in St. Ives, who was\nfour score and had never been over the hill farther than the top of the\nStennack, before Whitfield came one Sunday to preach on Trecroben, when\nall the town went to hear him. The old dame, among the rest, reached\nthe top of the hill, and looking round, declared she never thought the\nworld was half so large before, and supposed the hills she could see\nfar away must be in France, or Spain, or perhaps some of the foreign\ncountries she had read of in the Bible.\n\n\u201cI found when I came back from Yankee-land that a lot of our Cousin\nJohneys who had learned to read and write a little had been telling\nwhat they called Cornish stories to enlighten strangers; but, the\ntraitors, they have been telling such a lot of stuff as is only likely\nto turn their own country and comrades into ridicule. Those who try to\nmake fun of their mates for the amusement of strangers, or for the sake\nof showing off their own fancied superiority, should have their\nwindpipes slit, or their bread-bags ripped up, the dastardly crew.\u201d\n\nWhen we were about to leave, our old friend said \u201cMy dears, if you must\ngo to Zennor churchtown for the night, let me beg of ye don\u2019t take the\npeople you may meet with there for a fair sample of Cornish folks;\nthat\u2019s the only place in the County where the cow ate the bell-rope and\nno wonder the poor half-starved thing should have gone into the belfry\nand eaten the straw rope that\u2019s fixed to their old crazy kettle, for\ntheir cattle are half-starved in winter and when they die off in spring\nthey are sure to think they were bewitched, and off they go to the\npellar to know who the old crone is that owes them a grudge? The church\nis well worth seeing, if they have not destroyed the curious old\ncarved-work that used to be there. You need not be surprised if they\nhave, as they but lately allowed one of their largest quoits\n(cromlechs) to be broken up and carried off.\n\n\u201cIn the next parish, where they live on fish and potatoes every day,\nwith conger-pie for a change on a Sunday they arn\u2019t much better.\n\n\u201cTowednack people say that the devil would never let them raise their\ntower any higher\u2014a good thing to have some one to put the fault on, if\nit\u2019s only Old Nick; but, whatever he should get up a storm and blow the\nstones down for, if they only attempt to place pinnacles on their\nstumpy tower, it\u2019s hard to say; yet such is the story Towednack folks\nwill tell ye.\n\n\u201cAbout St. Ives, too, the less said the better. I wouldn\u2019t advise you\nto go there, unless you can bear the sight and smell of all that\u2019s\nfilthy, without having your stomach turned.\n\n\u201cBut, Lord, what can one expect of the people who whipped the hake\nround the market? When you come round to Lelant you will get among\ncivilized people again, and it\u2019s well worth going farther to see\nTrecroben hill and its giant\u2019s castle, with the giant\u2019s chair on Trink\nhill, and many other places, which you have no doubt heard of.\u201d We\npassed a few days, however, very pleasantly amongst Zennor folk; and\ngleaned the following stories, &c., of this section from them.\n\nWe reached Zennor churchtown about eight o\u2019clock, and found very fair\naccommodation at the public-house; as good, indeed, as one might expect\nin such a retired district.\n\nBy the kitchen fire, were seated four elderly men, who appeared to be\nwell pleased with their ale and each others company. The chief talker\nof these four old cronies was the captain or manager of Zennor\ntin-stamps.\n\nHe said much about the witches and tin-streamers who lived in Trewey or\nTrewey-bottom, long ago; and of Kerrow and other ancient hamlets, with\nthe people who dwelt there in days of yore.\n\nDuring the evening, Cap\u2019n Henny, as they called him, spoke of a retired\nseaman who had been much troubled by a shipmate\u2019s ghost, until he\nplucked up courage and spoke to his old comrade\u2019s spirit. One story\nbrought up another, till it was near midnight, when the company left\nfor their homes.\n\nThe hostess said, that Jackey (her husband) was gone over to Trevidja\nto gulthise [8], if he should be home to-morrow, he would tell us some\nstories she believed to be true, because her husband knew the people\nthe stories were told of; \u201cbut as for Uncle Henny\u2019s,\u201d said she, \u201cthey\nare all, or nearly all, about people who lived so long ago that one\ndon\u2019t know whether they\u2019re true or no.\u201d\n\n\n\nThe schoolmaster referred to, Mr. John Davey, was well versed in\nvarious branches of mathematics, and took good care that his pupils\nshould be thoroughly grounded in the most practically useful problems.\nMany young miners of St. Just acquired such a taste for geometry about\nthis time that the boards, &c., near mine-workings were often found\ncovered with diagrams from Euclid. They hit on the Chinese method of\ndemonstrating the famous 47th problem, 1st book, by drawing the diagram\nto a scale, producing the squares of the three sides, dividing them\ninto small squares by scale, thus proving that the sum of the squares\nof the two lesser sides was equal to the square of the larger. With\nmany other problems of the same class, they took similar practical\nmeans of demonstration and were not slow to see their application. Mr.\nDavey and his pupils also took great pride in answering mathematical\nqueries proposed in the \u2018Ladies and Gentlemen\u2019s Diary,\u2019 and other\nmagazines of this period. Nor did he neglect general literature for the\nmore practical subjects, as an anecdote, which was told me by a pupil\nof Mr. Davey, will prove:\u2014This young man was much addicted to spending\nhis evenings in public-houses for the sake of having company and\nexcitement more than from any love of drink.\n\nBeing in Penzance Market, and seeing some curious old books,\nillustrated with rare engravings, and knowing that Mr. Davey was fond\nof such works, he bought two or three volumes for the sake of\ngratifying the old gentleman, not attempting to understand them\nhimself. One was an odd volume of Shakespeare, containing some of the\nhistorical plays; another Spenser\u2019s Faerie Queene; the other\nGoldsmith\u2019s poems and plays. Mr. Davey pointed out the most beautiful\npassages in the plays of the royal Henrys, and explained the history of\nthe time of these dramas, helping him at the same time to enjoy the\nbeauties of Fairy-land and all its revelries. The young miner no longer\nwanted public-house amusements. Before the winter was over, with a\nsmall portion of the money he would have wasted, but for the delight he\nhad in reading the old volumes over and over again, he bought complete\neditions of Shakespeare, Spenser, &c., and soon acquired a good\nacquaintance with many of the best English authors.\n\nA few years afterwards he received a hurt at the mine, which disabled\nhim for hard work, when he opened a school in Buryan Churchtown, which\nprocured him a comfortable maintenance, and his greatest pleasure\nseemed to be to speak of his old master with love and gratitude.\n\nNo doubt much of the superior intelligence of St. Just men of the\npresent time is owing to the training of the excellent old\nschoolmaster, who was altogether a remarkable man for the time and\nplace. We want more such schoolmasters and fewer preachers in the West.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEAMAN\u2019S GHOST.\n\n\nJames Botterell, one of the St. Just family of that name, after having\nserved many years aboard a privateer when he was a young man, in\nBonaparte\u2019s time, settled in Zennor, about fifty years ago. Shortly\nafter he left sea, he was much troubled with a drowned shipmate\u2019s\nghost. Towards the morning part of a stormy winter\u2019s night, he was\naroused by three loud raps on his chamber window; and, on raising his\nhead, he saw standing by his bedside the apparition of one John Jones,\nwho had been his favourite comrade\u2014looking pale and sad, and,\napparently, dripping wet. In a few minutes it disappeared with the\nmisty light which surrounded it.\n\nNext day James tried to persuade himself that the vision might be\nmerely a troubled dream, but the apparition continued to come on each\nsucceeding night, stopping longer than at first. There was also much\nnoise and disturbance in and around his dwelling, by day as well as by\nnight.\n\nOver a week or so the ghost, often casting an angry look at the man,\nfollowed him about in broad daylight, so that James became weary of his\nlife. His friends advised him to speak to the ghost and have\nconfidence, as they had always been good friends; they told him that a\nspirit would never speak until spoken to; and they believed that his\nshipmate merely wanted him to do something that the ghost was unable to\nperform. Moreover, they warned him that there was danger to be\napprehended when a spirit was angered by delay in speaking to it.\n\nAt length James plucked up courage, and one day, being at work in a\nfield, when his old mate\u2019s ghost stood by him\u2014as usual, looking sad and\nangry by turns\u2014he spoke, and said, \u201cTell me, John Jones, what shall I\ndo to give thee rest?\u201d The spirit replied, \u201cIt is well thou hast\nspoken, for I should have been the death of thee if thou hadst much\nlonger refused to speak! What grieved and vexed me most was to see that\nthou seemedst to fear thy old comrade, who always liked thee the best\nof all his shipmates.\u201d\n\n\u201cI no longer fear thee, Jack,\u201d replied James; \u201cand wish I could grasp\nthat hand of thine as in times gone by.\u201d Indeed, he now felt no more\ndread of his messmate\u2019s ghost than if he were still a living man. The\nspirit, looking pleased, said, \u201cNow I see thee art like thyself again,\nstaunch and true to thy comrade in life and death. Listen and learn why\nI am come to seek thy aid. The other stormy night, a few minutes before\nI first appeared at thy bedside, I was on board a good ship in the Bay\nof Biscay, with a strong gale and a rolling sea. In clewing up a\ntopsail, the ship gave a lurch: I lost my hold, fell overboard, and was\ndrowned before anybody noticed my mishap. When sinking I thought of\nthee. Now much of my prize-money is in a chest, left in Plymouth at a\npublic-house well-known to thee\u2014the one we used most to frequent, when\neverything was in common between us. My son, I want thee to go thither;\ntake my chest to another house; pay what I owe to various people in\nPlymouth, and keep what remains for thyself. I\u2019ll meet thee there and\ndirect thee how to act.\u201d\n\nJim having promised to do all that was required, Jack\u2019s ghost looked\nhappy, and a moment after said, \u201cI wish thee well, mate, till we meet\nagain,\u201d and disappeared.\n\nEarly next morning James took a strong young horse and rode away to\nPlymouth. It was after candlelighting of the second night when he\narrived there, and put up at an inn\u2014a short distance from the one where\nthe chest was left.\n\nWhilst he lay awake, thinking how he should proceed on the morrow,\nJones appeared by his bedside, and, as if knowing what passed in the\nman\u2019s mind, said, \u201cDon\u2019t \u2019e think, my son, that the landlady will make\nany difficulty about taking away the chest, for she don\u2019t know, d\u2019ye\nsee, that it contains valuables, nor that I shipped aboard an Indiaman\nand got drowned a few weeks ago. But she remembers how\u2014not long\nsince\u2014we wore each other\u2019s clothes and shared each other\u2019s rhino, just\nas brothers should. Tell her I\u2019m in town and will see her before I\nleave! To-morrow bring here the chest and I\u2019ll direct \u2019e how to deal\nwith my creditors; and now good night, mate.\u201d Saying this he vanished.\n\nThe landlady was very glad to see James, and more so to have the\nsailor\u2019s chest taken out of her way; told him to give her love to\nCaptain Jones (as she called him), and to say she hoped he wouldn\u2019t\nfail to call before he left port. The chest being opened, there was\nnothing to be seen in it but the seaman\u2019s best clothing; for all the\nmoney was concealed in secret drawers of the skibbet, and under a false\nbottom. The ghost accompanied James\u2014though invisible to others\u2014all the\ntime, until the business was settled. Then it left him\u2014without saying\ngood bye, however.\n\nJames went over to Dock. Whilst he was there admiring the shipping, on\nturning around he saw Jones close beside him. If he had been visible to\nother people they would have taken him for an able seaman in his prime,\nfor he appeared rigged out in brand new sailor\u2019s garb and looked hale\nand hearty as when alive. \u201cI\u2019ve just passed by the old inn,\u201d said he,\n\u201cshowed myself as I now appear, and kissed my hand to our old hostess,\nwho was at her work near an open window; but, before she could reach\nher door to welcome home the man she used to admire, lo! I\u2019m here. So\nyou see it\u2019s convenient to be a ghost!\u201d\n\nJames didn\u2019t think so, however; and they walked on in silence till they\ncame near a fine ship ready to sail on a long voyage. Then the spirit\nstopped, and, looking sorrowfully in the man\u2019s face said, \u201cMy dear Jim,\nI will now bid thee farewell. I\u2019m off to sea again, for, with an\noccasional trip to the Green, I know no way of passing the time that\nbetter suits me. Thou wilt nevermore see me whilst thou art alive, but\nif thou thinkest of me at the hour of thy death we shall meet, as soon\nas the breath leaves thy body. My poor clay lies deep in the Bay of\nBiscay, and when thine is laid in Zennor churchyard we will rove the\nseas together. A truehearted tar has nothing to fear, and now my son\nadieu.\u201d A moment after James saw him glide aboard the ship, and in the\ntwinkling of an eye he vanished.\n\nJames returned to the inn, feeling very wisht, and his sadness\ncontinued till he came in sight of Zennor Hills. Then he felt in pretty\ngood heart; and well he might, for hadn\u2019t he brought home a bundle of\ncapital clothes that he found in his comrade\u2019s chest and many more\npounds in his pocket than when he left Zennor? But the horse was never\nfit for anything again, from having been ridden to and from Plymouth in\nless than a week.\n\nSailors say that ships are often haunted with drowned seamen\u2019s ghosts,\nand they believe that such vessels are seldom wrecked, for the friendly\nspirits give warning of approaching tempests, and tokens of other\ndangers to their craft.\n\n\n\nCornish Sailors\u2019 Isle of Avalon. \u2014 It is known to most persons who have\nmixed much with Cornish sailors that they often speak of the \u201cGreen,\u201d\nwhich they frequently call Fiddler\u2019s Green amongst themselves. They\ndescribe this place as an \u201cIsle of the Blest,\u201d in which honest Tars,\nafter the toils of this life, are to enjoy unmixed bliss with their old\ncomrades and favourite fair ones. In orchards of fruit, ever ripe, they\nare to be entertained with music, dancing, and everything else in which\nthey delighted in their lifetime. The idea of this Fairy Land is\nprobably derived from Celtic mythology, as well as that of\n\n\n   \u201cThe island valley of Avilion,\n    Where falls not hail, or rain, or snow;\n    Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies\n    Deep-meadow\u2019d, happy, fair with orchard lawns,\n    And bowery hollows crown\u2019d with summer seas.\u201d\n\n\nThither King Arthur was wafted in a barge with three fair queens when\nhis table, man by man,\n\n\n   \u201cHad fallen in Lyonness about their Lord.\u201d\n\n\nBreton and Welsh sailors have similar notions.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD WOMAN\u2019S GHOST.\n\n\nNot long since there lived at Trewey, in Zennor, a poor and aged woman,\nwho much loved her neighbour\u2019s little girl, and, when dying, bequeathed\nto her a shawl, which was all she had to leave of any value.\n\nThe departed woman\u2019s wish, however, was disregarded; and a few evenings\nafter her funeral, the child would burst out in shrieks. On being asked\nwhat made her screech so, \u201cOh! there\u2019s An Katty,\u201d cried she, \u201cwith her\nface tied up in a white nackan and nothing on her but a sheet!\u201d Thus\nthe old woman\u2019s ghost continued to haunt her; until one evening a\nstrong man, of great faith, took the child and carried her out of\ndoors, when, over a while, the little girl exclaimed, \u201cOh, there she es\nagain.\u201d Then the man saw the spirit too, and said to her, \u201cIn the name\nof goodness I command thee to tell me why thou art come back to trouble\nthis cheeld?\u201d The spirit answered, \u201cBecause the shawl isn\u2019t given to\nthe cheeld, I cannot rest.\u201d Then the man said he would see her wish\ncomplied with, bade her depart in peace, and told her that if she\nhadn\u2019t been \u201can old fool of a sperat, she would have scared the ones\nwho kept the shawl and have left the cheeld alone!\u201d By that, the ghost\nhad vanished, without saying another word.\n\nThe same night the shawl was given to the cheeld, and Trewey folks\nthought that all was then settled with the old woman; but, in the\ncourse of two or three evenings, the little girl, being out in the\ntown-place with her playmates, was taken up over the furze-ricks by\ninvisible means, and borne away out of sight in a minute. The other\nchildren ran home frightened.\n\nShe often stayed out in neighbours\u2019 houses for hours together, so her\nmother didn\u2019t miss her till bedtime. Then, as the woman was going to\nlook for her, in she came, with only one shoe on.\n\nBeing questioned as to where she had been to lose her shoe, the child\nanswered that she didn\u2019t know\u2014only that she was taken up over the\n\u201chousen\u201d and carried away as easy as if she had been rocked in a cradle\nto a Churchtown with lots of trees in it, and laid in the churchyard on\na new grave; she saw nobody, but heard like singing around her;\nsomebody kissed her; then she shivered with cold, and was again carried\nup over the trees and back to her own town-place. She believed that her\nshoe was loosened as she skimmed the tree-tops, but where it dropped\nshe couldn\u2019t tell.\n\nFrom what the child said, all Trewey people thought she had been taken\nto Ludgvan, where the old woman was buried; and it was put beyond doubt\nnext day, when her missing shoe was found on the old woman\u2019s grave.\nThere it was left; for the old woman \u201cmight want something belonging to\nthe child, to put her to rest,\u201d and nobody would risk bringing her back\nagain for the sake of a shoe.\n\nAnd she has \u201ckept quiet\u201d from that day to this.\n\n\n\nThe stranger, by the way of applauding this story, or the droll-teller,\nexclaimed, \u201cHear, hear, and cheers!\u201d \u201cIss, they\u2019re all in rags and\ntatters,\u201d said the landlady, who was laying the table, \u201ces the\nconfounded children\u2019s work; they\u2019re always pullan the heer (hair) out\nof the cheers, od drat tham.\u201d When the gentleman explained that no\nallusion was made to her chairs, the jolly dame laughed heartily at her\nmistake, and speaking to the story-teller said, \u201cCap\u2019n Henny, don\u2019t \u2019e\ntell any more stories about sperats, lev es have the St. Ives mutton\nfeast, or somethan cheerful.\u201d\n\nThen the man who had told the two preceding drolls recited the\nfollowing verses.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MUTTON FEAST AT ST. IVES.\n\n\nAn old tradition says that a flock of sheep were blown from Gwithian\nsands into St. Ives Bay, and that St. Ives fishermen caught them,\nbelieving them to be a new variety of fish, either with their nets, or\nwith hook and line, and brought them ashore as their night\u2019s catch.\n\nAbout eighty years ago, Mr. Fortescue Hitchins wrote the following\nverses on this tradition.\n\n\n    Sometime ago in days of yore,\n    On Cornwall\u2019s northern sandy shore,\n    A borough town, as some folks say,\n    Stood on the margin of a bay;\n    And through all the country round\n    Its folks for wisdom were renowed.\n\n    East of this famous borough\u2019s bay\n    A barren, sandy common lay,\n    Where the farmers naught could keep,\n    Except some flocks of half-starved sheep.\n\n    One dusky night the wind blew high,\n    Black, lowering clouds obscured the sky:\n    With furious sway the eastern blast\n    Swept all before it as it past;\n    Storm-driven stores of frighted sheep\n    Were hurried down the sandy steep;\n    Nor could they face the sweeping sway,\n    Which sent them headlong into sea.\n\n    Bad are the winds, as all must know,\n    That never good to any blow;\n    Since two or three, at dawn of day,\n    Wreck-hunters ranging round the bay,\n    With joy beheld the fleecy flock\n    Lie dead around on sand and rock.\n    They, with good Ammon, when they spied,\n    Opened their throats and \u201cheava!\u201d cried.\n    This well-known sound aroused them all,\n    And out they tumbled great and small:\n    Fish-bulkers, chimney-sweepers, sailors,\n    Parson, clerk, tinkers, and tailors,\n    Coopers, crabpot-makers, cobblers,\n    Hewers, hake-whippers, and hoblers,\n    Boat-menders, seiners, and warp-hawlers,\n    And all the gape-mouth heava bawlers.\n\n    With joy they see the mutton store,\n    And \u201cheava\u201d sound from shore to shore:\n    So counting honestly the sheep\n    A God-send from the stormy deep,\n    All hands turned-to, with wonderous pain,\n    To share the unexpected gain;\n    Brought home of mutton such a store\n    Which lasted them ten days or more;\n    And from each hide made shift to pull\n    Almost a pound-and-half of wool.\n\n    Now, mutton roasted, mutton boiled,\n    And mutton fried, and baked, and broiled,\n    Which, savoury, smoaking from a dish,\n    Had almost drowned the smell of fish.\n\n    Five days they watched the foaming tide,\n    Hoping more sheep might yet be spied.\n    And now and then their longing eyes\n    With joy salute the mutton prize;\n    And when, at length, a heavy sea\n    Has fairly thrown them in their way,\n    Surrounded like a flock of crows,\n    Which carrion want to fill their maws.\n\n    Now those who have to feed on fish\n    Ten minutes took to enjoy that dish;\n    An hour now to dinner linger,\n    To pick the bones and lick their fingers.\n\n    These thankful folks were heard to say\u2014\n    \u201cO blessed was that happy day\n    That brought such stormy sway to sweep\n    Into our Bay such flocks of sheep!\n    O might such storms, ten times a year,\n    Send such good store of such good cheer!\n    O that the storm would also bring\n    A few good ankers from the sling,\n    Buried by smugglers in the sea,\n    And throw them plump into our Bay!\n\n    Then we lazy lubbers all\n    Might lean our backs against the wall,\n    And thankfully enjoy the sun,\u2014\n    That would be glorious lazy fun!\u201d\n\n\n\u201cHeava\u201d is shouted from the high ground on which a watch is kept for\npilchards as soon as the \u201chuers\u201d signal their approach. These signals\nare made to seiners in the boats, by the means of bushes, or\nwire-frames covered with white cloth.\n\nThe cheering sound of \u201cheava\u201d no sooner reached St. Ives than it\nresounded from street to street, and soon reached the country.\n\nIt has been said that this word \u201cheava\u201d was either a contraction of \u201cwe\nhave them, or here they are;\u201d but its origin is uncertain.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCH OF KERROW.\n\n\nAbout seventy years ago, Sir Rose Price often started a hare near\nKerrow, in Zennor. His dogs would run it into the village, where it\nwould always escape by entering a \u201cbolt\u201d (drain) that ran from a pool\nup under a house, not far from the pool. At last, one day the hunters\nloaded their guns to hinder it from escaping by that strange way.\nHaving started the hare it took the usual course, when one of the\nguards shot at it, but didn\u2019t kill it, for it went up town and entered\nthe bolt as usual. Sir Rose lifted the latch and, followed by some\nothers, entered the dwelling to ask leave to open the bolt, when lo!\nthere, sitting on the hearthstone, they beheld an old woman of the\nhouse, much bleeding about her head and face, with her hair all hanging\ndown. Beside her, on the chimney-stool, sat a monstrous big black cat,\nwith his back up and eyes like coals of fire, showing his teeth as if\nready to spring at the intruders, who turned tail and went away,\nwithout speaking a word, when they saw how they had hunted and shot a\nwitch. And not one of these hunters ever prospered after! At least so\nruns the legend.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFAIRIES ON THE EASTERN GREEN.\n\n\nReturning somewhat late on the following evening, from a long ramble to\nsee remarkable places in the neighbourhood, we found the manager of\nZennor stamps and the other old cronies seated in their accustomed\nplaces by the fireside.\n\nShortly after the landlord came in from his work. He was a sturdy\nfellow of fifty or thereaway, burnt as brown as a berry. Most of his\ntime was passed at work on his farm; he had a good size one for that\npart of Zennor, and the public-house was left to his wife\u2019s management.\n\nDuring the evening, after much coaxing, our host told the story which\nhis wife had spoken of as a true one: telling how a company of\nsmugglers, of his acquaintance, had been driven away from Market-jew\nGreen by small-folks (fairies.)\n\nThere is some hope that all the fairy-folk have not yet entirely\nforsaken this neighbourhood, as there are persons now living who have\nseen them dancing and holding their revels on the Eastern Green within\nthe last fifty years. At that time, however, there were many acres of\ngrass-grown sandy banks there; and a broad belt of soft green-sward,\nwhich skirted the carriage road, afforded a pleasant walk from\nChyandour to Market-jew bridge.\n\nGreat part of this green has now been swept away by the waves, and much\nof what the sea spared has been enclosed by the grasping owners of\nadjacent land, though their right to this ancient common is very\nquestionable.\n\nThe following fairy adventure was told to me a short time since by a\ngrave elderly man who heard it related by the principal person\nconcerned in it.\n\nTom Warren, of Paul, was noted as one of the boldest smugglers round.\nOn a summer\u2019s night, about forty years ago, he and five other men\nlanded a boat-load of smuggled goods at a short distance from Long\nRock. The brandy, salt, &c., having been taken above high-water mark,\ntwo of the men departed for Market-jew, where their best customers\nlived, and one went over to Newtown to procure horses that the goods\nmight be secured before daybreak.\n\nTom and the other two, being very tired, lay down by a heap of goods,\nhoping to get a doze whilst their comrades were away. They were soon\ndisturbed, however, by the shrill \u201ctweeting\u201d of \u201cfeapers\u201d (slit quills\nor reeds, which give a shrill note when blown in.) Besides there was a\nconstant tinkling, just like old women make by rattling pewter plates\nor brass pans to frighten their swarming bees home, or to make them\nsettle.\n\nThe men thought this noise might be from a company of young folks\nkeeping up a dance on the Green till a very late hour. Tom went to see\nwho they were and to send them home, for it wasn\u2019t desirable for\neverybody to pry into the fair traders\u2019 business. Having passed the\nbeach, he mounted a high sand-bank to have a look round, as the music\nseemed very near him.\n\nAt a little distance, in hollows, between sand-banks, he saw glimmering\nlights, and persons like gaily dressed dolls skipping about and\nwhirling round. Going nearer, he beheld, perched on a pretty high bank\nin their midst, a score or so of little old-looking chaps; many of them\nblew in mouth-organs (Pan\u2019s pipes); some beat cymbals or tambourines;\nwhilst others played on jew\u2019s-harps, or tweeted on May whistles and\nfeapers.\n\nTom noticed that the little men were rigged all in green, except their\nscarlet caps (small people are so fond of that coloured head-gear that\nthey used to be nick-named \u201cred-caps.\u201d) But what struck him and tickled\nhis fancy most was to see the little, old, grave-looking pipers with\ntheir long beards wagging.\n\nIn moving their mouths over the reeds, stuck in their breasts, they\nlooked more like buck goats than anything human, so Tom said; and that\nfor the life of him he couldn\u2019t forbear shouting\u2014\u201cWill \u2019e be shaved\u2014\nwill \u2019e be shaved old red-caps?\u201d\n\nHe hailed them twice, and was about to do so again when all the\ndancers, with scores and hundreds more than he noticed at first sprang\nup, ranged themselves in rank and file; armed themselves in an instant\nwith bows and arrows, spears and slings; then faced about, looking like\nvengeance. The band being disposed alongside, played a quick march, and\nthe troops of \u201cspriggans\u201d stamped on towards Tom, who saw them getting\ntaller as they approached him. Their threatening looks were so\nfrightful that he turned tail and ran down to his comrades, and roused\nthem, saying, \u201cPut to sea for your lives. There\u2019s thousands of small\npeople and bucca-boos \u2019most on our backs! They\u2019ll soon surround us!\u201d\n\nTom made off to the boat, and his comrades followed close at his heels;\nbut, on the way, a shower of pebbles fell on them, and \u201cburned like\ncoals \u2019o fire wherever they hit them.\u201d\n\nThe men pulled many fathoms from shore before they ventured to look up,\nthough they knew themselves safe when on the sea, because none of the\nfairy tribe dare touch salt water.\n\nAt length, casting a glance landward, they saw, ranged along the shore,\na company of as ugly-looking creatures as they ever beheld, making\nthreatening gestures and vain endeavours to sling stones at them.\n\nWhen a furlong or so from land, the men rested on their oars, and kept\nwatching their assailants, till near daybreak; then horses being heard\ngalloping along the road from Market-jew, the small people retreated to\nthe sand-banks and the smugglers rowed to land. Tom again shouted to\nthe retiring host, \u201cWe\u2019ll shave \u2019e all, and cut your tails off, ef you\never show here any more.\u201d But the fairies disdained to notice his\nimpudence and presently disappeared.\n\nThe other smugglers, who were now on the beach with plenty of help, on\nseeing their mates leaving the boat, inquired if the riding-officer had\nhove in sight. In such a case smugglers usually took to sea that they\nmight not be known; they didn\u2019t mind his seeing the goods, for the most\nvaluable would be secured before the king\u2019s men came to take them.\n\nAfter spileing an anker (tapping a keg) and treating all the neighbours\nwho came to help or purchase, or both, Tom related how they had to run\nfor their lives and take to sea in order to escape an army of\nsmall-people. Some could scarcely believe it, though others thought the\nstory likely enow. All blamed Tom for mocking the fairies, and said bad\nluck would cross his path, ere long, for that night\u2019s work. Aye, and\ntheir forebodings were verified before another summer came round.\nHowever, without further mishap for that night, the goods were quickly\ndisposed of\u2014the greater part in Market-jew, and the rest left at an old\ntin work, near the Marsh, till wanted.\n\nWe have not heard of fairies having been seen on the Eastern Green\nsince they were thus shamefully derided by Tom Warren.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re never was a better pare (company) of fair-traders than Tom and\nhis mates,\u201d continued the landlord, \u201cand they found good customers in\nthe old well-to-do farmers of Zennor, who dearly loved their toddy, the\nLord rest them.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST THREATENED INVASION: COMMOTION AND FALSE ALARM IN THE WEST.\n\n\nThe landlady had told her husband, when he came in from his work, that\ntheir stranger-guest much wished to hear our old drolls and songs; and\nto see the remarkable places round about. That was the chief reason why\nthe master of the house was so desirous that the company might tell\nsomething, of native growth, which a stranger might deem noteworthy.\n\nHaving told the fairy-tale, our host, addressing his wife, said \u201cnow\nJenny, I\u2019ve told that story to please thee, tell us how Betty Stags was\nserved by a kindlier sort of spriggans (sprites).\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I\u2019ve cleaned up a bit, perhaps I may,\u201d replied she, \u201cand Uncle\nHonney (Hanibal) may sing us a song that while ef he will be so good.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat I wed, weth all my heart,\u201d said an old man belonging to the\nstamps, \u201cef we had one worth singan; but there\u2019s none known, in these\nparts, good for anything. Such cheerful songs and rare old ballads as\nwe used to sing, to lighten our labour, are all condemned now, and the\nsinger cried down as \u2018carnal-minded.\u2019 In place of them we hear nothan\nbut revival hymns, and I for one can\u2019t make out any sense in them.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have worked in bals up along as far as Dolcoath, or farther,\u201d said\nour host, \u201cand I have surely heard \u2019e tell a song or an old ballad that\nyou had heard up that way long ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the west es I can\u2019t tell enough of\u2019n to make out the rhymes,\u201d\nreplied the old man; \u201cI only remember that when I was a youngster\nworkan on the floors in Dolcoath, about the time that Boney was\nexpected to invade, and that his troops wed be landed here in the West;\net might be on Market-jew Green, or Gwenvor Sand, in Whitsand Bay, out\nwestward. Boney had flat-bottomed boats made, to be sent with the\ntransport ships, and in such boats his troops cud come ashore in\nshallow water.\u201d\n\n\u201cI only jest remember that time,\u201d said another old man, \u201cthere was much\nalarm amongst the farmers; the \u2018guides\u2019 were called out, and the cattle\nbranded on horns and hoofs, that they might be known to their owners,\nwhen all the stock belongan to a neighbourhood, should be herded\ntogether, and drivan away up along, as it was expected they wed, that\nthe enemy should not come at them.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t \u2019e mind, too,\u201d resumed Uncle Honney, \u201chow notices were put upon\nChurch doors, and other places, forbiddan any bonfires to be made at\nMidsummer, lest they might be mistaken for bickan-fires, [9] and give a\nfalse alarm, like Santusters ded, when they thoft the French had one\nnight landed on Gwenvor Sand, where the Danes used to come ashore and\npillage the country round. There were trusses of dry furze kept upon\nall the bickan-hills, ready for firan; it was the women in Santust\n\u2019Chtown who raised the alarm and caused the bickans to blaze from\nChapel Carn Brea to Plymouth; troops were dispatched from garrison, but\nthey didn\u2019t know where to take to, lost their way west of Falmouth, and\nwere found down in Gweek, a week after \u2018jousters\u2019 and other market-folk\nhad brought news of this false alarm to Falmouth. About that time it\nwas when this song was often singed by tinners around Redruth.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t remember how the words were broft into rhymes mind \u2019e. Et said\nhow Englishmen had beaten the French over and over again; taken\ncountries they once ruled over, had them still, and meant to keep them\ntoo. Ef Boney\u2019s men landed upon Cornish shores, we wed beat them to\nbruss. Then it was said how the French were a \u2018heap of poor pelyacks\u2019\n[10] who, at home, had neither decent meat nor clothes; but were glad\nto catch quilkans, [11] bullhorns, [12] and padgy-paws; [13] and to\nstampy about in temberan shoes.\n\n\u201cThe burden, or running verse, that came in at every four lines was\nthis:\u2014\n\n\n   \u2018They shall not eat of our good meat,\n    Our pelchers and petates.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\u201cThere was an old Cornish Dialogue in verse, too,\u201d said another old\nman, \u201cwhich gave much the same account.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should dearly like,\u201d said the visitor, \u201cto get copies of that song\nand dialogue, or of as much as is known of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat old piece Uncle Honney spoke of es forgotten among us,\u201d replied\nour host, \u201cbut I know another, not so old, that\u2019s often told for\nChristmas pastime, in place of a Guise-dance of St. George and the\nTurkish Knight; we\u2019ll get\u2019n up for \u2019e now, the same as we do at\nChristmastide; ef Jenny will be Mal Treloar, I\u2019ll take the part of\nSandry Kemp.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat I will,\u201d said our hostess, \u201cand Uncle Honney can give me the word\nwhen I may forget et, jest as he do to youngsters actan a Christmas\nplay; he\u2019ll speak for the Cap\u2019n, too, and say other bits requiran a\nthird speaker.\u201d\n\nThe company having placed themselves as the landlady directed, gave the\nfollowing Cornish Dialogue:\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMAL TRELOARE AND SANDRY KEMP KISS AND BECOME GOOD FRIENDS AGAIN:\nOR BACKBITING CRULL OUTWITTED.\n\n\n          \u2019Twas Kendle teenan, when jung Mal Treloare\n          Trudg\u2019d hum from Bal, a bucken copper ore;\n          Her clathing hard and ruff, black was her eye,\n          Her face and arms like stuff from Cairn Kye.\n          Full butt she mit jung Sandry Kemp, who long\n          She had been token\u2019d to, come from Ding Dong;\n          Hes jacket wet, his faace rud like his beard,\n          And through his squarded hat hes heer appeared.\n          She said, \u201cOh Kemp, I thoft of thee well leer,\n          Thees naw that daay we wor to Bougheehere,\n          That daay with ale and cakes, at three o\u2019clock,\n          Thees stuff\u2019d me so, I jist neen crack\u2019d me dock:\n          Jue said to me, \u2018Thee mayst depend thee life\n          I love thee, Mal, and thee shust be ma wife.\u2019\n          And to ma semmen, tes good to lem ma naw\n          Whether the words were aal in jest or no.\u201d\n\nSandry.\u2014Why, truly, Mal, I like a thing did zay\n          That I wud have thee next Chewiden daay.\n          But zence that time I like a thing ded hear\n          Thees went wi\u2019 some one down, I naw where;\n          Now es that fitty, Mal? What dost think?\n\nMal.\u2014Od rat tha body, Sandry, who said so?\n          Now, faath and traath, I\u2019ll naw afore I go;\n          Do lem ma naw the Gossenbary dog.\n\nSandry.\u2014Why, then, Crull said jue wor down to Wheal Bog\n          With he and Tabban, and ded play some tricks\n          By dabben clay at jungsters makan bricks;\n          Aand that from there jue went to Aafe-waye house,\n          Aand drink\u2019t some lecker. Mal, now there\u2019s down souse.\n          Aand jue to he, like a think ded zay,\n          Jue wed have he, and I mait go away.\n\nMal.\u2014I tell the lubber so! I to Wheal Bog!\n          I\u2019ll scat hes chacks, the emprent, saucy dog.\n          Now hire me, Sandry Kemp, now down and full,\n          Ef thee arten hastes, the shust hire the whole.\n          Fust jue must naw, tes true as thee art theere,\n          Aant Blanch and I went to Golsinney feer.\n          Who overtookt us in the dusty road,\n          In common hum but Crull, the cloppen toad.\n          Zes he to Aant, \u201cWhat cheer? Aant Blanch, what cheer?\n          Jue makes good coose, suppose jue ben to feer.\u201d\n          \u201cWhy, hiss,\u201d zes Aant, \u201cben there a pewer spur;\n          I wedn\u2019t a gone ef nawed ed ben so fur.\n          I bawft a pair of shods for Sarah\u2019s cheeld.\u201d\n          By this time, lock! we cum jist to the field.\n          We went to clember up the temberen style,\n          (Haw keept his eye upon me all the while.)\n          Zes haw to Aant, \u201cThen whos es thees braa maide?\n          Come tha wayst long, dasent be afraid.\u201d\n          Then mov\u2019d by my side, like a thing,\n          Aand pull\u2019d my mantle, and jist touch\u2019d my ching.\n          \u201cHow arry, jung woman?\u201d zes haw. \u201cHow dost do?\u201d\n          Zes I, \u201cJue saucy dog, what\u2019s that to jue?\n          Keep off, jung lad, else thees have a slap.\u201d\n          Then haw fooch\u2019d some great big doat figs in me lap,\n          So I thoft, as haw had ben so kind,\n          Haw might go by Aant Blanch, ef haw had a mind.\n          Aand so haw ded, aand tookt Aant Blanch\u2019s arm.\n          \u201cAreah!\u201d zes haw, \u201cI dedn\u2019t mane no harm.\u201d\n          So then Aant Blanch and he ded talk and jest\n          Bout dabbing clay and bricks at Perran feast.\n\nSandry.\u2014Ahah then, Mal, \u2019twas there they dabbed the clay?\n\nMal.\u2014Plaase Faather, Kemp, tes true wot I do saay.\n          Aand hire me now, pla-sure, haw dedn\u2019t budge\n          From Aanty\u2019s arm tell jest this side Long Brudge.\n          Aand then zes he to Aant, \u201cShall we go in\n          To Aafe-way house, and have a dram of gin\n          Aand trickle mixt. Depend ol do es good,\n          Taake up the sweat and set to rights the blud.\u201d\n          So Aant ded say, \u201cSuch things she dedn\u2019t chuse,\u201d\n          Aand squeeze my hand, aand loike a thing refuse.\n          So when we passed along by Wheal Bog moor,\n          Haw jumpt behind, and pok\u2019t us in the door.\n          Haw caal\u2019d for gin, aand brandy too, I think.\n          He clunk\u2019d the brandy, we the gin ded drink.\n          So when haw wish\u2019d good night as es the caase,\n          Haw kiss\u2019t Aant Blanch, and jist neen touch\u2019d my faace.\n          Now, Sandry Kemp, there\u2019s nothing shure in this,\n          To my moinde, then, that thee shust taake amiss.\n\nSandry.\u2014No fath, then Mal, ef this es all, aand true,\n          I had a done the same ef I was jue.\n\nMal.\u2014Next time in any house I see or hear am,\n          I\u2019ll down upon the plancheon, rat am, scat am,\n          Aand I will so poam am,\u2014\n\nSandry.\u2014Our Kappen\u2019s there, just by thickey bush.\n                    Hush! now Mally, hush!\n          Aand as hes here, so close upon the way\n          I wedent wish haw nawed what we ded zay,\n          Aand jett I dedent care, now fath and soul,\n          Ef so be our Kappen wor to hire the whole.\n          How arry Kappen? Where be going so fast?\n          Jure goin\u2019 hum, suppose, juse in sich haste.\n\nKappen.\u2014Who\u2019s that than? Sandry, arten thee ashamed\n          To coosy so again? Thee wust be blamed\n          Ef thees stay here all night to prate wi\u2019 Mal!\n          When tes thy cour, thee wusten come to Bal.\n          Aand thee art a Cobbe, I tell thee so.\n          I\u2019ll tell the owners ef thee dosent go.\n\nSandry.\u2014Why, harkee, Kappen, don\u2019t skoal poor I,\n          Touch pipe a crum, jue\u2019ll naw the reason why.\n          Coozen Mal aand I ben courtain bout afe a year.\n          Hould up tha head, Mal; don\u2019t be ashamed, dost hire?\n          Aand Crull one day made grief \u2019tween I and she;\n          But he shall smart for it now, I swear by G\u2014\u2014.\n          Haw told me lies, as round as any cup.\n          Now Mal and I have mit, we\u2019ve made it up;\n          So, Kappen, that\u2019s the way I stopt, I vow.\n\nKappen.\u2014Ahah! I dedent giss the caase jist now.\n          But what dost think of that last batch of ore?\n\nSandry.\u2014Why pewer and keenly gossen, Kappen sure;\n          I bleeve that day, ef Franky\u2019s pair wornt drunk,\n          We shud had pewer stuff too from the sump.\n          But there, tes all good time, as people saay,\n          The flooken now, aint throw\u2019d us far away;\n          So hope to have bra tummalls soon to grass.\n          How ded laast batch down to Jandower pass?\n\nKappen.\u2014Why, hang thy body, Sandry, speed, I saay,\n          Thees keep thy clacker going till tes day.\n          Go speak to Mally now, jue foolish toad,\n          I wish both well, I\u2019ll keep my road.\n\nSandry.\u2014Good nightie, Kappen, then I wishee well.\n          Where artee, Mally? Dusten haw hire me, Mal?\n          Dusent go away, why jue must think of this,\n          Before we part, shure we must have a kiss.\n\n                She wiped her muzzle from the mundic stuff,\n                And he rubb\u2019d his, a little stain\u2019d with snuff.\n\n          Now then, there, good night Mal, there\u2019s good night;\n          But, stop a crum.\n\nMally.\u2014Good night.\n\nKappen.\u2014Good night.\n\n\n\n    Kendle teenan, candle lighting.\n    Squarded hat, broken or cracked hat.\n    Lem ma knaw, let me know, tell me.\n    Wheal Bog, wheal, or, correctly spelt, huel, is old Cornish, and\n    signifies a mine or work.\n    Doat figs, broad figs.\n    A Cobbe, a simpleton, a bungler.\n    Bra tummalls, brave heaps, large piles of ore.\n\n\nThe guest, for whose entertainment the old men had furbished up their\nmemories, said, \u201cthat piece is a capital one, and it seems all the\nbetter from the way in which you have told it. Your dialect is pleasant\nto hear; it is softer and more musical than that of most other parts of\nEngland.\n\n\u201cMany Cornish drolls remind me of Irish stories, which show similar\ntraits of character. I have seen a piece by Tregellas, a St. Ann\u2019s man,\nI suppose, as he says much about people in that parish and its\nneighbourhood.\n\n\u201cThere is one story of his which shows how prone Cornish people are to\nstretch a point or two, as you call it. I mean that story of a boy\ntelling his mother there are scores and hundreds of cats caterwauling\nupon the roof; his mother reproves him for making such an unreasonable\nstretch, and sends him out to see how many are there; he returned, and,\ncondescending to tell the truth at last, says that he could \u2018only see\ngrammar\u2019s cat and ours.\u2019\n\n\u201cAn Irish story, called \u2018The Three Geese,\u2019 shows the habit of\naugmenting the number of things, and of obstinacy in sticking to the\nwords said.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell the Irish story, if you\u2019d like to hear it, as it\u2019s told by\nmy old friend Patrick Kennedy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe should all be delighted to hear et, I\u2019m sure,\u201d said the host.\n\n\u201cThen let us have a good large jug of toddy\u2014half-a-gallon or so\u2014that\nall the company may drink together of the same, and make the story seem\nless dry,\u201d said the Irish gentleman.\n\nA jorum of hot grog having been brought and served, all the company\nwished the guest health, happiness, and a long life; and \u201cmay your\nshadow never grow less,\u201d added our host.\n\nThen the following Irish story was told in native style.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE GEESE.\n\n\nOh, dear! O, dear! what headstrong crathers the womankind is! The more\nyou want them to do any thing that\u2019s right, the surer they are not to\ndo it, unless the advice is given to a young girl by a gay deludher of\na young man something above her station, or to a mistress of a family\nby some tay-dhrinking, gossiping, cabin-hunting, idle sthra that does\nnothing but go about pretending to knit a stocking, and she does knit\nit at the rate of four rounds in the day. It reminds me of the tailor\nand his wife that were not satisfied without bringing trouble into\ntheir cabin, when it pleased Providence not to be sending any. The poor\nman was sitting contentedly on his board stitching away (I\u2019m sure I\nwish I knew how a tailor manages to keep his thraneens of legs the way\nhe does for so long), and his wife that was cabin-hunting may be,\nbawled out, just as she was darkening the door, \u201cAh, you idle\nsthronshuch! there you are sitting at your aise, and a hundred geese\ntrampling down our little oats; get up, you lazy drone, and drive them\naway.\u201d \u201cMusha, I think,\u201d says he, \u201cyou\u2019re more at leisure yourself; but\nrather than have a scolding match, here we go.\u201d So getting up, he went\nout, and when he looked to the field, \u201cArrah, woman,\u201d says he, \u201cwhat\u2019s\non your eyes at all? I see but two geese.\u201d \u201cTwo geese, inagh! purshuin\u2019\nto the goose less than fifty there, any way.\u201d \u201cFifty? I wish I was as\nsure of fifty guineas as that there is only two in it.\u201d \u201cAh! goodness\nhelp poor creatures of women with their tyrants of husbands! I tell you\nup to your teeth, there is forty geese there destroying the oats, as\nsure as there is one.\u201d \u201cWell, well, two, or forty, or a hundred, I had\nbetter drive them off.\u201d\n\nWhen dinner came she poured out the potatoes, and laid his noggin of\nmilk and plate of butter out for him; but went and sat in the corner\nherself, and threw her apron over her head, and began to sob. \u201cArrah,\nJudy acushla,\u201d says he, \u201cwhat\u2019s this for? come over and take your\ndinner, and let us be thankful, instead of flying in God\u2019s face.\u201d\n\u201cN-n-n-no indeed, I w-w-w-will not. To say such a thing as that there\nwas only two ge-ge-ge-geese there when I reckoned a whole score!\u201d \u201cOh!\nto Halifax with them for geese: let them go and be shot, woman, and\ncome over to the table.\u201d \u201cIndeed and I will not till you own to the\ntruth.\u201d Well not a bit did she eat; and when night came, she make a\nshake down for herself, and would not gratify the poor tailor by\nsleeping in her own good high-standing bed. Next morning she did not\nrise; but when her husband spoke kindly, and brought some breakfast to\nthe bedside, she asked him to go for her mother and relations till\nshe\u2019d take leave of them before she\u2019d die, as there was no use living\nany more, when all love was gone from him. \u201cBut, Judy dear, why do you\ngo on in this way? what have I done?\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t you say there was only two\ngeese there, and at the very lowest there could not be less than a\ndozen. Can\u2019t you acknowledge the truth, you obstinate pig of a man, and\nlet us be at peace again?\u201d\n\nInstead of making any answer, he walked over to her mother\u2019s house, and\nbrought her over, with two or three of her family; and they laid siege\nto the wife, but they might as well be preachin\u2019 to a stone wall; and\nshe almost persuaded them that her husband was to blame. \u201cNow call\nhim,\u201d says she, \u201cand I\u2019ll insense you who is wrong. Darby, on the nick\nof your soul, and if you don\u2019t intend to send me to my grave, speak the\ntruth like a Christian, and don\u2019t be heapin\u2019 sins on your miserable\nhead. I\u2019ll leave you no back door, for I\u2019ll only insist on three geese,\nthough I\u2019m sure there was six at the very least; wasn\u2019t there three\ngeese in the field when I called you out!\u201d \u201cOch, Judy asthore? never\nmind: let there be three-and-thirty if you like, but don\u2019t let us be\nidlin\u2019 and tormentin\u2019 our people here. Get up in the name of goodness\nand eat a bit.\u201d \u201cBut wasn\u2019t there three geese there, I say, Darby?\u201d\n\u201cAh, dickens a one but two if you go to that.\u201d \u201cOh, Vuya, Vuya! isn\u2019t\nthis a purty story? Go home, go home, all of yez, and bid Tommy\nMulligan prepare my coffin, and bring it over about sun-down, and just\ngive me one night\u2019s dacent waking: [14] I won\u2019t ax the two, for I don\u2019t\nwish to give so much trouble to the neighbours, and indeed I think I\ncouldn\u2019t stand the ungratitude and conthr\u0101riness of them that ought to\nknow better, and feel for a body; and after all that I done and slaved\nfor him, and gave up Neddy Brophy for him, that was six inches taller,\nand a carpenter besides.\u201d\n\nWell, thinking it might give her a fright, they went and brought a\ncoffin that was ready made at the time, and some fresh shavings in the\nbottom; and the women of the town, that gathered as soon as the coffin\ncame, ordered out the men till they\u2019d wash the corpse.\n\nShe said nothing till the men were outside; but then she gave tongue,\nand asked how dare they think that she wanted washing! It might do well\nenough for a real dead body, but she was thankful it hadn\u2019t come to\nthat with her yet, and if she chose to die it was no concern of theirs;\nand if any one attempted to lay a drop of water on her skin, she\u2019d lay\nthe marks of her ten nails on their face. Well, she was got some way\ninto the coffin, and a clean cap and frill put round her face; and, as\nshe was not pale enough, a little girl shook some flour on her cheeks.\nBefore the men and boys were let in, she asked for a looking glass, and\nwhen she saw what a fright she looked with the flour, she got a towel\nand rubbed every bit of it off again.\n\nShe bid her husband be called in, and gave her sister and mother\ncharge, in his hearing, to be kind and attentive to the poor angashore\nafter she was gone: at any rate till he\u2019d get a new wife, which she\nsupposed would not be very far off; for though he was unkind and\nconthr\u0101ry, thank goodness she knew her duty, and she supposed he could\nnot help his nature, and it was better as it was, before they\u2019d grow\nold, and she might get peevish and lose her temper, and they might\nbecome a gazabo to the neighbours by fightin\u2019 and scoldin\u2019. \u201cI\u2019ll\nengage now, after all is said and done, he won\u2019t give way an inch, nor\nacknowledge the three geese.\u201d Well, the moment the geese were\nmentioned, he put on his hat without a word, and walked out.\n\nSo evenin\u2019 came, and the candles were lighted, and the tobacco and\npipes were all laid out, and the poor dead woman had to listen to a\ngood deal of discourse not at all to her liking; and the talk went on\nin this way. \u201cMusha, neighbour, doesn\u2019t the corpse look mighty well?\nWhen did she die, poor woman? What ailed her, did you hear?\u201d \u201cIndeed I\nbelieve it was Gusopathy, as Tom K. the schoolmaster called it just\nnow; something with \u2018goose\u2019 in it any way: you know the way the skin\ndoes be in a sudden cold, with little white risings on it, they call it\na goose\u2019s skin. May be she had it very bad, and her husband could not\nbear it, and so she died of grief.\u201d \u201cPoor man, he\u2019ll feel her loss for\na week or two, she was a careful woman.\u201d \u201cAh, but hadn\u2019t she a bitter\ntongue of her own?\u201d \u201cTroth I think Darby will bear her loss with\nChristian patience. He is a young man for his years; he doesn\u2019t look\nforty, he\u2019ll be getting his choice of wives. I think poor Judy was\ncareful and laid by a few guineas; won\u2019t the new wife feel comfortable,\nand may be soon put wind under the money!\u201d \u201cTo my notion, Judy was in\ntoo great a hurry to die. From her looks there, she might bury two\ntailors yet, and may be get a big bodagh of a farmer for her third\nhusband. Well, it can\u2019t be helped, but I would not like to be warming a\nbed for the best woman in the townland if I was Judy. She is at peace\nat last, poor woman; and mighty hard she found it to keep the peace\nwith her neighbours while she was alive. Who is that you said used to\nbe walking with Darby of odd Sunday evenings before his marriage? If\nghosts are allowed to take the air on Sunday evenings, poor Judy\u2019s will\nhave something to fret her in a few weeks.\u201d\n\nWell, all this time, the poor dead woman\u2019s blood was rushing like mad\nthrough her veins; and something was swelling in her throat as if she\nwas going to be choked, but still the divel was so strong in her that\nshe never opened her eyes nor her mouth. The poor broken-hearted\nhusband came up after some time, and leaning over her face he\nwhispered, \u201cJudy, acushla, isn\u2019t it time to be done with this foolery?\nSay but one reasonable word, and I\u2019ll send all these people about their\nbusiness.\u201d \u201cAh, you little-good-for crather, you havn\u2019t the spirit of a\nman, or you would never bear all they have been saying of your poor\nneglected wife these two hours past. Are the three geese there?\u201d \u201cNot a\ngoose but two if you were to be waked for a twelvemonth;\u201d and off he\nwent and sat in a dark part of the room till daylight.\n\nHe made another offer next morning, just as the led was puttin\u2019 on the\ncoffin, and the men were goin\u2019 to hoise it on their shoulders; but not\na foot she\u2019d move unless he\u2019d give in to the three geese.\n\nSo they came to the churchyard, and the coffin was let down in the\ngrave, and just as they were preparing to fill all up, poor Darby went\ndown, and stooping to where he had left some auger holes in the lid, he\nbegged of her even after the holy show she made of himself and herself,\nto give up the point, and come home. \u201cIs the three geese there?\u201d was\nall he could get out of her, and this time his patience got so\nthread-bare, and he was so bothered by want of sleep, and torment of\nmind, that he got beside himself, and jumped up, and began to shovel\nthe clay like mad, down on the coffin.\n\nThe first rattle it made, however, had like to frighten the life out of\nthe buried woman, and she shouted out, \u201cOh, let me up! I\u2019m not dead at\nall: let there be only two geese, Darby asthore, if you like.\u201d \u201cOh, be\nthis and be that,\u201d said Darby, \u201cit is too late: people have come far\nand near to the funeral, and we can\u2019t let them lose their day for\nnothing: so for the credit of the family, don\u2019t stir,\u201d and down went\nthe clay in showers, for the tailor had lost his senses. Of course the\nby-standers would not let the poor woman be buried against her own\nwill; so they seized on Darby and his shovel, and when his short\nmadness was checked, he fell in a slump on the sod. When poor Judy was\nbrought to life, the first sight she beheld was her husband lyin\u2019\nwithout a kick in him, and a wag of a neighbour proposed to her to let\nDarby be put down in her place, and not give so many people a\ndisappointment after coming far and near. The dead woman, by way of\nthanks, gave him a slap across the face that he felt for two days; and\nnot minding the figure she cut in her grave-clothes, fell on poor\nDarby, and roared and bawled for him to come to life, and she\u2019d never\nsay a conthr\u0101ry word to him again while she lived. So, some way or\nother they brought the tailor round; but how her and him could bear to\nlook each other in the face for a while, I don\u2019t know. May be as there\nwas a good deal of love under all the crossness, they found a way to\nget into their old habits again, and whenever she felt a tart answer\ncoming to her tongue, she thought of the rattling of the clay on the\ncoffin, and of the three geese that were only two after all; and if\nthey didn\u2019t live happy\u2014\u2014but that\u2019s the end they put to lying fairy\nstories, and as this one is so true and moral, it can afford to do\nwithout a tail.\n\n\n\nWhen the applause and remarks occasioned by this story had somewhat\nsubsided, our hostess spoke a few words in her husband\u2019s ear; she might\nhave meant to whisper, but the guest asked what she said about trouble.\n\u201cThat she and the rest,\u201d replied our host, \u201cwed beg and pray for \u2019e to\ntell them another story, but they were afraid to trouble \u2019e.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will give me much pleasure,\u201d said the Irish gentleman, \u201cto tell\nanother, of quite a different sort,\u201d and he presently told the\nfollowing story of a brave Irish boy\u2019s luck.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE EARL OF STAIRS\u2019 SON.\n\n\nThe father was called the Earl of Stairs, because his little house was\njust on the side of Black Stairs, looking towards Puck\u2019s Bridge. One\neave rested on the side of the rock, and the walls were good strong\nstone walls (there is no scarcity of stones in them parts), and the\nroof was as snug as scraws and heath could make it. The Earl enclosed\nas much land off the common as he could till; so there was no scarcity\nof oaten bread, or potatoes, or eggs, or goats\u2019 milk; and small thanks\nto him for keeping up a good fire, for the turf bog was within a hen\u2019s\nrace of his castle. Both he and his wife were of old respectable\nfamilies; and so, as they had the good drop of blood, and some larning,\nand were mighty genteel in their manners, they were called Lady Stairs\nand the Earl of Stairs. One day, an ignorant omadhaun of a mountaineer\ncame in on some business, and he sat down, and kept looking at a bunch\nof keys that was hanging from a table-drawer, and says he, after a long\npause, \u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d says he, \u201cdo you sell kays here?\u201d\n\nWell, when the little boy was about fifteen years old, and knew more\nnor any school-master within ten miles of him, he was so eager after\nthe learning, that he set out over the mountain, and through Carlow,\nand Kilkenny, and whatever lies at the back of them, till he came to\nMunster. He got into a capital school there, and learned all them\nbranches I mentioned while ago, ay, and grammar along with them; I\nforgot the grammar. A Mr. Blundell teached in that school about twenty\nyears ago, but I don\u2019t know the name of the young Earl\u2019s master who\nlived long before that time. He paid nothing for his knowledge, but\nhelped the master now and then; and the farmers\u2019 children going to the\nschool were glad to take him home at night, as he was so ready to share\nhis knowledge with them. No wonder he should find it so easy to pick up\nlearning in Munster, where they say the little boys minding the cows\nconverses with one another in Latin.\n\nAt last and at long, he returned home, a fine genteel young man; and\ndid not his poor mother cry with joy, when she heard him talking to the\npriest the next Sunday, after Mass, and conversing with him in Latin,\nand French, and Portugee.\n\nWell, there was nothing to hinder him now from being a priest himself,\nif he chose, as the old people had some guineas laid up in the thatch\nin an old stocking; but though he was pious enough in his own way, he\nsaid he had no vocation; and that any one becoming a priest without a\nvocation, would be only endangering his own soul and the souls of his\nflock. Every week he used to get an invitation to some great farmers\u2019\nhouse for tay and hot cake, and wherever the priest had a station, he\nwas sure to be there. The girls had an eye on him, but though he was\npolite enough, he paid no particular attention to any one; and then\nthey began to find out that his parents were below their own rank in\nlife, and that his geese were all swans in his own eyes, and that the\nconcait of some people was astonishing. He used to ramble about the\nrocks with a book in his hands; and though he was ready enough to help\nthe Earl at his work, the deuce a hand would the old fool let him lay\nto a single thing.\n\nAt last as they were sitting round the fire on a winter\u2019s night, the\nyoung fellow up and told the old couple, that he was tired of doing\nnothing and having nothing to do, and that he would set out on his\ntravels, and that he hoped he would have something pleasant to write\nhome about before long.\n\nThe poor old people were sad enough at this; but after doing all they\ncould to persuade him to stay at home, and marry, and take a farm, or\nopen a shop in Newtownbarry (it was only Bunclody then), or\nEnniscorthy, or New Ross, he still held out, and one fine day he set\nforward to Dublin, and took ship there, and tale or tidings were not\nheard from him for two years, except one letter that he sent them from\nParis about five months after he set sail; and in this letter he said\nhe was well off teaching English to a merchant\u2019s children.\n\nA last one fine summer afternoon, a fine looking gentleman with a\nforeign appearance, and speaking English in a queer style, and\ntravelling in a post-chaise, stopped at the inn at the cross of\nRathduff, and put up there till next day; but said he wanted a guide to\nshow him the way to the Earl of Stairs\u2019 castle. The people knew the\nnickname well enough, and after he got some refreshment, a boy was sent\nto show him the way. When they came nigh the cabin which was on the\nopen common, and near the ending of a lane that came up straight\nthrough the enclosed fields, they heard a great grunting and squeeling,\nand there they saw two stout two-year old pigs with their noses to the\nhalf-door, shrovellin\u2019 at it with all their might, and only for the\nrings in their snouts they\u2019d have it down in less than no time; and the\nsqueelin\u2019 they kept up all the time was enough to vex a saint. A\npuckawn [15] and eleven meenshogues [16] were surnadin\u2019 along the ridge\nof the roof, and cantherin\u2019 round the bawn, and givin\u2019 a puck now and\nthen to the musicianers at the door to quicken the tune a bit. Well,\nthe gorsoon got through the goats and gave a welt or two to the pigs,\nand got them out of the way, and then he bawled out, \u201cEarl of Stairs,\nare you within if you please, sir? Here\u2019s a gentleman from foreign\nparts come to see you.\u201d So with that the Earl came and opened the\nhalf-door, and requested the gentleman to walk in. There was as fine a\ndish of white eyes on their little table as you could wish to see, and\na couple of noggins of boiled goats\u2019 milk by the side of it, and a\nplate of butter, and the moment the gentleman entered, they pressed him\nto sit down and join them; and Lady Stairs filled out a mug of milk,\nand laid a knife and a pat of butter for the stranger.\n\nHe thought to explain his business at once, but they would not hear a\nword till he would first eat and drink. So he hung his hat on a peg,\nand taking the knife in his hand, he cut one of the potatoes in two,\nand watched to see how the master and mistress managed theirs. And he\nwas so polite that he laid down his knife, and began to peel off the\npotato skins with his fingers. Well, he did not relish that way of\ngoing to work much, so he took up the knife again and dispatched a\ncouple of potatoes, and took a pull at the milk which I\u2019m sure was good\nenough for a queen. Well, the table was small, and the mistress\nthinking that the potatoes were not much to their visitor\u2019s taste, took\ndown a wooden bowl, filled with good home-made cakes; and laying it on\nher lap, as the little table was crowded, she buttered a good slice,\nand asked him to try it if he pleased. He done his best to seem to\nrelish every thing, and the Earl holding a lighted dipped rush in one\nhand, pressed him to make a hearty supper.\n\nWhen the cloth was off the table, the Earl wiped his hands on a wisp of\nstraw in the corner: you will know by and by, why I mention this straw,\nand the other things. When he was done with it he threw it into the\nblaze, and it was burnt. Now, don\u2019t forget the dish held on the lady\u2019s\nlap, nor the rush in the Earl\u2019s hand, nor the straw.\n\nAt last says the Frenchman in broken English, as soon as they would let\nhim speak, \u201cMadame, the mistress of the house, havn\u2019t you a son that\nleft you about two years ago?\u201d The poor woman got into such a tremble,\nthat some of the cakes fell out of the bowl, and the father opened his\neyes and his mouth, but couldn\u2019t say a word. \u201cOh sir, dear,\u201d says the\nmother, \u201chave you seen our poor boy!\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d says he, \u201cI have seen him,\nand he is alive and well, and well to do, and likely to be better.\u201d\n\u201cAnd when is he coming home, and why didn\u2019t he write, and how does he\nlook, and why didn\u2019t he come with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs I can\u2019t speak the English very easily, you may better let me tell\nmy story in my own way,\u201d says the Frenchman, for a Frenchman he was: \u201cI\nam the head man of business to a merchant in Paris; and about a year\nand half ago, a young genteel looking Irishman was engaged by my\nemployer to teach his children English. There was something so mild and\nengaging about the young fellow, that the children and the elder people\ngot very much attached to him, and the young lady their eldest daughter\nbegan to like him better than the others. Your son, for so he was,\nnever took any airs on himself, and the young lady seeing that he paid\nno particular attention to her, began to mope and be dismal, and at\nlast took to her bed, and was sick in earnest. The mother, by some\nmeans, found out what ailed her, and let her husband know; but he was\nvery angry, and indeed herself was not much better, but still the girl\nwas ailing without making any complaint. The young teacher made a great\nmany mistakes in the lessons from the first day he missed the young\nlady from her place; and some of the servants remarked him several\nnights in the street at late hours, and looking up at the light of one\nof the windows. At last, fearing that they would lose their daughter\naltogether, the mother began to question the young Irishman about his\nfamily at home. He made no boast, except that he was descended from\ngood old Irish families on both sides; and that the lands belonging to\nhis forefathers were taken from them, because they would not renounce\ntheir religion nor their king; and he mentioned that his own father and\nmother were still called in jest, Earl and Lady Stairs.\n\n\u201cWell they had no great occasion to ask him what he thought of their\ndaughter, for one of her young brothers happening to call one day at\nhis lodging, and stepping in on tiptoe, and peeping over his shoulder,\nhe found him sobbing and kissing a little picture which he had made of\nhis sister, unknown to any body.\n\n\u201cSo the old gentleman at last gave his consent, on condition that a\nperson he\u2019d send over to Ireland, to his father\u2019s place, would be able\nto give a satisfactory account of the state of things here. I think he\nexpected that by getting time, and leaving the lady to herself, she\nmight change her mind; especially as there is no end to the balls and\nentertainments going on, and as all the young gentlemen of their\nacquaintance are invited to the house, night after night. Miss Mary is\na very lively, rattling young damsel, with dark sparkling eyes; and we\nall wondered how she was so taken with your son, who is very quiet in\nhis manner, and used to say so little. My master hopes from the\nbriskness of her character, that she will get tired of his quietness;\nbut I am sure he will be mistaken; and now a good deal depends on the\nnews I am to send home in a day or two.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh dear,\u201d says the poor mother, \u201cwhat will you be able to say about\nsuch humble people as we, to make your employer think well of the\nmatch?\u201d\n\n\u201cAt all events,\u201d says the stranger, \u201cI can say of you, that before you\nknew anything of my business, you shared the best you had with me, and\nwhat more could you do if you were a real lady? Now if you have any way\nfor me to sleep, I\u2019ll let my guide go back and bring up my\ndressing-case from the inn; and we will take to-morrow to go to the top\nof this mountain here, and walk about, and settle how every thing is to\nbe; and next day I\u2019ll write home.\u201d\n\nWell, then, he pulled out a letter from their son; and, between\nlaughing and crying, they read, how at first he wrote after getting\ninto business, and then when the trouble came, he did not wish to send\nany letter till he would have something pleasant to say. He put in\neverything to make them cheerful; and now and then something about the\nyoung lady would slip out, and her mother\u2019s kindness, and the love he\nhad for the little brothers, and what a charitable good young lady she\nwas, etc. So when the evening got late, Mounseer was put to rest in a\nsnug little room where their son had his bed long ago, and well he\nmight sleep too, for there was a feather pallet, with a nice dry mat\nunder it; and the fresh air of the mountain got in through chinks and\ncrannies, and did not let the place feel too close; and the sheets were\nclean and well aired, and the quilt had all the beautifulest flowers in\nthe world cut out on it in the neatest patterns.\n\nLady Stairs going in and out took notice that he spent a good deal of\ntime about his razhurs and other dressing implements; but if he passed\nany time on his kness, it was a mighty short one entirety. Next morning\nthey contrived to give the Frenchman a decent breakfast of tay, and\nwhite bread, and butter, though them things didn\u2019t often get so high up\nin the mountains; and they say that the French don\u2019t use tay at\nbreakfast; and after that he walked in his thin boots along with the\nEarl, to the very top of Blackstairs. I\u2019m sure they had a delightful\nview from it, over the castles and demesnes of Mr. Colclough, Mr.\nBlacker, Mr. Carew, and all their plantations, and the woods of\nKilaughrim, and Tombrick, and the Slaney flowing along, and the towns\nof Enniscorthy and New Ross looking so small, and all the snug farmers\u2019\nhouses down in the county Carlow, with the green paddocks around them,\nand the bogs here and there, and the dry stone fences to the fields,\nand the town of Carlow, and the fine broad Barrow flowing off towards\nGraigue and New Ross. If they turned around to the sunrise, they could\nenjoy the view of Mount Leinster, and the Wicklow hills, and Ferns, and\nCorrig Rua, and the far-off sea beyond all.\n\nWell, that evening he pulled out his letter paper, and his pen, and\nink-horn; and began a letter to the merchant in Paris, and this is the\nway a part of it was wrote.\n\n\n    \u201cMost respected sir,\n\n    \u201cI write these few lines to you, hoping they shall find you in\n    health as it leaves me at present, thanks, etc., etc., and the\n    mistress, and Miss Mary, and the young Irish gentleman, and the\n    other children. This country is very different from France; land is\n    so cheap and plenty that they cut away a great deal of every field\n    to make a big dyke, and they build up a great big ditch with the\n    clay and stones they take out. The people are cheerful, and\n    hospitable, and obliging; but they are too fond of staying in their\n    chapels, and saying long prayers. Our young gentleman was rather\n    modest in speaking of his father\u2019s rank and possessions. I can\n    hardly make a guess at the extent of the demesne that spreads round\n    his mansion for miles and miles, without hedge or ditch, and the\n    sheep and cattle that graze on it are beyond counting. When I drew\n    nigh to the castle, up an avenue half a mile long, it was in the\n    evening, and the Earl and his Lady were at their supper. There were\n    two musicianers stationed before the hall-door, and they played\n    during the whole time, such music as you never heard in your life\n    at any entertainment, no nor the King of France himself. Twelve\n    halberd-men were drawn up in front by way of royal guard; so\n    venerable as they looked, and such beards as they had! and while\n    they were on duty they would not return a salute, nor answer a\n    question to the King nor the Lord Lieutenant himself. Though the\n    Earl and his Lady were at their supper in state, they showed me the\n    greatest respect, when they heard from where I came. Will I ever\n    forget the splendour of that supper! The side table could not be\n    valued by the owner at less than fifty thousand pounds; and I am\n    sure that the Earl would not part with the chief candlestick that\n    gave light to the feast for ten thousand any way.\n\n    \u201cAfter supper, the nobleman dried his hands on a towel with gold\n    fringes, at least they looked very like gold; and so little regard\n    had he for it that when he was done he thrune it into the fire.\n    Moreover, he need not go out of his own demesne for firing for a\n    hundred years to come; and by the end of that time, I\u2019m sure you\n    would hardly miss the trees that would be cut down. Such is the\n    wonderful splendour of every thing here that I can hardly believe\n    my own account of it; and I\u2019m sure the young Earl when he came to\n    Paris, and ever since, pretended to be poor, that he might find\n    some good young lady who would marry him for his own sake, and not\n    for his rank nor his riches.\n\n    \u201cI will take a look at Dublin, and the Wicklow and the Welsh\n    mountains on my return; and I hope to see my young mistress with\n    the ring on her hand when I get home.\n\n    \u201cI am, etc., etc.\u201d\n\n\nWell, the clever Frenchman was asked to the priest\u2019s house to take tea\nthat evening, and two or three of the gentlemen-farmers met him there.\nHe was very glad to get in company with the priest, as he spoke French\nwell, having studied at a place abroad called Louvain, and he told him\nthe sort of letter he was sending home. The clergyman wondered at it,\nyou may be sure, but he said that the young lady would be thankful for\nthe invention; and that her mother was won over already; and that the\nfather only wished to make the thing look well in the eyes of their\nacquaintance; and so the letter would satisfy everybody; and from all\nhe could hear of the young man from his old neighbours, his young\nmistress would never meet a better husband; for he had good manners and\na good appearance, and was a good scholar, and what few young Paris\ngentlemen were, he was a good Christian into the bargain.\n\nWell to make my long story short, the Earl of Stairs soon made an\naddition of two rooms to his castle, a parlour and a bed-room, and the\nnext year, there was joy and merriment in his house, for his son and\nhis beautiful black-eyed bride came home; and they brought only a boy\nand a girl to wait on them; and the servants were harder to please than\ntheir master and mistress; and the merry young lady ran about among the\nheath and rocks, and her serious young husband and she were as fond as\nfond could be of one another; and she laughed till the tears ran down\nher cheeks at the notion of the halberd-men, and the musicianers, and\nthe demesne, and the side table, and the candlestick, and the towel\nwith the gold fringes; and she was as serious and devout at the little\nchapel as the poorest person there. They came to spend a part of every\nsummer at Blackstairs during the life of the old people; and if they\ndidn\u2019t live happy, THAT WE MAY!\u201d\n\n\n\n\u201cThese stories,\u201d continued the guest, \u201care pretty fair examples of such\nas are still related at Irish hearths.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe once had stories told here,\u201d said the host, \u201cwhich were full of\naction and adventures, but they are forgotten now. Instead of such old\ntales, we have now mere quibbles on words, or modern anecdotes, with\nbut little in them worth remembering. As Henny Quick said, years ago,\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cOur Cornish drolls are dead, each one.\n    The fairies from their haunts have gone;\n    There\u2019s scarce a witch in all the land,\n    The world has grown so learn\u2019d and grand.\u201d\n\n\n\u201cHenny wrote many short pieces,\u201d continued our host, \u201chad them printed,\nand he sold them, with his mother\u2019s help; yet what Henny called his\ncopies of verses were on very doleful subjects when there was any new\nmatter in them.\n\n\u201cThere was also a rhymster in Sancras, called Billy Foss, who would\ntalk for ever so long in doggerel verse, but the greater part of it was\nvery abusive; this es what he said of Boslow:\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cAs I traversed Boslow\n    I saw an old cow,\n    A hog, and a flock of starved sheep;\n    Likewise an old mare,\n    Whose bones were so bare\n    They made her old master to weep:\n\n    A few acres of ground\n    As bare as a pound,\n    An old house just ready to fall;\n    Beside, there was no meat\n    For the people to eat,\n    And that was the worst thing of all:\n\n    No grass for the flocks,\n    But a carn of dry rocks,\n    Which afforded a horrible sight;\n    If you chance go that way,\n    You must do so by day,\n    For you\u2019d smash out your brains in the night.\n\n    No crock, pan, nor kettle;\n    No goods, much nor little,\n    Was there to be found in the house;\n    No tables nor chairs,\n    No bedding upstairs\u2014\n    Not so much as to cover a mouse.\u201d\n\n\n\u201cThere are rhymes enough in that,\u201d said the guest, \u201cand whether there\u2019s\nany reason you may best know.\u201d\n\nAbout this time the Cap\u2019n of the tin-stamps and other old men rose and\ncame to wish us good night, saying, \u201cwe must love \u2019e and leave \u2019e my\ndears, for we haave to get to work early; the time es gone quickly, es\npast our landlord\u2019s hour for closean; ef you are goan away to-morrow we\nwish \u2019e well, and hope you may come to \u2018Sennor\u2019 agen soon.\u201d\n\nWe were glad to get sleep too, having had a long ramble in the morning,\nand expecting a tiresome walk back to Penzance before the next night.\n\nIn Zennor church we noticed, on a bench-end, the curious carving of a\nmermaid, which has probably given rise to a legend [17] well known in\nthe neighbourhood.\n\nThe following epitaph on a mural tablet, in the same church, is also\nsomewhat remarkable:\u2014\n\n\n                      Here rest the Mortal part of\n                     John Quick, of Wicka, Yeoman.\n            He was hospitable, sociable, peaceable, humble,\n                     honest, and devout in manner.\n                        HE EXCELLED HIS EQUALS.\n                     In piety he was their example.\n                      He met death with composure.\n                       Sept. 12th, 1784, aged 74.\n\n                  \u201cThe Memory of the Just is Blessed.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFROM PENZANCE TO CARN GALVA: NOTEWORTHY OBJECTS BY THE WAY.\n\n\nThe past is slipping from our hold, as shadowy as dreams,\nThe dim, mysterious, lifeless past,\u2014how faint, unreal it seems.\nBut here and there we come across some waif upon the shore,\nThrown landward by the waves of time, for man to ponder o\u2019er.\u2014J. B.\n\n\n\nHaving the day before us, we take our course to Madron, and only pause\nwhen near the village to turn round and admire the splendid landscape.\n\n\n\n\nMADRON.\n\nMadron Church is interesting to the arch\u00e6ologist: the east end is said\nto be that of the original early English Church of about 1260. Among\nthe objects worthy of notice in the interior, are the font, sedile, and\npiscina, and also several mural monuments.\n\nOn one old tomb may be seen the following matter-of-fact inscription:\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cBelgium me birth, Braitaine me breeding gave,\n    Cornwalle a wife, ten children, and a grave.\u201d\n\n\nObserve also the inscription on the brass of John Clies, in which the\nplace now called Penzance is spelt Penzour; and the north-west end\nwindow, recently presented to this Church by the Rev. M. N. Peters, the\nVicar. There are many quaint inscriptions on the old tombs, besides\nthat to George Daniel.\n\nAt Landithy farm house, near at hand, note the ancient doorway, which\nformed a portal to the preceptory of the Knights\u2019 Templars; a\nconsiderable portion of the college of these warrior monks, with some\nof the rooms adorned with curious portraits, supposed to be those of\nthe early kings and queens of England, was standing until a few years\nago, when the interesting old building was taken down and a farm-house\nerected on its site.\n\nFrom the old portal of Landithy college, we pass up the road north of\nthe Church; at the corner of the Union garden, take the path across the\nfields; at the bottom of the lane leading out of the third field, turn\ndown through the moors on the right, and a path over soft grass and\ncamomile brings us to a stile, which takes us into the moor where are\nSt. Madron\u2019s Well and Chapel.\n\n\n\n\nMADRON WELL.\n\nTo find the Holy Well, on entering the lower enclosure, pass down\nacross the moor at a right angle to the hedge, and a minute\u2019s walk will\nbring us to the noted spring, which is not seen until very near, as it\nhas no wall above the surface, nor any mark by which it can be\ndistinguished at a distance. Much has been written of the remarkable\ncures effected by these holy waters, and the intercession of good St.\nMadron. This was when Madron Well was so famous that the maimed, halt,\nand lame made pilgrimages from distant parts of the country to the\nheathy moor.\n\nThe water is still resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May by\nsome few women of the neighbourhood, who bring children to be cured of\nskin diseases by being bathed in the Well water. And its old repute as\na divining fount has not yet quite died out, though young folks come\nhere now to drop pins or pebbles into the spring, more for fun and the\npleasure of each other\u2019s company, than through any belief that the\nfalling together, or separation of pins or pebbles, will tell how the\ncourse of love will run between the parties indicated by the objects\ndropped into the spring; or that the number of bubbles which rise in\nthe water, on stamping near the well, mark the number of years, in\nanswer to any question of time; but there was not such want of faith in\nthe virtues of this water half a century ago.\n\nA few weeks before the Excursion, we took a ramble through Boswarva,\nBosullow, and some other ancient hamlets on the higher side of Madron,\nto see if we could glean anything from the old inhabitants about the\nrites formerly practised at the Crick-stone, Madron Well, and\nelsewhere.\n\nAn elderly dame, who had lived the best part of her time near Lanyon,\ngave us the following account of the doings at the Well about fifty\nyears ago. \u201cAt that time, when she lived in Lenine, scores of women\nfrom Morvah, Zennor, Towednack, and other places, brought their\nchildren to Madron Well to be cured of the shingles, wildfires,\ntetters, and various skin diseases, as well as to fortify them against\nwitchcraft and other mysterious ailments.\n\n\u201cAn old dame, called An (aunt) Katty, who then mostly lived about in\nthe Bosullows, or some place near, and who did little but\nknitting-work, picked up a good living in the spring of the year, by\nattending at the Well, to direct the high country folks how they were\nto proceed in using the waters.\n\n\u201cFirst she had the child stripped as naked as it was born; then the\ncreature was plunged or popped three times through the water against\nthe sun; next, the child was passed quickly nine times round the\nspring, going from east to west, or with the sun; then the babe was\ndressed, rolled up in something warm, and laid to sleep near the water;\nif the child slept and plenty of bubbles rose in the water, it was a\ngood sign.\u201d\n\nWe enquired if a prayer, charm, or anything was spoken during the\noperations? \u201cWhy, no, to be sure,\u201d the dame replied, \u201cthere mustn\u2019t be\na word spoken all the time they are near the water, or it will spoil\nthe spell; and a piece rented off from some part of the clothes worn by\nthe child or any other person using the Well, must be left near the\nwater for good luck, ever so small a bit will do; this is mostly placed\nout of sight, alongside of the stream, which runs from the Well.\n\n\u201cWhilst one party went through the rites at the spring, all the others\nremained over the stile, in the higher enclosure, or by the hedge, till\nthey came up from the water, because if a word were spoken by anyone\nnear the well, during the dipping, they had to come again. The old\nwoman, An Katty, was never paid in money, but balls of yarn, or\nanything else she wanted, were dropped on the road, outside the\nWell-moors, for her. This old dame also got good pickings by\ninstructing the young girls how to try for sweethearts at the Well.\n\n\u201cScores of maidens\u201d (the dame\u2019s words) \u201cused, in the summer evenings,\nto come down to the Well, from ever so far, to drop into it pins,\ngravel, or any small thing that would sink. The names of the persons\nwere not spoken when the objects, which represented them, were dropped\ninto the water; they were only thought of, and as they remained\ntogether or separated, such would be the fate of the couple. It was\nonly when the spring was working (rising strongly) that it was of any\nuse to try the spells; it was always unlucky to speak when near the\nWell at such times.\u201d\n\nSuch is the substance of what the dame told us. She never heard that\nany saint had anything to do with the water, except from somebody who\ntold her there was something in a book about it; nor had she or anybody\nelse heard the water called St. Madron\u2019s Well, except by the new\ngentry, who go about giving new names to the places, and think they\nknow more about them than the people who have lived here ever since the\nworld was created.\n\nWe enquired if the people ever went to the old chapel to perform any\nceremony? Not that she ever heard of; Morvah folks, and others of the\nNorthern parishes who mostly resort to the spring pay no regard to any\nsaint or to any body else, except some old woman who may come down with\nthem to show how everything used to be done. We were also informed that\nthere is a spring in some moor in Zennor, not far from Bosporthenes,\nwhich is said to be as good as Madron Well, and that children are often\ntaken thither and treated in the same way.\n\nThe silent proceedings were altogether new to us, because we had often\ngone to other Wishing Wells with parties of young folks who always kept\nnoise and fun enough; yet the old dame regarded the proceedings as a\nvery solemn matter.\n\nIn answer to the questions of \u201cWhat was the reason for going round the\nWell nine times? leaving the bits of rags? following the sun?\u201d &c.; it\nwas always the same reply, \u201cSuch were the old customs, and everybody\nknew it was unlucky to go, or to do anything, against the course of the\nsun; no woman, who knew anything, would place pans of milk in the\ndairy, so as to have to unream them against the sun.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nMADRON CHAPEL.\n\nBy following down the brooklet from the Well, in a minute\u2019s space we\ncame to the Chapel. In the southern wall may be noticed an opening for\nletting the water from the Well-brook flow into a baptistry in the\nSouth-western corner of the Chapel. Entering by a door-way, on the\nnorthern side of the Chapel, we see that this simple font appears to\nhave been arched over, after the manner of the bee-hive huts, by one\nrow of stones projecting over the other. The table-slab of the altar\n(which still remains at the east end) has a square pit, worked in the\ncentre to mark the place on which an image, or the monstrance, was\nprobably placed. There is a step to mark the division between the\nlittle nave and the sacrarium, and remains of the stone seats which\nwere carried all round against the walls. A rare and beautiful little\nplant, the Cornish Money-wort, may be found among stones beside the\nWell-brook.\n\n\n\n\nLANYON QUOIT.\n\nWe return to the highway, and continuing on the Morvah road, pass a\nbroken cross, which once served to direct the pilgrim to the Holy Well\nand shrine, or to the Templar\u2019s roof. A little farther on, a church-way\npath through fields makes a short cut across the hill; from the road at\nthe foot of this hill, on the Lanyon side, one gets the most striking,\nthough not the first view of the Quoit. From this low ground, the mass\nof rock (more than eighteen feet long and nine abroad) is seen looming\nagainst the sky like a gigantic tripod. When near it, we find that its\nheight from the ground is only from five to six feet; yet Dr. Borlase\nsays, that in his time it was high enough for a man to sit under it on\nhorseback.\n\nIn 1816, the cap-stone of the cromlech was thrown down by a violent\nstorm, and a large piece of one supporting stone broken off. In 1824,\nafter the Logan Rock was replaced, the powerful machinery brought into\nthe country for that purpose, was used for raising the Quoit; and,\npreparatory to replacing it, the other two uprights were sunk several\nfeet. One may speculate on the means first employed to raise the\nponderous mass, which has been beaten by the storms of more than twice\nten hundred years. Few can view \u201cthis lonely monument of times that\nwere\u201d without joining in the prayer of the following beautiful lines:\u2014\n\n\n    * * * \u201cLet no rude hand remove,\n    Or spoil thee; for the spot is consecrate\n    To thee, and thou to it; and as the heart\n    Aching with thoughts of human littleness\n    Asks, without hope of knowing, whose the strength\n    That poised thee here.\u201d\n\n\nIt does not seem likely to be soon decided whether these weird-looking\nmonuments on our silent hills were giants\u2019 altars, kist veans, or the\ntombs of giants who have left the marks of their footsteps on all our\ngranite cairns and hills. Our mythic giants may not be altogether\nfabulous, and it seems beyond dispute that gigantic remains have been\nfound under cromlechs when first denuded of the barrows with which\nmany, perhaps all, were formerly covered.\n\nAnother idea, in connection with them, may be suggested by what we have\nfarther to state. A Cornish gentleman, [18] who resided many years in\nvarious parts of India, and to whom we are grateful for much exact and\ncurious information on various antiquarian subjects, informs us that he\nhas, in many remote parts of India (where the most ancient and simple\nforms of Hindooism prevail), seen huge monuments of unhewn stone so\nlike some of our cromlechs in their construction, that they always\nreminded him of our giants\u2019 quoits, and his distant home on the Cornish\nhills. He says that in the granite districts, they were precisely\nsimilar in plan to our cromlechs; and in the slate districts the slabs\nwere thinner and the construction more regular.\n\nIn all, an opening was left on one side. Between the supporting stones\nand within the recesses of these rude structures sacred lamps were\nalways kept burning. The priesthood, who attended these sacred fires,\nwere so much opposed to Christians coming near their sacred places,\nthat the gentleman referred to had no means of ascertaining whether\nthese Hindoo cromlechs were regarded as altars, tombs, or shrines. They\nmight have been all three combined, as it has been usual, in all times,\nfor the sacredotal hierarchy of all gloomy creeds to make the most of\nthe bones of the dead to impress the minds of the living with awe for\nthe unearthly mystery with which they ever aim to invest priestly\nfunctions. At last, by the gloomy creeds and rites of these mysterious\nreligions, they make a personification of death their deity.\n\nWe must leave it for our learned antiquaries to decide whether this\nhuge Quoit was a giant\u2019s tomb, or anything else which was ever applied\nto any mortal use, except to make us feel that the ancient Cornish who\ncould raise such ponderous masses, high enough for a man to sit under\non horseback, were no despicable race.\n\n\n\n\nLANYON TOWN PLACE AND HOUSE.\n\nAs we proceed on the Morvah road toward Lanyon, the rugged top of Carn\nGalva is seen rising over the northern hills. The first sight of this\nhuge carn, piled up against the sky, suggests the thought that the good\nold giant who lived there in ancient times could not have selected a\nbetter place for his stronghold. We now approach the town-place of\nLanyon, Lanion, or rather Lanine, for every one here calls the place by\nthe latter name, as well as the family, who probably took their name\nfrom this, their ancient home. If you enquire of any person hereabouts\nfor Lanyon, they will wonder where you came from, and it is not at all\neasy for a stranger to get any information out of our good folk by\nabrupt questioning, which they detest. The best way is to tell them\nfrankly what you want. Then, they will do their utmost to gratify your\nwishes. So now we are here, we shall always speak of the place as\nLanine, and tell a yarn to get two in return.\n\nMany fanciful meanings have been given for the name of Lanyon or\nLenine; yet there appears to be little doubt that the name is a\ncontraction of Lanython, which is composed of Lan, an enclosure, and\nYthon, or Eithin, furze (the adjective comes after the noun in\nCornish); or the name may be simply the plural form of Lan. This word\nLan (often contracted into la) enters into the construction of many\nnames of ancient places, as Landithy, Lamoran, Lamorna, &c. In Wales\nand Brittany, names are equally common, which are formed of Llan or\nlan, followed by some qualifying word; and as some of the oldest\nsettlements or enclosures were the first places in which Churches were\nerected, the word Lan came to be regarded as designating the Church. In\nLamorna and other similar words the n is dropped, from a natural\ndisposition to avoid the exertion which the pronunciation of certain\ncombinations of consonants entails on the speaker. The strongly-built\ndwelling-house of Lenine shows that Madron masons of the last century\nwere good craftsmen. Note the sturdy strength of the broad\nchimney-stacks, which seem determined to put a hard face on all the\nfierce blasts they encounter in this unsheltered place. The sturdy\nexpression of this simple building harmonises well with the bleak\ncharacter of surrounding scenery.\n\n\n\nTHE CRICK-STONE.\n\nAnother noteworthy object, on this site of ancient enclosures, is the\nremarkable group of three stones called by antiquaries the men-an-tol,\nand by country folk the crick-stone, from the old custom (not yet\nextinct) of \u201ccraming\u201d (crawling on all fours) round the centre stone,\nand of creeping through the hole in the same (when the person was thin\nenough) for the cure of lumbago, sciatic, and other \u201ccricks\u201d and pains\nin the back.\n\nThis mysterious monument is situated in a croft to the right of the\nMorvah road, about half-a-mile in a northerly direction from Lenine\ntown-place. Our antiquaries are as much at variance with respect to the\npurpose for which this remarkable group was erected as they are about\nthe real purpose of the cromlech. Some hold that it is a sepulchral\nmonument, as well as the Men Scryfa (written stone) farther on, because\nthere is a tradition that in Gendhal, or Gednhal moor, a little below,\nthere was once a battle so great that the moor \u201cran with blood.\u201d Others\nsuppose it to have been used for some druidical ceremonies similar to\nthose not long since practised there; and by a great number it is\nconjectured that this mysterious monument served for the computation of\ntime. Among those who think that the object of its erection was\nprobably astronomical is Professor Max M\u00fcller. This gentleman, in the\nQuarterly Review for August, 1867, after stating that the three stones\nare in a line bearing nearly east and west, says:\u2014\n\n\u201cThis men-an-tol may be an old dial, erected originally to fix the\nproper time for the celebration of the autumnal equinox, and, though it\nmay have been applied to other purposes likewise, such as the curing of\nchildren by dragging them several times through the hole, still its\noriginal intention may have been astronomical.\u201d\n\nIn another place, after speaking of the M\u00ean-heers, or long stones\n(which, being mostly found in pairs bearing nearly east and west, he\nthinks served the same purpose), he continues:\u2014\n\n\u201cIf their astronomical character could once be firmly established, it\nmight even be possible, at least approximately, to fix the time of\ntheir erection. If we suppose that the shadow of the stones on each\nside of the men-an-tol was intended to fall through the hole on the day\nof the autumnal equinox, then, if there is any slight deviation at\npresent, and that deviation in the direction demanded by the precession\nof the equinoctial, points of difference might be calculated, and\ntranslated into years, and we should thus be enabled to fix, at least\nwith a margin of a century or two, the time when that time piece was\nfirst set up on the high plains of Cornwall.\u201d\n\nIn concluding his notice of the Holed-stone of Lanine, he says:\u2014\n\n\u201cA mere shepherd, though he had never heard the name of astronomy,\nmight have erected such a stone for his own convenience, in order to\nknow the time when he might safely bring his flocks out, or take them\nback to their safer stables. But this would in no way diminish the\ninterest of the men-an-tol. It would still remain one of the few relics\nof the childhood of our race; one of the witnesses of the earliest\nworkings of the human mind in its struggle against, and in its alliance\nwith, the powers of nature; one of the vestiges in the first\ncivilization of the British Isles.\u201d\n\nLess than half-a-mile over the downs, in a northerly direction, brings\nus to the\n\n\n\nMEN SCRYFA (WRITTEN STONE.)\n\nThe safest plan for a stranger to take, in order to find this\ninteresting monument, is to return to, and proceed on, the Morvah road\nuntil nearly opposite Bosullow, where a path will be found, on the\nright hand, leading to this ancient inscribed pillar, which is one of\nthe most important monuments in the west country, if not in the\nkingdom. One side of the stone will be found inscribed with the words\nRialobran-Cunoval Fil, signifying that Rialobran, the son of Cunoval,\nwas here buried. The tradition of the country folks says that a king\nslain in the battle of Gendhal moor, was buried here with all his arms\nand treasures; and that the king stood nine feet high, which was found\nto be the length of this pillar monument, when about half a century ago\nan old curmudgeon of the neighbourhood upset the tombstone of\nRialobran, the son of Cunoval, in searching for the crock of gold,\nwhich he, in common with many others, believed to be buried there. It\nis not known whether he found any treasures by his digging, but he\ncaused the stone to fall face downward, in which position it remained,\nlittle heeded, until 1862, when it was replaced by the Antiquarian\nSociety over the warrior\u2019s grave.\n\nA large tract of ground covered with furze and heath, surrounding this\nmonument, used to be called \u201cGoon-men-scryfa\u201d (inscribed stone downs.)\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOUR PARISHES.\n\nAt a short distance to the northward of Men-scryfa, there is a large\nflat stone, with a cross cut on it, to show that the four parishes of\nMadron, Gulval, Morvah, and Zennor meet there. There is a tradition\nthat some Saxon kings dined on this stone in days of yore.\n\nAccording to another tradition, when Prince Arthur and four British\nkings were on their way to drive the Danes from Penwith, they rested on\nthis rock.\n\nThen, on their way down along towards the Land\u2019s End, Prince Arthur and\nthe four kings collected the native Cornish, who fought the Danes, and\nunder guidance of the royal personages, conquered them, in the battle\nof Vellan-drucchar (wheel-mill) moor; where the Danes were nearly all\nkilled, and so great was the slaughter, that \u201cthe mill was worked with\nblood,\u201d so old folk said.\n\nFrom Goon-men-scryfa, the bold and curious pile of Carn Galva (goats\u2019\ncarn) is a very striking object in the view, standing out as it does\nnear the sea, and six hundred feet or more above the sea level.\n\nFrom Men-scryfa, we take a northerly course, over the downs, to Carn\nGalva.\n\nOne can\u2019t fail to pass a pleasant time, should the weather be fine,\namong the rocks and glades of Carn Galva. Above all, if we ramble\nhither through the ferns, heath, and furze, in the whortleberry season,\nwe may pick the rich fruit, roll in the shade, or bask in the sun, on\nthe beautiful green patches of turf, as soft as velvet, to be found\neverywhere; or one may ramble in and out, and all around, playing\nhide-and-seek, through the crellas between the carns, whence the good\nold Giant of the Carn often sallied forth to protect his Morvah and\nZennor people and their cattle against the incursions of the giants of\nother carns and hills. Those of Trink and Trecrobben were the most\ntroublesome, because they lived near in castles strong and high.\n\nNow they say that when the Trecrobben giant once got the cattle, or\ntin, into his stronghold, he would defy all other giants in the\ncountry. By the traditions, still preserved in Morvah and its\nneighbourhood,\n\n\n\n\nTHE GIANT OF CARN GALVA\n\nwas more playful than warlike. Though the old works of the giant now\nstand desolate, we may still see, or get up and rock ourselves upon,\nthe logan-stone which this dear old giant placed on the most westerly\ncarn of the range, that he might log himself to sleep when he saw the\nsun dip into the waves and sea-birds fly to their homes in the cleeves.\nNear the giant\u2019s rocking-seat, one may still see a pile of cubical\nrocks, which are almost as regular and shapely now as when the giant\nused to amuse himself in building them up, and kicking them down again,\nfor exercise or play, when alone and he had nothing else to do. People\nof the northern hills have always had a loving regard for the memory of\nthis giant, because he appears to have passed all his life at the carn\nin single blessedness, merely to protect his beloved people of Morvah\nand Zennor from the depredations of the less honest Titans who then\ndwelt on Lelant hills. Carn Galva giant never killed but one of the\nMorvah people in his life, and that happened all through loving play.\n\nThe giant was very fond of a fine young fellow, of Choone, who used to\ntake a turn over to the Carn, every now and then, just to see how the\nold giant was getting on, to cheer him up a bit, play a game of bob, or\nanything else to help him pass his lonely time away. One afternoon the\ngiant was so well pleased with the good play they had together, that\nwhen the young fellow of Choone threw down his quoit to go away home,\nthe giant, in a good-natured way, tapped his playfellow on the head\nwith the tips of his fingers. At the same time he said, \u201cBe sure to\ncome again to-morrow, my son, and we will have a capital game of bob.\u201d\nBefore the word \u201cbob\u201d was well out of the giant\u2019s mouth, the young man\ndropped at his feet. The giant\u2019s fingers had gone right through his\nplaymate\u2019s skull. When, at last, the giant became sensible of the\ndamage he had done to the young man\u2019s brain-pan, he did his best to put\nthe inside workings of his mate\u2019s head to rights and plugged up his\nfinger-holes, but all to no purpose; for the young man was stone dead\nand cold, long before he ceased doctoring his head.\n\nWhen the poor giant found it was all over with his playmate, he took\nthe body in his arms, and, sitting down on a large square rock at the\nfoot of the carn, he rocked himself to and fro; pressing the lifeless\nbody to his bosom, he wailed and moaned over him, bellowing and crying\nlouder than the booming billows breaking on the rocks in Permoina.\n\n\u201cOh, my son, my son, why didn\u2019t they make the shell of thy noddle\nstronger? A es as plum (soft) as a pie-crust, dough-baked, and made too\nthin by the half! How shall I ever pass my time without thee to play\nbob and mop-and-heede? (hide-and-seek.)\u201d\n\nThe Giant of Carn Galva never rejoiced any more, but, in seven years or\nso, he pined away and died of a broken heart.\n\nSo Zennor people say, and that one may judge of the size of their giant\nvery well, as he placed his logan-rock at such a height that, when\nseated on it, to rock himself, he could rest his feet comfortably on\nthe green turf below.\n\nSome say that he gathered together the heap of square blocks, near his\nfavourite resting-place, that he might have them at hand to defend his\npeople against the giants of Trecrobben and Trink, with whom he fought\nmany a hard battle. Yet when they were all on good terms they would\npass weeks on a stretch in playing together, and the quoits which\nserved them to play bob, as well as the rocks they hurled at each other\nwhen vexed, may still be seen scattered all over this hilly region.\n\nSurely a grateful remembrance of this respectable giant will ever be\npreserved by the descendants of those he protected in the northern\nhills.\n\nWe have often heard the high country folks relate this legend of their\ngiant in a much more circumstantial manner than we can attempt, because\nwe do not, like the good Morvah folk, give implicit credence to all the\ntraditions of Carn Galva. Yet this romantic region makes us feel that\n\n\n   \u201cSurely there is a hidden power that reigns\n    Mid the lone majesty of untamed nature,\n    Controlling sober reason.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nDING-DONG, WHEAL MALKIN, AND PUSSER HOSKING\u2019S MOILS.\n\nOn our return from Carn Galva we may visit Ding-Dong. The works of\nDing-Dong both \u201cat grass\u201d and under ground, are very near our road to\nCarn Galva, and much of the former visible nearly all the way from\nMen-scryfa. It is one of the most ancient and extensive mines in the\nCounty. There are traditions (if not more trustworthy records) that\npart of this old bal, called by a somewhat similar name (Din-an-doyng,\nif I remember rightly), and other ancient workings known as Wheal\nMalkin, which are now united to Ding-Dong, were wrought by the Jews in\nthe time of King John.\n\nLittle more than half a century ago, Wheal Malkin portion of this rich\nold mine was solely in the hands of four or five adventurers. All of\nthem, but one, held large shares in Ding-Dong. They wished the two\nspeculations to be united, as they might, it was thought, be thus\nworked to greater advantage. But Mr. Hosking, of Lanyon, the only one\nof the owners of Wheal Malkin who had no share in Ding-Dong, being\naverse to this arrangement, his co-adventurers proposed that he should\neither sell his share, or buy theirs. Mr. Hosking became the purchaser\nof the whole of Wheal Malkin. Some say that a device, sometimes\nresorted to in similar transactions, was put in practice by a working\nminer, to induce him to close with the dear bargain. However that may\nhave been, it is well known that he continued to work this property\nmore to benefit the public than himself.\n\nThis worthy gentleman was generally known as Captain Hosking, from\nhaving been for many years captain of the Mount\u2019s Bay Yeomanry Cavalry,\nor the Guides, as they were often styled, but his most popular\ndesignation in the part we are now rambling over was the Pusser\n(purser) Hosking; and this latter title seems likely to be long\npreserved, as well as some remembrance of the \u201cPusser\u2019s\u201d moils, in one\nof our odd every-day sayings.\n\nAfter Mr. Hosking built the sturdy-looking house we still see in\nLenine, he resided there for some years, and held the farm in hand. For\nthe purpose of taking his tin to smelting house, the captain kept a\ngreat number of mules (here called moils) on the extensive\nfurze-grounds of Lanyon. Some of the tinners, in passing over the\ndowns, to and from their work, often tried to get a ride on the\n\u201cPusser\u2019s moils\u201d and others, for fun\u2019s sake or out of pure wantonness,\ntook great pleasure in tormenting these sedate-looking animals; but the\nPusser\u2019s moils, to show how they disapproved of practical joking, often\nimprinted the marks of their hoofs and teeth on their tormentors; and,\nat last, they, one and all, took to give chase to every person who\nventured on their ground, except, indeed, the boys who brought them out\nstraw or hay, now and then, in winter, and their well-known driver, Mr.\nHosking\u2019s Ralfey, who was as fond of the moils, and they of him, as if\nthey had been brothers.\n\nIf one only pointed a finger, in derision, at these testy animals, and\ncalled them by their names, in a tone which they didn\u2019t like, when they\nwere filing along the lanes with sacks of tin on their backs, they\nwould at once leave their ranks and show fight in spite of all Ralfey\ncould do to soothe them. From these mulish traits of inordinate\nself-esteem and combativeness in Mr. Hosking\u2019s cattle originated the\ncommon saying, often applied to a teasy person, \u201cHe\u2019s like Pusser\nHosking\u2019s moils\u2014waant bear jestan.\u201d\n\nNear Ding-Dong there are some ancient barrows, and the remains of what\nis supposed to have been a Druidic circle called the Nine Maidens.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PENZANCE OF OUR GRANDFATHERS.\n\nTHE OLD MARKET-HOUSE AND ITS SURROUNDINGS\u2014BATTLE OF ARCHITECTURAL\nSTYLES\u2014THE SELF-TAUGHT ARCHITECT OF THE LAND\u2019S END\u2014BUSTLE OF A MARKET\nDAY\u2014MADAM TREZILLIAN\u2019S HEAD-DRESS\u2014THE ANCIENT FISH-WOMEN OF\nPENZANCE\u2014NEW MANSIONS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD\u2014THE SCHOOLDAYS AND HOME OF\nPELLEW\u2014THE WESTERN APPROACH TO PENZANCE (ALVERTON LANE)\u2014PARSON SPRY,\nTHE CURATE OF SENNEN AND ST. LEVAN, HALF-A-CENTURY AGO, AND HIS WOODEN\nHORSE AND DOG \u201cSPORT\u201d\u2014\u201cSPORT\u2019S\u201d BEHAVIOUR AT CHURCH AND IN\nCHURCHYARD\u2014THE REV. JAMES BEVAN\u2014COUNTRY CLERKS AND COUNTRY CHOIRS\u2014OLD\nCHRISTMAS CAROLS\u2014ANCIENT MODE OF CONDUCTING FUNERALS\u2014FORMER MEANS OF\nINFORMATION AMONG THE PEOPLE\u2014ASTROLOGERS OF THE WEST\u2014CONJURORS AND\nTHEIR SPELLS\u2014OLD JUSTICE JONES AND CHEAP LABOUR\u2014THE VINGOES OF\nTREVILLE\u2014THE JUSTICE\u2019S PUNISHMENT\u2014PELLEW AND HIS CORNISH CREW\u2014THE\nANCIENT GAMES OF HURLING AND WRESTLING\u2014OLD METHODS OF CONVEYANCE\u2014RIDING\nPILLION\u2014POPULAR SONGS OF THE TIME, MALBROOK, AND SENTIMENTAL\nDITTIES\u2014GREEN LANES AND FOOTPATHS\u2014PACK-SADDLES, OX-BUTTS, AND THE FIRST\nCARRIAGE\u2014GOING TO TOWN ON MARKET-DAY\u2014PENZANCE IN THE EARLY PART OF THIS\nCENTURY, &c.\u2014Written September, 1867.\n\n\n                            Dim, dream-like forms! Your shadowy train\n                            Around me gathers once again,\n                            The same as in life\u2019s morning hour,\n                              Before my troubled gaze you pass\u2019d:\n                            Oh! this time shall I have the power\u2014\n                            Shall I essay to hold you fast?\n\n                                \u2014Goethe\u2019s Faust, Filmore\u2019s Translation.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD MARKET-HOUSE, AND ITS SURROUNDINGS.\n\nThe completion of Penzance Public Buildings forms an epoch in the\nhistory of the place, and an elderly person cannot help contrasting the\npresent appearance of the town with what it was three score years, or a\ncentury, ago; as we know it to have been from well-remembered vestiges\nof the old time, and from the accounts of our grandparents, who, if\nthey revisited the glimpses of the gaslight in our town at the present\ntime would be much surprised, and not over well pleased, at all the\nchanges which have taken place during the last hundred years, many of\nwhich are alterations without improvement, nay often wanton destruction\nof what can never be restored, however regretted. Who that remembers\nthe picturesque and interesting old market-house, with the\ncorresponding buildings surrounding or near it, such as the house in\nwhich Sir Humphry Davy was born, the cosy nook under the balcony of the\n\u2018Star\u2019 Inn, where often of an evening he held his youthful comrades\nspellbound by the wonderful stories that his poetical imagination\ninspired, can help regretting removal and loss? I can\u2019t understand, nor\ncan many others, what was the inducement to remove the old balcony from\nthis inn, and other houses throughout the town. They were no\nobstruction to the footpath, and the very aspect of these appropriate,\ncosy-looking entrances to the old inns infused a feeling of comfort and\nseclusion that one misses very much in the glaring lantern-like modern\nhotels. Besides, as an interesting memorial of our most illustrious\ntownsman, it is ten thousand pities it should have been destroyed. The\npicturesque scene is gone, never to be restored, which was formed by\nthe projecting balcony, with its rustic pillars and casemented lights,\ncombined with the high gables, mullioned and labled windows, with the\npenthouse-like projections of the old market-house. It is much to be\nregretted that, when the old building was taken down, its site should\nhave been occupied by any structure more massive than an elegant\nmonument to Sir Humphry Davy\u2014suppose it had been a fountain, of an\nantique Gothic pattern, surmounted by the statue of Sir Humphry, with\nniches in the basement for memorials of other celebrities connected\nwith the town, or its vicinity, as Pellew, Davies Gilbert, &c., &c. The\nfirst mistake was to build on the site at all; the second to adopt the\nItalian style for a building to be erected in such a confined space. It\nmust be apparent to anyone who has studied the matter that the Gothic\nor old English style, with its acute gables, pinnacles, pendants,\nbalconies, oriels, and other projecting appendages for use or ornament,\nwhich that style admits, is felt to be more suitable to a confined\nspace, because any imitation of the classical styles is very\nunsatisfactory, unless it has sufficient breadth and massiveness to\nproduce the impression of grandeur, as well as just proportion, which\ncannot be appreciated, however just it may be, unless there is\nsufficient space around to allow the spectator the choice of a station\nfrom which the whole facade of the building may be taken into the view.\nIn the old English, on the contrary, one does not look for breadth,\nmassiveness, and correspondence in the various portions of the\nstructure, but rather to that lightness and variety which is even more\ninteresting when seen only in such broken portions, and from such\npoints of sight as would spoil the effect of the regular styles.\nBesides, perhaps from being accustomed to meet with the picturesque old\nstyle in ancient walled towns, where the streets are always narrow, it\nnever seems out of place in a confined space, if the surrounding\nbuildings are of a simple or corresponding style, or at least are not\nsuch as to produce a violent contrast.\n\nAny small building, designed after classical examples, looks naked and\npoor, and particularly mean, unless the building-materials are of the\nbest description and finish, and is quite unsuitable for the houses of\na narrow street, which must necessarily be small and irregular, where\nthe frontages range only from about 20 to 40 feet, and where the\nadjoining houses belong to different proprietors, who delight to\ndisplay their independence of each other and common sense, by each one\nbuilding on his 20 or 30 feet frontage according to his own caprice,\nand desire to show off his own originality of conception.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BATTLE OF ARCHITECTURAL STYLES.\n\nIf our beautiful old English style (which is the most suitable for the\nclimate and everything else) cannot be again restored, the next best is\nthe Venetian, which may be defined as the Saracenic (or what the French\ncall the Grec-Arab) engrafted on the Italian. The Venetian, like our\nold English (or domestic Gothic, if you will), admits of great\nirregularity, and of great variety in the ornamentation. French\narchitects have shown their appreciation of the peculiar suitableness\nof this variety for irregular and comparatively narrow streets, from\ntheir having adopted it in many of the old narrow streets abutting on\nthe Seine, as may have been noted by some of our townsmen, who have\nrecently visited the Exhibition and the gay capital generally.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SELF-TAUGHT ARCHITECT OF THE LAND\u2019S END.\n\nAs pretty fair examples of the adaptability of the old English to all\nthe exigencies of modern comfort and refinement, and to prove that one\nmay do whatever one likes with this pliable style, we have the Abbey,\nthe Marine Retreat, some small cottages in Back Lane, also two or three\npairs of semi-detached cottages near the Catholic Church. There are\nalso some caricatures and abominable shams about, which throw discredit\non the style. As interesting looking, therefore pleasing, villa\nresidences we have Pendrea and Trewidden. Farther afield, there is an\nexcellent example of picturesque simplicity and variety in the\nparsonage-house near Halsetown. This house is well worth the study of\nbuilders for its convenient arrangement on a square plan, for the\nvariety of pleasing forms in the doorways, windows, and\nwell-proportioned chimney-stacks and gables, as well as the ornamental\nslate-work with which some of its gables are dressed, as being more\ndurable than ordinary barge-boards, which soon decay, whereas the slate\nis everlasting. Nothing can form more picturesque groupings than this\nparsonage, and its church of corresponding style. As another example to\nshow how our old English seems at home and at its ease everywhere,\nobserve how well the addition made to the \u201cFirst and Last,\u201d becomes its\nsite. This portion of the ancient inn at Sennen, and the cottages in\nBack Lane, Penzance, were designed by a self-taught architect, born and\nbred in Sennen, Mr. Charles Hutchens, who resided many years at\nTorpoint, constructed many buildings in Devonport, in the Three Towns\ngenerally, and in other parts of the country, of which any architect\nmight be proud. The nephew of this gentleman, Mr. Thomas Hutchens, of\nSennen, is now Mr. Gilbert Scott\u2019s right-hand man; and, like his\nmaster, his whole heart and soul is devoted to Gothic architecture.\n\nIn the opinion of many persons of taste, the quaint old market\nhouse\u2014low, irregular, and devoid of all pretentions to ornament\u2014when\nsurrounded by houses of as simple a mode, was a more pleasing object\nthan the present insipid, silly-looking structure, which, when first\nseen from Market-jew-street, looks like a heavy wall to support a\nportico and dome to which there is no body of building. A grand\nentrance, to which one cannot see the means of access, and which\napparently leads to nothing. This end is the more faulty, because the\nmost pretentious.\n\nThe old French chateau style, with its steep pitched roofs, turrets,\ngalleries, balconies, &c., (of which we have a fair example in the\nQueen\u2019s Hotel) is far better adapted for a private residence in our wet\nand windy climate than the naked, cold-looking Italian, with its flat,\nlow-pitched roof, ashamed to be seen, and such other appurtenances as\nare only suitable for a temple, or other large public building, in a\nsunny clime.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BUSTLE OF A MARKET DAY.\n\nWe cannot think of the old market-house without remembering the\nanimated scene around it of a market day. On the higher side, at the\ncorn-market steps, opposite the \u2018Golden Lion,\u2019 the jolly farmers and\ntheir buxom wives would be seen arriving, seated each on two or more\nsacks of grain, with a basket of butter and eggs on the dame\u2019s arm, and\nprobably a basket of poultry on that of her lord. The crowing,\nsqualling, laughing, and scolding, showed a sound heart and lungs, and\nthat the old folks were neither ashamed nor afraid to be seen to do\ntheir own work; and the appetizing steam which ascended through the\nopen kitchen window of the cosy hostel, at the foot of the stairs, told\nthem, as the screeching, hard-labouring, roasting-jack, as plainly as\njack could speak, that plenty of good substantial fare would soon be\nready for their equally substantial appetites. There is no mistake\nabout it; there was less nonsense about people then than now. At that\ntime the ladies of squires, merchants, and farmers, did their own\nmarketing, aye and often such dames as Mesdames Noye, Trezillian,\nUstick, Pender, in the west country, and others of equal rank in town,\nwould ride to mill on sacks of corn and bolt the meal themselves. The\nsturdy butchers\u2014to be seen in the meat market then\u2014were mostly\noccupiers of land near the town, and cultivated many of the farms of\nMadron. The crooks with which the transverse bars (between the stalls\nand overhead in all parts of the house) were armed, sometimes caught in\nthe ladies\u2019 towering head-dresses.\n\n\n\n\nMADAM TREZILLIAN\u2019S HEAD-DRESS.\n\nThere is a story told of a gay Madam Trezillian, of Raftra, who outdid\nall other ladies in the west country in the breadth of her hoops and\nthe height of her tete, as the tower of cushions, ribbons, lace, and\nhair was called with which the heads of the dames were surmounted.\nAgainst one St. Levan feast a barber was had out from Penzance to dress\nthe lady\u2019s head-piece in the most approved mode of the town. It must be\nunderstood that when the heads of these ancient belles were put en\ngrande toilette they were not taken down at night, often for weeks\ntogether.\n\nThat these monstrous head-pieces might not be deranged, the bedsteads\nwere made a foot or two longer than the ordinary affair of the present\nday. During the feasten week, having company to entertain all the time,\nmadam\u2019s tete of course was not disturbed, nor for a week or two after,\nwhen she was engaged in visiting, until she felt such a head-ache that\nshe was obliged to send for Dr. Maddron, from St. Just, that he might\nsee what ailed her noddle. Still the precious mass of wool, pomatum,\n&c., remained undisturbed on the outside, when the doctor arrived, and\ninsisted on having it taken down and opened. Then they say that he\nfound a nest of mice had been littered in the greasy pads which raised\nthe lady\u2019s hair, besides any quantity of fly-blows in their different\nstages of growth. No doubt, the old mother mouse came every night to\nnurse her interesting tender brood of young ones. Madam\u2019s head was in\nsuch a state that she was obliged to have it shaved. The hair was\ncarefully saved and made up into a false head-dress (one could hardly\ncall it a wig) against Madron-tide, when she came to pass the feast\nwith Squire Daniel at Alverton. The feasten eve, in walking through the\nmarket house with Madam Daniel, the bows of her towering tete caught on\nthe crooks. Still, on she walked the whole length of the market, when\nshe discovered her loss by the uproar of laughter with which the lady\u2019s\nbald pate and her suspended head-dress were greeted by the butchers and\ntheir boys, and by their wives as well.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANCIENT FISH-WOMEN OF PENZANCE.\n\nOne can\u2019t take leave of the old market without some notice of the\nhandsome fisherwomen, in their picturesque old costume of short scarlet\ncloaks and broad felt hats, which well became their coal-black eyes and\nhair, and heightened the oriental cast of their countenances. Then\ntheir tongues, loud and musical, hailing every one who passed the\nstreet:\u2014\u201cWount \u2019e buy some nice fresh fish to-day, my dear?\u201d \u201cCheeld\nvean; why you shall have en for nothan; do come here!\u201d As well as their\nchaffing and slack jaw at each other and all the world besides. Above\nall, the shoemakers, who kept their stalls near by, came in for a good\nshare of their gibes. People had a heart to laugh then, and were all\nthe better friends even for a little rough talk, before so much\norganised hypocrisy, whining cant, and morbid feeling became the\nfashion, which seems, if possible, to be increasing in intensity and\nstupidity in Penzance.\n\nThe buildings surrounding the Market Place, Green-Market, and many\nother parts of the town, were mongrelized about the time of the\nerection of the new structure by taking the mullions out of the windows\nof many houses, lowering the pitch of their roofs, erecting useless\nunmeaning parapets, covering walls of dressed granite and ornamental\nslate work with plaster and other shams, until the surrounding\nbuildings were changed into worse-looking objects if possible than the\ncentre piece. A specimen of the true appreciation of just proportion\nwhich seems to have been intuitive with old masons may yet be seen in\nthe dressed chimney-stacks, with embattled mouldings, belonging to an\nold house at the north-western corner of the market-place. In the\npremises, more examples of the old style will be found. When this old\nhouse was first built, it was said to have been the grandest mansion in\nBuriton, as a good part of what is now included with old Penzance was\nthen named,\u2014all around the Market Place.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOME OF PELLEW.\n\nNear the Alverton entrance to Fox\u2019s gardens is an old thatched cottage\n[19] which ought to have been regarded with much interest, as it was\nthe home of Pellew (Admiral Lord Exmouth) during his boyish days. Here\nhe lived with his aged grandmother, Madam Woodhouse, until he left to\ncommence his career of usefulness and glory that added much to the\nrenown of the British nation. I have heard many anecdotes of the hero\u2019s\nboyish days from an old lady of the West Country (the daughter of a\ngentleman farmer of Sennen) who, when a girl in her teens, was sent to\nPenzance to reside with her uncle and aunt, that she might attend a\nbetter school than was to be found in the West Country.\n\nAt that time boys and girls often went to the same school until they\nwere much older than it would be considered decorous for them to remain\ntogether in these thin-skinned, fastidious times.\n\nYoung Pellew went to the same school as the girl from the Land\u2019s End,\nwho, being two or three years older than the boy, called for him at his\ngrandmother\u2019s house; but the country girl always had a hard task to get\nhim to school, and often, in spite of all she could do, and threats of\nthe old lady\u2019s cane, young Pellew would take off to the Quay, whither\nthe girl had to follow, as, if she was known to have let him escape,\nshe would get a sound thrashing from her own aunt, who was a great\nfriend of the boy\u2019s grandmother and paid the same attention to the boy\nEdward Pellew as to her own children. As soon as the boy reached the\npier he would spring into the first boat he found afloat, cast off the\npainter, and away to sea, without staying to notice if there were oars\nin the boat or not.\n\nHis companion and guardian in petticoats would remain on the Battery\nrocks, or pier, with her knitting or needle-work, that she might signal\nto Pellew when it was time for him to come in, to return home to\ndinner.\n\nOften the fishermen and sailors at the Quay, who all loved the daring\nboy and kept a watch over him, would go out in another boat and help\nhim to come ashore in time to save his bacon. Sometimes one or both of\nthe old ladies would find out the truants, come to the Quay after them,\nand beat them both home to Alverton lane, where Pellew would take\nrefuge with old Mr. Boase, who always took the boy\u2019s part, as well as\nthat of his niece (the west country girl) in spite of all the old\nladies and the schoolmaster might say.\n\nTo make amends for the beatings the Sennen girl got for letting Edward\nPellew escape from school (which she liked to do very well herself now\nand then) and for doing his sums for him (whilst he occupied himself in\nmaking boats and ship\u2019s gearing under the desk), he would often drive\nher uncle\u2019s cows from the Weeths (the ground that is now Mr. Bolitho\u2019s\nlawn) down to Alverton to water, or bring them home to their yard in\nAlverton lane\u2014the site of which was near where our worthy Mayor\u2019s (Mr.\nFrancis Boase) garden now stands\u2014to be milked of an evening.\n\nAs he was soon taught to be a famous boxer by his friends the sailors\nof the Quay, who would always have him with them if they could, he\nwanted to put his science in practice by thrashing any boy double his\nsize, if they happened to offend his protectress, who, when fourscore\nyears of age, has often shown me a lot of trifles Pellew sent home to\nhis grandmother for his old school-mate; among other things a variety\nof perforated foreign coins, such as sailors like to suspend from their\nwatch chains, a pair of ladies\u2019 silver shoe-buckles, &c.\n\nWhen Pellew went to sea the old lady, his grandmother, used often to\nsay, \u201cIf I could but live to see my Teddy made a captain I would die\ncontented.\u201d The old lady lived long enough to see him knighted, and I\nthink made an Admiral, before she died.\n\nHow Sir Edward Pellew would have none, or few, but Cornish men for his\ncrew; how the Mount\u2019s Bay and St. Just men would volunteer for him,\nwhen the press gang (who wanted men, and the devil a man could they get\nfor other ships but his) were beaten out of Mousehole by the women, led\non by Ann St. Doyd (Ann\u2019s right name was Pentreath), armed with a\nred-hot poker, is well known. As every incident of his life, after he\nwent to sea, became matter of history, we cannot claim any more of it\nas belonging exclusively to Penzance.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WESTERN APPROACH TO PENZANCE (ALVERTON LANE.)\n\nFrom the house in which Admiral Lord Exmouth passed his boyish days\nthere was a pleasant footpath, long after that time, through the fields\nto Alverton, separated from the lane by a high hedge and shady trees;\nand the lane itself, from the Ellises\u2019 Mansion (or the site of the\nWestern hotel) to the seat of the Daniels, in Alverton (or probably the\nJenkin\u2019s at that time), was like a bower all the way, with the\noverhanging trees, except a good strip of green extending from Mr. F.\nBoase\u2019s house down almost to the pathway leading to Alverton well. On\nthis green the fair was formerly held. It has but recently been removed\nto a field. All the highroads at this time were pleasant green lanes.\nThere was no such thing as a cart West of Penzance. Here and there an\nox-butt might be found. We will return to the green lanes, and those\nwho jogged along them on bow-pad or pillion, when we come to take a\nretrospective view of the country.\n\n\n\n\nPARSON SPRY, THE CURATE OF SENNEN AND ST. LEVAN, HALF A CENTURY AGO,\nAND HIS WOODEN HORSE AND DOG \u201cSPORT.\u201d\n\nBefore leaving this part of the town, let us cast a glance at the three\nor four little cottage-like dwellings just opposite the lane leading to\nthe Well fields, on the higher side of the entrance to The Hollies.\nThese cottages were regarded as very genteel residences, half a century\nago, before the North Parade and some score of other terraces, which\nnow form the most pleasant portions of the town, were ever born or\nthought of. Then, the cottage nearest to The Hollies\u2019 gate was the\nresidence of the Rev. William Spry, many years curate of Sennen and St.\nLevan. The reverend gentleman was one of those eccentric, or\nindependent, characters who pay no regard either to conventional modes\nor to the opinion of those who have no need to trouble themselves about\ntheir harmless whims. His dapper little figure, dressed up in the most\nanti-clerical, not to say ridiculous, of costumes, must still be well\nremembered by many in town and country. Notwithstanding his eccentric\nvagaries, he was always a welcome guest, for the sake of his\nnever-failing good humour, quick repartee, and the droll stories of\nwhich he was generally the hero. His most extravagant freaks were\nmostly harmless, and always amusing, at least to the spectators (yet\nwith all the care taken to qualify his characteristics, we may have to\nmake some exceptions when the parson mounts his wooden horse.)\n\nWhen in the reading-room, public library, or any other place of resort\nfor gentlemen of the town, the parson was always the centre of\nattraction and fun. One day, in the library, Mr. Spry was, as usual,\nrelating some of his amusing drolls, when an elderly gent, Gen. Tench\n(who very much liked to hear himself talk), finding that he could not\nhave the chance to get in a word edgeways even, interrupted the parson\nby saying \u201cCome, Mr. Spry, as you appear to know a great deal about\neverything, be pleased to explain the difference between a major canon\nand a minor canon?\u201d \u201cPho! pho!\u201d replied Mr. Spry, in his lisping\naccent, \u201cwhat a general! not to know the difference between a major\ncannon and a minor cannon. Why a major cannon is a great gun, and a\nminor cannon is a thun (son) of a cun (gun), to be thure (sure.)\u201d The\ngeneral wheeled on his heels, and went away without firing any more of\nhis guns at the parson for that day.\n\nThe reverend gentleman, finding the hire of a horse to take him to the\nscene of his clerical duties more than he could well afford out of his\nslender income, took it into his head to have a velocipede, hoping,\nwith the assistance of the machine, to be able to ride out to the\nLand\u2019s End at his ease, hills excepted, when he would have to drag his\nhorse. He first exercised his wooden horse, by way of breaking it in,\non the descent from St. Just lane\u2019s end to Alverton. He was very proud\nof his horse, when he found it would run down the hill with so much\nspeed. The next market day, early in the morning, the parson stationed\nhimself, mounted on his horse, on the top of Tul-tuf hill, to challenge\nanybody coming from, or going to the market, to try a race, always down\nthe hill be it understood. Plenty of the farmers desired no better fun\nthan to try a race with the parson on his wooden horse; but their own\nnags, not knowing what to make of the parson\u2019s queer beast, going like\nthe wind on three legs, in their fears and doubts about the nature of\nthe thing threw their riders in the ditch, and sprung over the hedges,\nthat they might not be overtaken by what they must have thought a most\nunnatural-looking affair. So the parson won the wager, and boasted long\nand loud that his horse was the best in the West; but in the last race\nthat Thursday morn, the three-legged Bucephalus attained such velocity\nin descending the hill near Alverton that it became quite unmanageable\nand fairly ran away with its gallant rider as fast as its wheels could\nspin. When it came to Alverton water (there was no bridge over the\nwater which then worked the old factory) several market women were on\ntheir nags, in the midst of the pooled-up water, to let their horses\ndrink and breathe awhile.\n\nWhilst their heavy baskets of butter and eggs rested carelessly on\ntheir knees to give rest to their weary arms whilst having a chat, in\ndashed the parson, on his horse, in the very midst of them. He tumbled\nover in the water, with the machine between his legs. All the women\nwere thrown off their horses, which galloped away\u2014some home, some like\nmad into the town to their accustomed yards and stables, others ran\nthey didn\u2019t know where; but fancy what a wreck was there, with the\nbroken eggs, barm-jars, butter, and baskets on the road, or floating\ndown the stream! The women were so exasperated that they half-killed\nthe parson between them. In the heat of their passion they pelted him\nwith butter and eggs, then rolled him in the mud, until luckily some\ngentlemen came to the rescue of the parson and his steed.\n\nThe next Sunday the reverend gentleman being unable to attend to his\nduties at the Land\u2019s End, his parishioners, as well as most of the\npeople of the West, who had congregated at St. Levan church and along\nthe roads, hoping to see the parson racing his horse, were much\ndisappointed. The fame of his Thursday\u2019s adventure had spread far and\nnear, so that such a gathering was never seen before in the church\nexcept at the feasten tide. Against the following Sunday the parson had\nsufficiently recovered his broken skin and his courage to be off early\nin the morning, for fear of disappointing his congregation again. The\npeople waited long about the cliff and Rospletha hill, looking out in\nvain; at last, fearing some accident had happened, from seeing neither\nsight nor sign of their pastor, a good number of them proceeded along\nthe road towards Penzance, two miles or more, when they saw the\nparson\u2019s well-known dog, Sport, coming towards them. Sport testified\nhis joy at seeing some of his friends, and ran back, yelping and\nbarking, and looking behind him to beg the people to follow him fast.\nIn a few minutes, on turning the corner of Cotneywilley, they found the\nparson and his horse in a deep pool of mud at the bottom of the hill,\nor rather the runaway steed was deep in the muddy hole. The rider had\ncontrived to scramble out and shake himself just as they arrived. Old\nMr. Ellis, of Trendrennen, being among the people who came to the\nrelief of their forlorn pastor, he was helped along to that old\ngentleman\u2019s house, which the parson usually made his resting-place.\n\nMr. Spry never trusted his wooden horse to make such long journeys any\nmore, and people of the two western parishes, who liked their parson\nvery much, because he was very sociable, never wearied them with\ntiresome platitudes, nor bothered them with what some call deep (that\nis inexplicable) dogmas and notions, were very indulgent, and never\ncomplained whether he came early or late, or stayed away for weeks\ntogether on account of bad weather.\n\n\n\n\n\u201cSPORT\u2019S\u201d BEHAVIOUR AT CHURCH AND IN CHURCHYARD.\n\nThe doings of the parson\u2019s handsome black dog Sport added much to the\ninterest of the Sunday\u2019s performances. Sport seemed to think that some\ndogs belonging to his master\u2019s parishes had not so much right to enjoy\nchurch privileges as himself. To others\u2014larger dogs than himself\u2014he was\nmore indulgent, and even condescended to wag his tail at them, but woe\nto any audacious dog of a smaller size, or a shorter tail, that\npresumed to venture into the more respectable or parson\u2019s portion of\nthe church East of the rud locks (rood loft.) Sport would then show the\nrustic dogs the colour of his teeth and drive them into the belfry,\nwhere the other country dogs would follow to see fair play, or perhaps\nto give the town-bred puppy a bite by the sly, if they saw their own\ncomrade likely to get the worst of the game.\n\nOne Sunday, a dog belonging to a farmer who sat near the chancel,\nseemed inclined to come nearer the parson\u2019s ground than he liked. Both\ndogs then said as plain as looks could express, \u201cCome then, to decide\nwhich shall look the biggest; let\u2019s try our right, down in the belfry,\nby a quiet bit of a fight.\u201d Off walked the two dogs, began and\ncontinued their fight without making much noise, until the parson was\nin the midst of reading the second lesson. Then Sport gave some\ndreadful yells, which so much alarmed his master, that he stopped\nreading, bundled up his surplice under his arm, ran in all haste down\nto the belfry, drove out the country dog, and shut in his own by way of\npenance among the shovels, brooms, pickaxes, bell-ropes, planks, and\nother lumber. When the parson returned to the reading-desk, he leaned\nover towards the old clerk, and asked \u201cWhere was I, Josey?\u201d meaning the\nverse of the lesson at which he left off. Uncle Josey, the clerk, being\nrather deaf, like most deaf people spoke rather loud\u2014loud enough to be\nheard all over the church\u2014when he intended only to whisper \u201cWhere war\n\u2019e? What do \u2019e mean, master? Why down in the belfry, parting the dogs\nto be sure!\u201d Sport took it in high dudgeon, to be imprisoned like a\nfelon. When he found barking and howling of no use towards procuring\nhis release from durance vile, he contrived to entangle himself in the\nbell-rope (left dangling up and down) by getting his head into the\nrunning noose, made by the sexton for his foot, to assist in tolling\nthe great bell, which Sport set a ringing and soon rung himself out.\n\nAnother day, whilst the parson was reading the burial service over the\ndefunct, his dog Sport behaved himself in a very unseemly manner, for\nsuch a solemn occasion, by kicking up a dust among the dry-bones,\nhowling at the mourners, catching their dresses in his mouth, and\nrenting off yards of the deepest affliction or crape from the young\nwidow, and other such like pranks. The parson, reading, with one eye on\nthe book, the other on his dog, at the end of every portion where the\nclerk had to respond Amen, called \u201cSport!\u201d and Sport replied with a\nbark. At the conclusion, in the same breath with the words, \u201cAshes to\nashes, dust to dust, I commit this body to the ground,\u201d the parson\ncalled out louder than ever \u201cSport! Sport! Come here;\u201d turning quickly\nround at the same time as if to catch the dog and bury him.\n\nThere is much more told by good folks of the two most western parishes\nabout the freaks of this reverend gentleman who had the cure of their\nsouls half a century ago; but enough has been related to give some idea\nof the greater simplicity of those times, when there certainly was not\nthe same sourness, and disposition to magnify faults and failings into\nmortal sins, as there is now by the rampant religionists, who display\ntheir ferocious virtue principally by circulating slander, under the\nguise of pity for those who do not choose to adopt their morbid\nnotions, whining cant, and grimace.\n\nA short time after the velocipede adventure, Mr. Spry removed hence to\nMorwelham, and soon became as well known on the Tamar as here, for his\neccentric freaks.\n\n\n\n\nTHE REV. JAMES BEVAN.\n\nA little more than sixty years ago, the Rev. James Bevan, of\nGlamorganshire, died at St. Levan. This gentleman lived amongst his\nparishioners, and served as curate in the two western parishes, nearly\nhalf a century. Old folks of the West always speak with great respect\nof this venerable clergyman and his family, who were regarded by the\npeople with as much affection as if they had been their near relatives.\nA handsome tablet has recently been erected to the memory of this\ngentleman in St. Levan church, as also one to Miss Thomazine Dennis.\nThis lady was born at Sawah, and noted for her literary and scientific\nacquirements, which were the more notable in one brought up in that\nremote part of the world. We hope these memorials, and many other\nobjects of interest in the remarkable old church, will long remain\nundisturbed in spite of the contemplated destruction of one of the most\ninteresting monuments of ecclesiastical architecture to be found in the\ncounty, and which is hallowed by traditions dear to the people who\nproperly belong to the place.\n\n\n\n\nCOUNTRY CLERKS AND COUNTRY CHOIRS.\n\nIn conjunction with the good parsons, we have a pleasing remembrance of\nthe respectable, unaffected old clerks, to be found in most of the\ncountry churches half a century ago. In general, the clerks were small\nfarmers sufficiently well educated to be able to read the Bible and\nchurch service fluently (occasionally passing over hard words); but,\nfrom their having no other books to read in country schools than the\nuniversal spelling-book, psalter, and Bible, they were incapable of\nunderstanding any work of general literature (as a great part of our\nagricultural population are now, in fact.)\n\n\n\n\nOLD CHRISTMAS CAROLS.\n\nOur clerks were mostly the leaders of the choir, if such a term may be\napplied to the four or five old men who droned out the psalms from the\nsinging-loft, where every Sunday one or two psalms from the old version\nwere sung in parts, much after the manner of the old three-man\u2019s-songs.\nOne might often hear the old clerk in Sennen give out the lines\nbeginning with, \u201cMy saule is like a timmersone bur-r-d-e, &c.\u201d Then,\nafter he had made the pitch-pipe produce a shrieking squeak, the three\nor four old souls, accompanied by their bass-viol, would quaver on,\nmaking such shrill and startling sounds as would set your hair on end\nand shake your teeth loose. Down in St. Levan, Uncle Josey, the clerk,\nwould always have his own way about the singing, in spite of the parson\nand everybody else. His favourite psalm was all about \u201cthe precious\nointment running from Aaron\u2019s beard down unto the skirts of his\nraiment.\u201d From the old man\u2019s admiration of this odorous and unctuous\nsong of praise, one seldom had any other than what were known as the\nAaron psalm and \u201ct\u2019other.\u201d In the carol singing, on Christmas eve at\nnight, the old men sang, and their brass buttons shone in all their\nglory, when, with heart and soul, they were ringing out such joyous\nstrains as \u201cNow let us be merry, and set sorrow aside,\u201d &c.\n\nAnother favourite was an older carol, with the chorus of \u201cNoel, noel,\nnoel, born is the king of Israel.\u201d There were often sung still older\nones, which contain many such old catholic traditions as are found in\nthe apocryphal gospel of St. Nichodemus and Lives of the Saints, such\nas one about the blessed Mary walking through the orchard, when she\nlonged for a red ripe apple far above her reach, \u201cThen up spoke the\nbabe in blessed Mary\u2019s womb; bow down, apple tree, bow down, apple\ntree, that mother may have some.\u201d\n\nThese simple ditties were then regarded with much reverence for their\nhigh antiquity. Some of the old manuscript carol-books, formerly used\nin churches at Christmas-tide, are still preserved with religious care\nby old folks of the West.\n\n\n\n\nANCIENT MODE OF CONDUCTING FUNERALS.\n\nAt this time, and long before, the men of Zennor were noticeable for\ntheir singing and other musical attainments, which they made a source\nof pleasure and profit, to themselves at least, from their being often\nasked to parish-feasts from a good distance off, especially down West\n(the wise folk live t\u2019other side) that the feasters might be gratified\nby their harmonious strains in church on the Sunday, and brisk dancing\ntunes on their fiddles to set their heels a-shaking on other nights of\nthe feasten week, besides for the sake of the new songs they often\ncontrived to learn from the show people in Corpus Christi fair. But\nthey were not often asked two years following, because when they once\ngot into comfortable quarters, it was no easy matter to get rid of them\nuntil long after servy-day, [20] when they had more than eaten their\nwelcome. For the sake of their psalm-singing they used also to be often\nasked to attend funerals round about, when the friends wished to show\nmore than ordinary respect to the deceased or themselves, and have the\ndisconsolate widows cheered. The Zennor men, with their wives and\nchildren, never failed to come, with half a word\u2019s asking, from miles\naway, and they have the same fondness for funerals still; whether\nseed-time or harvest, sunshine or rainy day, Zennor folks, old and\nyoung, will leave their work and scamper over hills and moors miles\naway to \u201ca good buryal\u201d (burying), where there is likely to be plenty\nof toddy and tobacco, cake and biscuit, provided for all comers. But\ntheir room is often better liked than their company; for, after the men\nhave smoked and pocketed up as much good shag as opportunity would\nfavour them to take, by stuffing into the palm of the hand instead of\nthe bowl of the pipe, drunk as much toddy as they could possibly\ncontrive to get hold of by shifting about from place to place, so as to\nbe always near the jug of hot liquor as it is carried round for the\npeople who remain outside, the women and children all push indoors that\ncan, to look sharp after the cake and biscuits, of which they contrive\nto pocket up a good store for the children left home, and don\u2019t forget\nthe toddy, believe me, even if they have a \u201cdish of nice, sweet, strong\ntea, shure enough.\u201d After having stuffed and quaffed till near bursting\npoint, they will scamper away home like prall\u2019d [21] dogs, and the\ndevil a finger will they lend to help take the poor defunct to his last\nhome, often miles away, leave alone the singing. They are often too\ndrunk to raise the funeral note, and make some fun, which serves just\nas well, by getting into an old ballad-tune by mistake. Zennor folks\nare not often asked to parish feasts for the sake of their singing now:\nthey may stay home and bleat to Carn Galver for what anyone cares about\nthe greedy goats.\n\n\n\n\nFORMER MEANS OF INFORMATION AMONG THE PEOPLE.\n\nWe may here take leave of our old clerks, observing that they were in\ngeneral better educated, or at least better informed, than the rest of\nthe community, few of whom knew anything about what might be regarded\nas the current literature of the time. Yet, with all their ignorance of\nevery work of fiction, except Robinson Crusoe and the Pilgrim\u2019s\nProgress (the former always regarded as literally true), the oldest of\nold folks of fifty years ago knew many scraps of Grecian and Roman\nlore, as well as rare legends of ordinary saints, besides all those of\nour local ones. The story of the taking of Troytown was as well known\nto many as the game of that name. I well remember an old farm labourer\nwho did not know his a, b, c; yet he would tell you much about the\nprincipal heroes of mythic history, and acquired the nickname of Plato\nfrom his always going about singing, when alone, the old song almost\nworthy of the sage, \u201cSays Plato, why should man be vain, since\nbounteous heaven has made him great?\u201d &c., or another about Aurora and\nFlora.\n\nHow came these uneducated and poor folks to get hold of so much of the\nold world lore? It may partly be accounted for by the more gregarious,\nor sociable, customs of the olden times, when there was much less to do\nin the winter season, before turnips were introduced into the west\ncountry (in a great measure by the example of the late Colonel\nScobell), there being then but few cattle housed. Great part of the\nwinter\u2019s day was passed in hunting, in which sport one and all joined.\nAfter the substantial supper\u2014no slops of tea then, but good\nhome-brewed, with bread and cheese, beef, mutton, or bacon\u2014the mistress\nand her maids spun, whilst the men carded the wool, song-singing and\nstory-telling going on all the time, or the master read from their\nfavourite Robinson Crusoe, or from Moore\u2019s Almanack, which was also a\ngreat resource, or recited some drolls which all knew by heart; yet\nthey never tire of hearing them repeated, with such variations and\nembellishments as some recent occurrence might often suggest.\n\nA vast amount of curious information may also be traced to the sociable\nand beloved old parson, who kept up such familiar intercourse with his\nflock as to sympathise with all their joys and griefs, and to join in\nall their sports and pastimes during nearly half a century.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ASTROLOGERS OF THE WEST.\n\nWe are long lingering amongst those old folks whom we are much inclined\nto regard as rude and uncouth. Yet our vaunted refinement has not\ndiscovered anything much better to supply the loss of the honest\nsimplicity and the all-above board character of people of the last\ncentury.\n\nWe may observe that the foregoing remarks, with respect to the\nrestricted education of the generality of people of the west, do not\napply to many who were regarded as the bettermost class of farmers, or\nrather gentlemen-farmers, as they all resided on, and farmed their own\nestates. Many of this class were kept long enough at a grammar-school,\nin Penzance, or elsewhere, to learn a little Latin and mathematics; at\nleast they acquired a sufficient knowledge of mensuration to enable\nthem to measure their own fields. Many of those gentlemen were so much\ngiven to the study of astrology that they were regarded as conjurors by\ntheir domestics and more ignorant neighbours, who, seeing the\nhoroscopes and schemes in the gentlemen\u2019s old books, believed these\nstrange-looking figures to be the secret signs of the means used for\ndealing with the invisible world, or for commanding the spirits of\nlight and darkness, over whom it was devoutly believed that many\nskilful astrologers of the west had (by means of their books) perfect\ncontrol. Among the most noted adepts in this science, the best known\nwere Parson Corker, of Buryan; Mr. Jenkyn, of Trezidder, or Alverton;\nDr. Maddron, of St. Just; Mr. Ustick, of Morvah; and Mr. Matthew\nWilliams, of Mayon.\n\nSome of the stories still related of this gentleman will serve as\nexamples of the light in which he, and others of his class, were\nregarded by the more ignorant:\u2014\n\nOne Sunday morning, whilst this gentleman was in Sennen church (which\nis only a few minutes\u2019 walk from his house) he felt very uncomfortable.\nSomething told him that all was not right at home. He left the church\nin the midst of the service, and ran home just in time to find that his\nover-curious old housekeeper had taken one of the conjuring-books out\nof the chest, the key of which he had missed and which she had stolen\nthat morning for the sake of satisfying her itching curiosity. When he\nentered the room, he found her transfixed in her master\u2019s arm-chair\nlooking like death in a fright, the book open before her in the place\nof some of the most powerful spells for calling up the worst of evil\nspirits. The woman appeared like one in a fit, without the power to\nspeak or move, until her master came in the very nick of time to\nprevent the spirits (that she had unwittingly summoned by reading the\nwords, and tracing over the signs in the book with her finger) from\ncarrying her off bodily. Some of the spirits became visible; others\nlifted her, chair and all, off the floor when she stopped reading; and\nher fright made her fall into a fit. Mr. Williams read and read till\nthe sweat boiled from his body, before he had the power to drive the\nevil spirits from the room, and the old housekeeper had to undergo a\nsevere penance before she could be free of all danger from them.\n\nAnother time it was found that the gentleman\u2019s furze rick was\ndiminishing much faster than could be accounted for, for the\nconsumption of fuel in his own house. He consulted his books, and\ndiscovered by his art that some women from the Cove made a practice of\ncarrying away the furze every night. The very next night, after all\nhonest folks should be in their beds, an old woman of the Cove came as\nusual to the rick for a burn of furze. She made one of no more than the\nusual size, which she tried to lift on to her back, but found that she\ncould not move it. Then she took out half the furze, but was still\nunable to lift the faggot or so left in the rope. Becoming frightened,\nshe tried to get out the rope and run, but found that she had neither\nthe power to draw out the rope, nor move from the spot herself. Of\ncourse, the conjuror had put a spell on her, and there she had to\nremain throughout the cold winter\u2019s night, until Mr. Williams came out\nand released her in the morning from the spell, and as she was a very\npoor old soul let her have a burn of furze, but she took good care\nnever to come any more, nor any of the rest of the women, who soon\nfound out how she had been served.\n\nThese puerile stories, and many more of the same class, often recounted\nabout Mr. Williams, and many other gentlemen comparatively well\neducated for those times, are not without some significance, as they\ndenote the power that in all times and places may be acquired by the\nlearned over the minds of the ignorant, through their fears of the\nmystical and unknown.\n\nIt has been said that Miss Dennis (the learned lady before spoken of)\ncaught the disorder, which was the cause of her slow but premature\ndecease, by watching the courses of the stars during cold winter\u2019s\nnights, for the sake of making calculations. This lady corresponded\nwith many of the learned of her time. As these old astrologers had\nperfect faith in the principles of their ancient science, Astrology\nwith them was not such mere imposition as it is generally supposed to\nhave been.\n\n\n\n\nCONJURORS AND THEIR SPELLS.\n\nThey were consulted, not only with regard to the fortunes of those\nwhose exact time of coming to light was known (the time of birth was\nthen carefully registered, even to a minute, to serve as data on which\nto construct the horoscope), but were relied on for raising the spells\nof witchcraft, and often by their hints, advice, or threats of\nexposure, procured the restoration of stolen property. They were\ngenerally believed to have the same faculty of divination as is now\nassumed by the Pellar of Redruth, who is making a fortune out of the\ncredulity of people in our enlightened times.\n\nWe will now however leave them, and (by way of change) endeavour, after\na few more tales, to get back to town by the usual mode of travelling\nin the last century.\n\n\n\n\nOLD JUSTICE JONES AND CHEAP LABOUR.\n\nAs the notion of the transmigration of souls is not at all new to\nCornish people, you may imagine that, in some former state of\nexistence, you lived out west about the time that old Justice Jones\nresided in Penrose, and was long the unquestioned tyrant of that part\nof the country. In complaisance with the good pleasure of the justice,\nmany old men in the parish, even farmers, did the work on his farms of\nPenrose and Brew, for no other payment than his worthless promise that\ntheir sons should not be impressed and sent off to serve the king on\nboard a man-of-war. It seems that in the time of this ancient edition\nof Colonel Peard, the magistrates were intrusted with warrants which\nempowered them to draft off whomsoever they pleased for the king\u2019s\nservice, and to gratify their ill-will they had only to intimate to the\npress-gang that the disliked were eligible men.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VINGOES OF TREVILLE.\u2014THE JUSTICE\u2019S PUNISHMENT.\n\nOld Jones\u2019s usual mode of proceeding was to compel all the labouring\nclass to go to church every Sunday (in case of non-attendance these\nguardians of the law might also fine or imprison.) The justice would be\nfirst to leave the church, and would remain in the churchyard (where\nthose who feared him were collected to learn his pleasure) until he had\nintimated what work he wished to have done, and by whom, during the\nweek. When he wanted any extra hands during the week, as was often the\ncase in harvest, furze-carrying, and other times of work requiring\nquick despatch, he would hoist a flag on a flag-staff which used to be\nplaced in a large holed stone, which was perforated for that purpose,\nand built into the top of the angle formed by the green court and\ngarden walls. It was a common saying that not to give anyone sufficient\nwages was like old Jones\u2019s payment, of a kick in the rear, which many,\nwho neglected their own harvest work to save the old justice\u2019s corn,\nrichly deserved. But he was not long allowed to domineer over the poor\nfolks of the west. Many of the old families belonging to the parish,\namong whom the Vingoes, of Treville, were the most prominent, did all\nthey could to check his proceedings.  This ancient Norman family, who\nhad held Treville ever since the Conquest, and had been the\nwine-tasters to unknown Norman chiefs for equally unknown ages,\nregarded old Jones, for all his riches, as nothing but an upstart\nstranger in the west; yet they did not succeed in bringing the justice\nto act in a reasonable way until a smuggling crew came to their aid.\nMost of the young men of the west country (many of them farmers\u2019 sons)\nbelonged to this band, as well as two young men of Morvah\u2014a Daniel and\nUstick, who were related to the Vingoes, and might be styled gentlemen.\nTheir head-quarters were at Priest\u2019s Cove and Pendeen, as best suited\ntheir convenience. One fine day in the harvest, when old Jones had\nsummoned folks from all over the parish to save his corn, the\nsmugglers, taking the law into their own hands, marched down to Penrose\nwell-armed, took the old justice and his man (as big a rogue as\nhimself) from the house, hung them head downwards to a tree in the\ntown-place, and gave them the bastinado until they were within an inch\nof giving up the ghost; then made the old sinner give them money to\ntreat the men, and sent them off to pass a jovial day, \u201cOne and All,\u201d\nat the First and Last. Before the smugglers left, they told the justice\nthat, if he ever attempted to practice any of his old tricks again,\nthey would come some fine morning when he least expected, and take him\noff to his cousin Davy Jones\u2019s locker, and from this time he had such a\nwholesome fear of the smugglers that he seldom left his den, nor any\nmore interfered in the neighbourhood.\n\n\n\n\nPELLEW AND HIS CORNISH CREW.\n\nIt was not to be thought of that any of the race of those who, a few\nyears later, made the press-gang afraid to show their noses in the\nwest, would allow Justice Jones to continue to act oppressively. It was\nabout this time that upwards of four score men from St. Just, and\nscores from other western parishes, volunteered to man the Nymph, and\nwent off in crowds to their Captain Pellew (whether he wanted them or\nno, they wouldn\u2019t leave his ship, unless some few of them were to go a\nprivateering, when he couldn\u2019t tell what to do with all his Cornish\ncrew.) But this is a matter of history, that all know or ought to know:\nabove all, how he would never suffer any of his Cornish crew to be\nflogged, and, if old men\u2019s tales are true, he allowed them such\nlicence, when not in action, as the martinets of the service would now\nthink very irregular.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANCIENT GAMES OF HURLING AND WRESTLING.\n\nWe will now start for town in good earnest, as we don\u2019t know what fine\ndoings may be going on there this week, besides the wrestling-match on\nthe Western Green, where the best gentlemen in the land do not disdain\nto try a hitch with the poorest labouring man\u2014not for the value of the\nprize, but for the honour of proving their manliness. There is also to\nbe a grand hurling-match on the Eastern Green between Ludgvan hurlers\n[22] and any two other parishes who have a mind to accept the\nchallenge. There we shall see all the gentry from the eastward, who no\nmore think themselves degraded by joining the commontry, in the ancient\nmanly game, than a real old squire\u2019s lady would think it unbecoming to\nply the spinning-wheel in the ancient hall, surrounded by her maidens\nat the same work. So now we bid good morrow to the hearty old folks of\nthe Land\u2019s End, and hope we shall have a pleasant journey to Penzance.\n\n\n\n\nOLD METHODS OF CONVEYANCE.\n\nRIDING PILLION.\n\nPOPULAR SONGS OF THE TIMES, MARLBROOK, AND SENTIMENTAL DITTIES.\n\nNo people in the West Country had ever yet dreamed of such things as\ngigs, or any other wheel conveyance to take them to fair or market: so\nwe must either go on foot, or jog into town on horseback. If your horse\nwill carry double, you may be honoured with the company of a lady on a\npillion behind you. If possible, decline the favour, unless the lass is\nyoung and fair; for to take one who wishes to pass for a maiden lady of\na certain age is often as great a punishment as was ever invented in\nPurgatory, for the time. But if you cannot decently get rid of Miss\nPriscilla, or Aunt Jenefer, pray the Lord grant you an extra dose of\npatience.\n\nFirst, before mounting Dobbin, you must have a handkerchief fastened\nround your middle for her to grasp with her long bony fins, because she\ndoes not think it decorous forsooth to put her arm round your waist and\nhug you comfortably, like a less-affected girl might, to steady herself\non a rough road: with such a one we can jog along as happy as Darby and\nJoan. Fasten the handkerchief with a bow-knot, and if Priscilla gets\ntoo tormenting you can slip the knot and let her tumble off in going up\nhill.\n\nAs soon as Dobbin begins to trot she will be working her bony knuckles\ninto your ribs: when she wants to take snuff or perform any other\nnever-ending fidgety movements, the arm will be slipped inside the\nnackan, as far as her bony sharp elbow, which will be bored into the\nsmall of your back like a spit.\n\nThe lanes, in many places, are more like rocky water-courses than\nroads, and so narrow that a horse and panniers can scarcely pass\nbetween the high furzy hedges, and so uneven that one must be\nconstantly on the look out to keep the nag from stumbling. However, you\nwill be kept pretty straight and steady, with the dame pulling on the\nhandkerchief behind, and the hard-mouthed horse dragging on the bridle\nin front (to get his head the nearer the ground, the better to see\nwhere he may tumble down without cutting his knees), till the girths\ngive away. Dobbin gives a grunt, and down you tumble, heels over head,\nin going down some such rocky lane as that which crossed Trelew hill a\nshort time ago. Ten to one but in the tumble you will be under. There\nis not the least danger of the lady being hurt, because with the\nprotection of her cork-rump and the long stays of leather and steel,\nwood and whalebone, in which she is encased, the old girl is as safe\nfrom harm as a lobster in its shell, or a warrior in his coat of mail.\n\nHer first concern will be to see if the cordial bottle of\nbrandy-and-cloves is safe and sound among all the things in her\nknapsack of a pocket; then, if her pattens or clogs are fast and firm\nto the bow of her pillion.\n\nThe horse has long kicked himself clear of all the trappings, and\ngalloped off toward home: yet take it easy, sit ye down and drain the\nbottle until you have sucked out the last drop. But hearken! There is a\nregular drove of market-women, you may know by their clatter, coming\ndown the hill. Get up quick do, and shake yourselves straight, before\nthey arrive, for you don\u2019t know what a story the old dames will make of\nit before they leave the butter-market; above all, they delight to\noverhaul such a precise piece of prudery as Miss Priscilla, who, by\npretending to be shocked into \u201chigh strikes\u201d at what are most innocent\nthings to the simple, shows as plain as a pike-staff that something bad\nis always uppermost in her thoughts.\n\nThe runaway horse is caught and brought back, by some of the market\nfolks; the girths mended with a piece of rope-yarn; and from the rock\nat the bottom of the hill you mount again. The worst of the road being\npassed, you will get on like fighting cocks, and tune your pipes for\nthe new song of\n\n\n   \u201cMoll Brooks [23] is gone to the wars.\n    Vezy vazzy vumfra.\n    She will never return no more.\n    Ran tan tore, ran tan tore.\u201d\n\n\nThe tender Priscilla will treat you to some such touching ballad as\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cCold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart;\n    Cold are the drops of rain;\n    The first true love that ever I had,\n    In the green wood he was slain,\u201d &c., &c.\n\n\nIf that does not bring the briny tears, she will try another doleful\nsentimental ditty that was very fashionable in her time\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cI have been bad, since you have been gone;\n    Tweedle, tweedle, go twee;\n    If you had been out in the garden green,\n    You would have heard the great moans\n    Of me, of me, of me, of me.\u201d\n\n\nThen you may both join in singing the innocent old song of\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cThere did a frog live in a well,\n    Close by a merry mouse in a mill.\n    To my rigdom bomenary kimey.\n    Kim\u00e9 nar\u00e9 gild\u00e9 car\u00e9,\n    Kim\u00e9 nar\u00e9 car\u00e9,\u201d &c., &c.\n\n\nBy the time you have got throughout this you will have arrived in town,\nand be safely landed at the \u201cDuke of Cumberland\u201d public-house, which is\none of the oldest, and was one of the most respectable, hostels in\nPenzance.\n\n\n\n\nGREEN LANES AND FOOTPATHS.\n\nThose who walked to town always found near the narrow lanes a pleasant\nfoot-path, which often cut off the corners and shortened the route. In\nother places, where the road passed between the lands, which formerly\nbelonged to different proprietors, or when the adjoining land was\nenclosed for different farms, broad pieces of ground were left by\nancient proprietors for the purpose of the king\u2019s highway, that, when\none horse-track was worn impracticable, others might be found in better\ncondition, at the same time affording plenty of pleasant greensward for\nthe foot-passenger and poor man\u2019s cow. Almost all these broad green\nlanes have now been stolen from the public, by the greedy proprietors\nof adjoining farms, who had no more right than you or I to the ground\nwhich was open to the Queen\u2019s highway. A few years ago, many such\npleasant green glades might be found in the road from Penzance to\nHayle; as, for example, where Canon\u2019s town now stands was one of those\nold broad highways which belonged to the public, and which the public\nshould have kept, as well as many other strips of greensward, that the\nweary, worn, and footsore traveller might find some verdant spot\nwhereon to repose his feet and eyes.\n\nThese old green lanes were altogether distinct from the commons through\nwhich a highway might pass. There are some portions,\u2014few and far\nbetween,\u2014yet remaining of these old highways, to which the foot\npassenger turns with pleasure, to get out of the way of the wheels and\ndust.\n\n\n\n\nPACKSADDLES, OX-BUTTS, AND THE FIRST CARRIAGE.\n\nAbout four score years ago, there was no wheel-carriage for the\nhigh-road West of Trereife. On some of the farms, there were werries,\nwith three solid wheels (druchars.) These things, between wheel-barrow\nand cart, were used for bringing home the turf from the moors, taking\nout manure on level ground, &c. Corn, hay and furze were carried in\ntrusses on horse-back; but horses, furnished with pack-saddles,\ndung-pots, or crooks, were then generally used for conveying almost\neverything we now see on some sort of wheel-carriage. Ox-butts and\nwains were in use long before carts became common. One end of the axle\nwas fast in the wheel, and the axle was made to work in gudgeons under\nthe butt or wain. For building the many large mansions about in the\nWest, the timber had to be dogged from Market-jew, or floated to some\nof the Coves near the building site. Slate, lime, laths, &c., were all\nborne on the poor horses\u2019 backs.\n\nI have often heard that the first coach, or chariot, as the old Noah\u2019s\narks on slings or springs were called, was the old machine still at\nTrewinnard, which was constructed to take out the old Hawkins\u2019 in great\nstate, if not in a state of comfort. The Hawkins\u2019 lived in such grand\nstyle at the time their chariot was set up (so that everything might be\nin keeping with the grandeur of their land-ship) that they very much\nimpoverished themselves, and their descendants were consequently\nobliged to live with such economy as appeared mean for persons of their\nrank, which gave rise to the lines about Trewinnard:\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cHere is a grand hall, and no cheer;\n    A great cellar, and no beer;\n    A great park, and no deer;\n    And Sir Christopher Hawkins lives here.\u201d\n\n\nWhen the ladies and gentlemen of Trewinnard drove out in their chariot,\naccompanied by a cavalcade of belles and beaux, with hawk and hound,\nthey must have thought themselves as grand and glorious as the Queen of\nSheba and King Solomon, till stuck fast in a hole, or jolted out in the\nmud, when the half-a-dozen or more men by whom they were attended, with\npoles and ropes, picks, spades, and led horses, contrived to set them\nin motion again, at about the rate of three miles an hour, at least\nwhere the roads were the best.\n\n\n\n\nGOING TO TOWN ON MARKET DAY.\n\nMany farmers\u2019 wives and daughters would now think it too fatiguing to\nride on horseback ten miles or more with the marketing in all sorts of\nweather. Yet I remember that the inconvenience was little felt half a\ncentury ago; on the contrary, old and young looked with pleasure for\nthe market-day to come round\u2014the young folks especially, large parties\nof whom would always contrive to meet together in rain or shine, and\nrace along the lanes to the tune of \u201cthe devil take the hindmost,\u201d\noften jumping over hedges and ditches, to try the springing qualities\nof their horses, or galloping off to fair, \u201cthree on a horse,\u201d as is\nstill proverbial for Morvah fair.\n\nThen old folks would often stop to have a chat with people working in\nthe fields, or with the smiling women looking out of the open doors of\ntheir wayside cottages for the accustomed gossip of the market-day,\nwhen they hail their cronies with something like \u201cAlight, and come in,\nmy dear; how glad I am to see \u2019e looking so well. Fasten your horse to\nthe crook in the wall close by the heaping-stock, and we will soon have\nsomething warm to drink.\u201d Then they would soon have a merry chat, and\noften coursey for an hour or two. The dear old souls were never in such\na violent hurry as we all seem to be in now: they didn\u2019t care whether\nthey had to return by daylight or dark night.\n\nMany used to go to Penzance every Thursday more for the sake of hearing\nthe news than on any business of importance. Besides, it was a welcome\nrelief from the wearying monotonous life at the Land\u2019s End and other\nremote, lonely places.\n\nIt seems to me that the market was more like a fair then, from the\ncrowd of people in the street, than the fair is like a market now.\nPerhaps it is only a fancy; or the reason of the more crowded\nappearance of the streets might be owing to the various markets being\nmore concentrated fifty years ago. So many alterations and improvements\nhave taken place during the last half century that there are scarcely\nany indications remaining to show what Penzance was in the days of our\ngrandfathers.\n\n\n\n\nPENZANCE IN THE EARLY PART OF THIS CENTURY, &C.\n\nYet, fortunately, Dr. Davy has given us a graphic description of the\ntown and country as it existed about the year 1780. \u201cCornwall,\u201d the\ndoctor observes, \u201cwas then without roads. Those which traversed the\ncountry were rather bridle-paths than carriage roads; carriages were\nalmost unknown, and even carts were very little used. I have heard my\nmother relate that when she was a girl there was only one cart in the\ntown of Penzance, and, if a carriage occasionally appeared in the\nstreets, it attracted universal attention. Pack-horses were then in\ngeneral use for conveying merchandise, and the prevailing manner of\ntravelling was on horseback at that period, the luxuries of furniture\nand living now enjoyed by people of the middle class were confined\nalmost entirely to the great and wealthy, and in Penzance, where the\npopulation was about two thousand persons, there was only one carpet.\nThe floors of the rooms were sprinkled over with sea-sand, and there\nwas not a single silver fork. The only newspaper which then circulated\nin the West of England was the \u2018Sherbourne Mercury,\u2019 and it was carried\nthrough the country, not by the post but by a man on horseback\nspecially employed in distributing it. In the year 1761, the turnpike\nroad only reached as far as Falmouth. At that period the Land\u2019s End\ndistrict must have been a sort of unknown land.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nAN OLD-FASHIONED GREETING.\n\nWe leave it for those, better qualified for the Task, to describe how\nthe Arduous Labour of Years, in endeavouring to obtain Public Buildings\nworthy of the town has progressed until, crowned with the Success WHICH\nWE UNITE IN CELEBRATING to-day with Joy and Gratitude; only hoping that\nthe Sun may be as bright and cheering as the open countenance of our\nIndefatigable Chief Magistrate, that THE GLADSOME SOUNDS OF TRUMPET,\nBUGLE, FIFE, AND DRUM MAY PENETRATE THE GLOOMY HAUNTS OF ALL THE SOUR\nAND SULLEN, MAKING THEM LEAVE THEIR MOPING MELANCHOLY, AND HEARTILY\nUNITE, \u201cONE AND ALL,\u201d LIKE TRUE CORNISH PEOPLE, IN SHOWING THAT THEY\nPARTICIPATE IN THE GENERAL SATISFACTION NOW FELT, AND SOUGHT TO BE\nEXPRESSED IN THE MOST PLEASING MODE THAT AT LAST THE NOBLE BUILDING HAS\nBEEN RAISED. LONG MAY IT GATHER WITHIN ITS WALLS A HEALTHY, UNITED, AND\nPROSPEROUS PEOPLE.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GHOSTS OF CHAPEL-STREET AND St. MARY\u2019S CHAPEL-YARD.\n\n\nLittle more than fifty years ago, the building in Chapel street, which\nnow (1867) serves as a dispensary, with the adjoining house at the\nentrance to Vounderveor-lane, formed a mansion which belonged to, and\nwas occupied by an elderly lady, Mrs. Baines. At that time there was,\nin the rear of this mansion, a large garden, or rather orchard and\ngarden, extending westward nearly to New-road, and bounded on the south\nby Vounderveor. The south side of the lane was an open field, and at\nits west end there were no dwellings.\n\nWhere the School of Art, the Methodist vestries, and other houses\nstand, was all known as Mrs. Baines\u2019s orchard. This pleasant spot, in\nwhich the lady took great delight, was stocked with the choicest apple,\npear, plum, and other fruit trees then known. The town boys soon found\nout the fine flavour of Mrs. Baines\u2019s fruit, which was to them all the\nsweeter for being stolen. When the apples were ripe and most tempting,\nthe mistress and her serving-man watched the garden by turns\u2014the man\nduring the first part of the night, and madam would descend in her\nnight-dress, every now and then, to see that all was right, in the\nsmall hours of morning.\n\nOne night Mrs. Baines, suspecting that man John was rather careless in\nkeeping guard, sallied forth to see if he was attending to his duty;\nand, not finding him anywhere about the garden, she went to a tree of\nhighly-prized apples and shook down a good quantity, intending to take\nthem away, and thus prove to John that, through his remissness, the\nfruit was stolen. But her man Jan, armed with an old blunderbus,\ncharged with peas and small shot, was at no great distance dozing under\na hedge. The rustling of shaken branches, and noise of falling apples,\nawoke him, and, seeing somebody, as he thought, stealing apples from\ntheir favourite tree, he up with his gun and let fly at his mistress,\nexclaiming, at the same time, \u201cNow you thief, I\u2019ve paid \u2019e off for\nkeeping me out of bed to watch \u2019e! I know \u2019e, I do, and will bring \u2019e\nbefore his worship the mayor to-morrow!\u201d \u201cLord help me, I\u2019m killed!\u201d\ncried the lady, as she fell on the ground. Jan stayed to see no more,\nbut, frightened out of his wits, ran away and couldn\u2019t be found for\nseveral days. At last he was discovered up in Castle-an-dinas, half\nstarved. By good luck the old lady\u2019s back was towards her man when he\nfired, and the greatest portion of the charge took effect below her\nwaist. Doctor Giddy was fetched, and, after some delicate surgical\noperations, which the lady bore with exemplary patience, pronounced her\nfright to be more than the hurt.\n\nHowever, a short time after the old lady got shot, she died; and then\nshe kept such ward and watch over her orchard that few were so bold as\nto enter, after day-down, into the haunted ground, where the ghost of\nMrs. Baines was often seen under the tree where she was shot, or\nwalking the grounds of her garden. Everybody knew the old lady by her\nupturned and powdered grey hair under a lace cap of antique pattern; by\nthe long lace ruffles hanging from her elbows; her short silk mantle,\ngold-headed cane, and other trappings of old-fashioned pomp.\n\nThere are many still living in Penzance who remember the time when they\nwouldn\u2019t venture on any account to pass through Vounderveor-lane after\nnight-fall, for fear of Mrs. Baines\u2019 ghost. Sometimes she would flutter\nup from the garden or yard (just like an old hen flying before the\nwind), and perch herself on the wall: then, for an instant, one might\nget a glance of her spindle legs and high-heeled shoes before she\nvanished.\n\nHer walking in the garden might have been put up with, but she soon\nhaunted all parts of the premises, and was often seen where least\nexpected both by night and at noon. The ghost became so troublesome, at\nlast, that no person could be found to occupy the house, where she was\nall night long tramping about from room to room, slamming the doors,\nrattling the furniture, and often making a fearful crash amongst glass\nand crockery. Even when there was no living occupant in the house,\npersons, standing in Chapel street, often saw through the windows a\nshadowy form and lights glimmering in the parlours and bed-rooms.\n\nThe proprietors, driven to their wits\u2019 end, unwilling that such\nvaluable property should become worse than useless, all through the\nfreaks of this vexatious ghost, at last sent for a parson, who was much\nfamed in this neighbourhood as an exorcist (we think the name of this\nreverend ghost-layer was Singleton), that he might remove and lay the\nunresting spirit; and he succeeded (by what means our informant knoweth\nnot) in getting her away down to the sand-banks on the Western Green,\nwhich were then spread over many acres of land where the waves now\nroll. Here, this powerful parson, single-handed, bound her to spin from\nthe banks ropes of sand for the term of a thousand years, unless she,\nbefore that time, spun a sufficiently long and strong one to reach from\nSt. Michael\u2019s Mount to St. Clement\u2019s Isle. The encroaching sea having\nswept away the sandbanks, Mrs. Baines\u2019 ghost is probably gone with\nthem, as she hasn\u2019t been heard of for some years, and, if she returns,\nthe present occupiers of the old abode wouldn\u2019t mind her.\n\nAbout the time that Mrs. Baines\u2019s ghost carried on its freaks in the\nmansion, an open pathway passed through St. Mary\u2019s chapel-yard, which\nwas then often crossed, as it shortened the distance to the Quay; but,\nfor a long time, few persons liked to pass through the burial-ground by\nnight, because a ghostly apparition, arrayed in white, was often seen\nwandering amongst the tombs, from which doleful sounds were frequently\nheard. Sometimes the fearful figure was also met on the path or seen in\nthe chapel porch. One dark and rainy night, however, a sailor, who\nneither knew nor cared anything about the ghost of St. Mary\u2019s, in\ntaking the short cut through the chapel-yard, came as far as the\nchapel-porch, when the ghost issued forth on the path and there stood,\nbobbing its head and waving its shroudings before him.\n\n\u201cHalloa! Who or what are you?\u201d said the sailor.\n\n\u201cI am one of the dead!\u201d the ghost answered.\n\n\u201cIf you are one of the dead, what the deuce do you do here above\nground? go along down below!\u201d said the sailor, as he lifted his fist\nand dealt the ghost a stunning blow over its head, which laid it\nsprawling on the stones, where it remained some time, unable to rise or\ndescend, until a person passing by assisted it to get on its legs, and\ndiscovered that a frolicksome gentleman, called Captain Carthew, who\nthen lived in the house which is now Mrs. Davy\u2019s property, had long\nbeen diverting himself and frightening the towns\u2019-folk out of their\nwits by personating the ghost, which was most effectually laid by Jack\nTar, and served out for its tricks on the timid and credulous.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLOCAL NICKNAMES.\n\nCAMBORNE MERRY-GEEKS AND MARKET-JEW CROWS.\u2014LUDGVAN HURLERS AND GULVAL\nBULLS.\u2014MOUSHAL CUT-THROATS AND NEWLYN BUCKAS.\u2014SANCRAS PIGS AND BURYAN\nBOARS.\u2014ST. LEVAN WITCHES AND SENNEN \u2014\u2014.\u2014SANTUST FUGGANS AND MORVAH\nCHICK-CHACKS.\u2014NANCLEDREA RATS AND ZENNOR GOATS.\u2014TOWEDNACK CUCKOOS AND\nST. IVES HAKES.\n\n\nThe inhabitants of almost all West-country parishes and of several\nvillages are known by nicknames peculiar to them as natives of the\nrespective places. The origin of these names is for the most part\nforgotten. A few, however, may be accounted for.\n\n\n\n\nCAMBORNE MERRY-GEEKS AND MARKET-JEW CROWS.\n\nCamborne people are now frequently called \u201cMerry-geeks.\u201d\n\nThis modernized name conveys the idea that Camborne boys are much\ninclined to frolicsome fooling. Some old folks, however, still call\nthem Merry-sicks or Merry-sickers. No doubt they acquired their\nnickname from their patron, St. Meriasek, who, according to his legend,\nas given in the old Cornish Mystery-play, was one of the most noted\nwonder-workers in this land of saints.\n\nCamborne folks, of three centuries or so ago, must have highly\nappreciated this rare old \u201cGuary Miracle\u201d of St. Meriasek, if only for\nthe way in which they are lauded in it. Redruth Plan-an-Guary must have\nrung with applause when it was performed there during Queen Elizabeth\u2019s\nreign, and probably much later.\n\nWith regard to Marazion people\u2019s appellation of \u201cCrows,\u201d it is said\nthat, until a little while ago, a remarkable variety of party-coloured\ncrows frequented this ancient town and its neighbourhood from very\nremote times. The saying of \u201cAll black and white, like a Market-jew\ncrow,\u201d is still frequently heard; as well as that of \u201cLike the Mayor of\nMarket-jew, sitting in his own light.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLUDGVAN HURLERS AND GULVAL BULLS.\n\nLudgvan folks got the name of \u201cHurlers,\u201d because they were wont to beat\nall-comers at their favourite game of hurling. They are still proud of\ntheir name.\n\nGulval people obtained their nickname of \u201cBulls\u201d long ago when they had\na custom of bringing their young bulls (mostly yearlings) together to\nfight. The cattle were always matched according to their ages. Often\nheavy bets were staked on the extent and result of their prowess, and\nthe strongest was preferred as a sire for the future herd. Strength was\nthen more desirable than now, since most of the team-labour on the land\nwas done by oxen, and it was desirable that they should be tough and\nmuscular. Feasten Monday was the usual time for this bovine trial of\nstrength.\n\n\n\n\nMOUSHAL CUT-THROATS AND NEWLYN BUCKAS.\n\nWe will now follow the sun\u2019s course, for good luck, and pass over the\nBay to Moushal and its \u201cCut-throats.\u201d\n\nShortly after the Spaniards burnt this old town, many young men of Paul\nand the adjacent parishes\u2014eager to retaliate on the Dons\u2014went\nprivateering. Some of them joined the Jamaica buccaneers, a few turned\npirates, and all of them scoured the Spanish Main. One and all of the\nWest Country men hailed from Moushal, which was then a noted place, and\nthe chief port west of Market-jew.\n\nWhen the adventurous rovers returned home, laden with gold and\ntreasures, envious land-lubbers, out of spite, dubbed them \u201cMoushal\u2019s\nCut-throats.\u201d Old folks used to say that, a century or so ago, the head\nproprietors of Paul and some of Buryan were the descendants of\nBuccaneers and \u201cMadagascar Birds.\u201d Those old families are, for the most\npart, become extinct in this neighbourhood, though two or three of them\nare flourishing elsewhere.\n\nOur old privateering stories always speak of Moushal as the general\nrendezvous of western sea-rovers; thus this bad-sounding nickname was\nacquired\n\n\n   \u201cIn the days we went a pirating,\n      A long time ago.\u201d\n\n\nOne needs go no farther than Moushal to learn how Newlyn people got the\nname of \u201cBuccas.\u201d What old folks say is to the effect that the\nfishermen of that place (within the remembrance of persons yet alive)\nwere accustomed, on their return to shore, to make a propitiatory\noffering to a spirit (Bucca) by placing for him a fish, just within\nhigh-water mark, in order that the spirit might ensure them good luck\nin their fishing. It was believed that Bucca came at night and took\naway the fish. Those who continued to observe this remnant of an old\nreligious rite were derided by their more \u201cenlightened\u201d neighbours of\nrecent times, and by them nicknamed \u201cBuccas.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSANCRAS PIGS AND BURYAN BOARS.\n\nOld folks say that the inhabitants of Sancreed were called \u201cSancras\nPigs\u201d because, formerly, pork from that inland parish was preferred to\nwhat was raised elsewhere in this neighbourhood.\n\nAll the other parishes west of Hayle have some part of their boundaries\non the seaboard: consequently, from the abundance of fish and the want\nof any but the home market for it, until recently, much good fish was\ncast on manure heaps, in places near fishing-coves; and the great,\nlong-sided, razor-backed swine, then foraging at their pleasure in\nlanes and hamlets, ate so much fishery offal that it communicated a bad\nflavour and worse smell to their meat. Much pork was then sold to the\n\u201cjousters\u201d (retailers from the eastward) as \u201cSancras Pigs\u201d that never\nsaw Sancras parish; and the natives of that favoured place might be\nheard all over the Market-house calling out, \u201cCome \u2019e here, my dears,\nlook at this, ah es a Sancras pig, born and reared; see the fat ov en\nes as white as a crud (curd); no fear ov en beean trainey, like Paul\nand Sennen-cove trade, that have lived upon fish all their time.\u201d\n\nAt length these inlanders\u2019 brag procured them the nickname of \u201cSancras\nPigs,\u201d which they still retain.\n\nWe must pass over Buryan, for there seems to be no satisfactory account\nas to how the swinish nickname bestowed on the natives of that\nimportant parish originated.\n\n\n\n\nST. LEVAN WITCHES AND SENNEN \u2014\u2014.\n\nSt. Levan people are said to have acquired their remarkable name of St.\nLevan Witches from the belief\u2014once general\u2014that the inhabitants of that\nremote parish were, in days of yore, much addicted to the practice of\nnecromancy, particularly witchcraft. Old folks held that all the West\nCountry witches used to meet and hold their revels in Castle Trereen;\nuntil they mounted to the Castle Peak, and, bestriding their brooms or\nragwort stalk, thence took their departure for Wales, Brittany, and\neven to Spain. Most nights, however, they merely went over and got a\ngood \u201cblow out\u201d (feast) on the milk of Taffy\u2019s cows. At times, too,\nTol-pedn-penwith was their place of assembly, whence they started to\nwreck ships and perform other deviltry.\n\nIf old traditions may be relied on, the unseemly nickname of Sennen \u2014\u2014\noriginated in a somewhat remarkable way. They say that it was given\nlong ago, owing to the Danish blood inherited by a few families who\nlived on the shore of Whitsand Bay.\n\nMany Land\u2019s End folks have still a strong antipathy to what they regard\nas marks of descent from northern pirates, who ravaged the West more\nthan a thousand years ago.\n\nHere, in old times, Scandinavians generally seem to have been called\nDanes; and from the prevalence, in some families of this parish, of the\nfiery-hued hair ascribed to those northern marauders, the inference is\nobvious, and the vulgar nickname accounted for which was given in ages\npast, and \u201coriginated with kind and discriminating neighbours.\u201d\n\nNo doubt the neighbouring witches, just mentioned, kindly performed\ntheir share of the nicknaming.\n\nThe stories referring to the \u201cred-haired Danes\u2019\u201d incursions seem to be\nhanded down from a time more remote than that of King Olof\u2019s conversion\nat the Scilly Islands, and much of what they say is confirmed by Snorri\nSturluson in his Heimskringla.\n\n\n\n\nSANTUST FUGGANS AND MORVAH CHICK-CHACKS.\n\nSt. Just people do not seem to have had one of long standing, but they\nare favoured with two at present.\n\nMany called them \u201cSantust Fuggans,\u201d and others \u201cRed-tailed Drones.\u201d The\nformer is given them from the heavy-cakes (fuggan) which they take to\n\u201cball\u201d for a stay-stomach; and the latter from their red working dress\ndyed with tin-stuff.\n\nOne may remark that what we country folks call \u201cdrones\u201d are large wild\nbees with orange-coloured or red tails, and never the large male bees\nof the hive. When a slice of meat is baked on a \u201cfuggan\u201d it then\nbecomes a \u201choggan.\u201d\n\nPerhaps these peculiar words are old Cornish. A haws is also called a\n\u201choggan,\u201d but that may be from the Saxon.\n\nIt is uncertain how Morvah folks acquired the sobriquet of\n\u201cChick-chacks.\u201d It is very general: consequently one may suppose it to\nbe of ancient date. Some say it was given because the gabble of old\nMorvah people sounded like the chatter of birds commonly called\nChick-chacks, from their cry or note. Morvah Devils is also a common\nnickname.\n\n\n\n\nNANCLEDREA RATS AND ZENNOR GOATS.\n\nNancledrea folk owe their nickname of \u201crats\u201d to their mill, or rather\nto their millers. This may be understood by such scenes as the\nfollowing, which often occurred:\u2014The \u201cloader\u201d (miller\u2019s boy) having\nbrought the grist to a farmhouse, the good wife would \u201cpeze\u201d (weigh by\nhand) the sacks of flour, bran, &c.\u2014looking very wise, or sour the\nwhile,\u2014then relieve her mind by saying, \u201cLook here, thou \u2018pilyack\u2019\n(good-for-nothing rascal), thee hast broft me up \u2018tummals\u2019 enow to be\nsure, but more than hafe of en es secands and brand, that a es; and\nwhat thee hast broft for brand es most of am barley hulls and \u2018ishan\u2019\n(corn husks and dust,) but thee dosn\u2019t care. The cunan old Nancledrea\nrats have eat the best flour agen and left all the secands and brand.\nDost a hear me, you? I spose, too, that after the sacks had been twice\ntull\u2019d, the millar\u2019s old wife dipped in her dish agen, for doubtan that\nthey hadn\u2019t ben tull\u2019d enow before.\u201d\n\nThe loader, very unconcerned, lets the dame talk on, and she\ncontinues:\u2014\n\n\u201cNow, tell the old rat from me\u2014dost a heer me?\u2014ef a don\u2019t sarve me\nbetter next time, I\u2019ll carry my corn to \u2018four parishes round\u2019 before\nI\u2019ll be cheated so; that I will; the devil take the hungry old rat and\nhis wife too.\u201d\n\nAfter some rough talk the boy was generally dismissed with a good slice\nof bread thickly spread with cream and treacle.\n\nIt is said that Zennor people obtained their nickname of \u201cGoats\u201d from\nthe great number of these animals which were formerly kept on the high\nrocky hills, amongst them Carn Galva (goat\u2019s carn), on the western side\nof this parish.\n\nIt was also said that Zennor people would contrive, by their thrifty\nhabits, to live like goats, where other animals and ordinary human\nbeings would starve. \u201cAs careful as Zennor people\u201d was a common saying\nin neighbouring parishes. Yet their care or stinginess was often\nmistaken for economy, when their rearing cattle, and working beasts as\nwell, were so badly fed in winter that they came to \u201cheaving\u201d time, if\nnot before, in the spring.\n\nIt was what we call \u201cfunny but whist\u201d to see, of a morning, men or\nwomen, out in their \u201ccrafts\u201d (where such cattle were usually wintered)\nhelping a poor, half-starved beast to rise, and holding on to its tail\nuntil it could stand steady enow to devour the little jerffel (armful)\nof straw, put before it. Yet, when they contrived to keep alive their\npoor yearlings until summer, these hardy young cattle, then turned to\nlanes, would often wander away for miles and get at the grass, or any\ncrop to be found on a remarkably fertile strip of land between the wild\nhills and the sea-shore, in spite of all their spanning or steeping\n(tying the head down to a leg), or \u201cmopping,\u201d by a piece of board hung\nbefore the eyes.\n\nOn this strip of land, forming the morrab of Zennor, the principal\nfarms of this parish are situated.\n\n\n\n\nTOWEDNACK CUCKOOS AND ST. IVES HAKES.\n\nTowednack people were nicknamed \u201cCuckoos\u201d from the institution of what\nwas called their \u201cCuckoo Feast.\u201d The story runs that, in old times,\n\u201cTowednackers\u201d fretted themselves very much because the winters were so\nlong \u201cup there\u201d in that bitter cold country; besides, they grieved all\nthe more on account of their having no feast, as in parishes round.\n\nThey owed this grievance either to their not having had a patron saint,\nor he had ceased to be commemorated by an annual festival, if he ever\nwere thus honoured. At length the principal people of the parish agreed\nto meet at the public-house that they might lay their heads together\nand, by their united wisdom, devise some plan for bettering their\ncondition in both respects. Abundance of strong drink and some eatables\nwere provided for the occasion. They met on the last week of April,\nand, after a long deliberation, one of the wisest proposed to hedge in\na cuckoo, if ever she came there again, which was a rare occurrence.\n\nOne and all declared that nothing could be better; they would go the\nvery next day and begin to hedge in a place on Cold Harbour Downs, and\nleave a gap in the enclosure through which she could be driven into it.\nThey stayed together a week rejoicing over their schemes, and singing\nthe old refrain,\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cThe cuckoo is a pretty bird,\n        And sings as she flies;\n    And brings us fine weather,\n        And tells us no lies.\u201d\n\n\nThey would have remained longer but their drink ran short.\n\nThe story doesn\u2019t say if they commenced hedging or not. They were so\nwell pleased, however, with the joyous way in which they had passed a\nweek together that all of them determined, henceforward to meet every\nyear, at the same date, to hold a feast, and to invite their friends\nfrom other parishes to come there and be entertained.\n\nThe good folk kept their resolution, held a feasten week in a jovial\nway, and their winters seemed shorter to them ever after. There are\nother versions of this old droll, all of them intended to ridicule\nsimple folk for confounding cause and effect; all show, too, that there\nwas something unusual in the establishment of Towednack feast.\n\nThis feast was also called \u201cCrowder feast,\u201d from an old custom which\nwas there kept up at \u201cthe tide,\u201d long after it had fallen into disuse\nin other parishes.\n\nOn the feasten-Sunday morning, the people, with their \u201cfeasters\u201d\n(visitors from other parishes) met in Churchtown, at or near the inn.\nWhilst the bells rung, they arranged themselves to form a kind of\nprocession; when the bells ceased calling them, the fiddler struck up a\nlively tune on his \u201ccrowd\u201d (fiddle) and led them on to the Church door.\n\nAfter service they again formed in order on leaving the Church, and\nheaded by the \u201ccrowder,\u201d fifers, and others playing a cheerful\nstrain\u2014whilst the bells rung,\u2014as was their wont at \u201cthe tide,\u201d\u2014they\nmarched together three times round or through the village before they\ndispersed and took their various roads home.\n\nThis custom was regarded, by good people, as natural enough in more\nsimple and sociable times, when it was \u201cMerrie England.\u201d\n\nThere is a saying that calves are christened at Towednack Quay Head.\nOne would like to know how this arose?\n\nSt. Ives people are known as \u201chake whippers,\u201d the tradition running\nthat upon one occasion they flogged the hakes out of the bay, which\naccounts for none having been seen there since. But at St. Ives they\nwill tell you that the Hake flogged was a man of that name, and that he\nwell deserved it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA CORNISH DROLL: BETTY TODDY AND HER GOWN.\n\n(RE-PRINTED BY DESIRE.)\n\n\nWe almost every day hear the saying \u201cAs gay as Betty Toddy\u2019s gown.\u201d Yet\nfew know anything more of Betty, or her gown, although both were rather\nremarkable in their way and day. Betty\u2019s right name was Elizabeth\nWilliams. There were four, if not five families of this name in St.\nJust about a hundred years ago; when Betty flourished in all her glory.\nTo distinguish one of them from another, each family had a nickname, by\nwhich they were better known than by their proper name, as Bibbs,\nCobbler, Toddy, &c. The family to which Betty belonged gained their\nqueer name by some old granny of theirs giving the children toddy\n(spirit and water) with their bread and butter, instead of the usual\nmilk, or pillas-porridge. When the old folks \u201cwent round land,\u201d Betty\nand her brother Jacob were left with a little holding in or near\nChurchtown. They had ground enough to keep a cow or two, raise a little\npease, barley, pillas, or naked oats, which were very much used then\nbefore the murphies came into the country: the everlasting pease\nporridge, broth and herby-pies, with milk instead of tea (only then\nused by the gentry) was the every day fare. Jacob worked to bal, and\nbrought home his gettings to provide the few articles that their little\nquilletts didn\u2019t supply. Betty had all the profit of what she could\nspare to sell from her cows and poultry\u2014not much, for Jacob could eat\nas much as half-a-dozen men, and do as much work as half-a-score of\nthose going now, who have their inside washed out with tea and stuffed\nwith potatoes. The Toddy\u2019s had been people of consequence in their\ntime, and many rich and queer articles of old-fashioned dress came to\nBetty from grandmothers and great-mothers, in which she would appear in\nstate at Church on Sundays, decked out in all sorts of worn-out finery,\nput on any how, over the humblest of working-day clothing; as a black\nsilk mantle over a bed-gown, check apron, and quilted petticoat so\npatched that it was hard to tell which was the first piece; high-heeled\nvelvet shoes, with silver buckles, over sheep-grey stockings; fan,\nrings, beads, pointed hat, lace ruffles hanging from her elbows to her\nknees; all the odds and ends of old-fashioned grandeur would be pitched\non any how. But Betty was not the only one in the parish then who\ndressed just in the same way. Betty determined (when nearly out of her\nteens) that she would have a brand new gown, the smartest in the\nparish. After saving her money for years\u2014sometimes half starving Jacob\non \u201cbread and scrape,\u201d that she might have the more butter to sell,\nallowing him no more than half-a dozen eggs with his breakfast and so\non\u2014she thought that, by the Feast, surely she would have money enough\nto buy as gay a gown as \u201cheart could wish.\u201d\n\nSo Hallan Thursday, Betty started off with her basket of three weeks\u2019\nbutter, and the money she had been saving for years tied up in her\npocket. Betty was so proud that day that, when any found fault with the\ngrey look of her butter, she said they were fools and buckas not to\nknow that the butter was always that colour from a black-and-white cow.\n\nThe grey butter was sold at last. Betty went up to Mr. Pidwell\u2019s shop,\ncalled out to the old gentleman before she got down the steps into the\nshop, \u201cMr. Pidwell, here I am look\u2019e, and I do want as strong a piece\nof dowlas as you have got in your shop to make a smock, for I must have\nsomething that will stand plenty of wear, besides a piece of something\nbrave and smart to make a new gownd against the Feast.\u201d Dowlas for the\nsmock was soon cut out. After, Mr. Pidwell turned over all his gayest\nprints and chintz, but nothing could be found smart enough to please\nBetty, when she happened to spy some bed furniture, covered with trees\nand flowers of all colours, birds singing in the branches, cows\ncouranting, with more sorts of beasts than ever entered the ark\u2014birds\nand beasts all as gay as the flowers. \u201cDear lord, Mr. Pidwell, there\u2019s\nthe very thing I do want to have, but I suppose you do think that\u2019s too\nsmart for me; that\u2019s the sort of stuff for the ladies of the town to\ndeck themselves in on Sundays and high Holy-days; or else that I havn\u2019t\nmoney enough to pay for\u2019n. What es et a yard than?\u201d \u201cTwo and twenty\npence,\u201d says Mr. Ben. \u201cNo, don\u2019t ye believe et, I arn\u2019t going to be\ntaken in like that, for mammy only gave two and a grate (groat) for her\nbest gownd.\u201d Mr. Pidwell let her have it at her own price, and made up\nthe difference, without taking the poor soul in. All the way home from\nPenzance to Church-town, Betty and her comrades never tired of admiring\nthe red and blue sheep, goats and deer, rabbits and hares, horses,\nbulls, and such animals as were never born nor created. By the Feasten\nEve, the mantua-maker had made the precious gown to Betty\u2019s mind. They\ncontrived to cut the stuff so as to have one of the red sheep on each\nshoulder, and a blue bull on the back.\n\nIn these good old times, everybody kept up the Feast as they ought.\nJacob had killed the pig for Winter\u2019s use that week, and a fine fat\ncalf (none of your \u201cstaggering bob,\u201d three weeks old, but something\nworth calling veal, more than two months in this world), a noble piece\nof beef, to cut and come again, hares and rabbits, geese and ducks,\nenough that all the cousins and old acquaintances (not a few) expected\nto come to Feast might have a good \u201cblow-out.\u201d Don\u2019t ye believe it,\nthat they went short of plenty of good drink in these roaring times,\nwhen there was none of your cussed boat-men sneaking about\u2014trying to\nhinder one, but they can\u2019t, from having plenty of good brandy from\nFrance.\n\nThe feasten day, Betty was up in the morning early. The morning work\nwas soon done; the great crock put on with the beef, calf\u2019s head, and\ndumpling; not more water than just enough to cover them, as Betty said\n\u201cShe wouldn\u2019t make dish-wash for Feasten broth; no not she;\u201d rabbit\npie, veal and parsley pies, with the figgy-puddings, all were put to\nbake, and the chimney full of turfey-fire, all in a glow from end to\nend, when a poor half-witted fellow called Bucca, [24] who thought\nhimself Betty\u2019s sweetheart, came in to watch the cooking, that Betty\nmight dress in time to go to church to shew her new gown.\n\nWhen Betty came out in her new gown, with all the rest of her\nfaldelals, Bucca said she was a grander lady, by ever so much than\nMadam down to Pendeen even, leave alone the little gentry and many\nothers thought the same, when Betty stopped at the cross, where they\nwaited long after the parson had gone into Church that they might see\nall the beauty of Betty\u2019s gay new gownd.\n\nThe feasters, from the other parishes, were not expected to arrive much\nbefore dinner time. Jacob had started off to meet some cousins from\nSancrass on the road. Betty told Bucca, be sure to keep the crock to\nboil, and when the broth was ready to take up some and a dumpling or\ntwo for himself. The basins were breaded on the table, ready for the\nfeasters to help themselves as soon as they came in, according to\ncustom.\n\nThe sermon was begun before Betty entered the church door. Then the\nparson stopped preaching, and everybody stood up to see Betty\u2019s smart\ngown, and she was brave and proud to stand up that they might see it.\nAt last the parson went on again. Betty and the rest had scarcely\nseated themselves, when Bucca tore into church crying out \u201cBetty!\nBetty! make haste home; the calf\u2019s head have eat the dumplings all but\none, and es chasing that round the crock like mad, and the feasters are\nall come too!\u201d The parson now stopped for good, and all went out of\nchurch as fast as they could tumble, to get a sight of Betty Toddy\u2019s\ngay gown, and such a gay gown has never been seen in Church-town from\nthat day to this. As might be expected, Bucca found the dumplings so\ngood that he eat them all but one and put the fault on the calf\u2019s head.\nNo matter. The feasters didn\u2019t lack good cheer.\n\nBest part of the Sunday afternoon was passed in doing justice to the\ngood cheer. Towards night, Jacob and the men went round to see their\nold comrades; then one and all went to the public-house for a spell.\nBetty and her female friends remained at home, that they might have a\ngood chance of talking by themselves of what they never get weary\u2014their\nsweethearts. By the time they had told each other about all the\nyoungsters who were fighting for them, or getting drunk because they\nhad been slighted by them, supper being cooked in the meantime, all\ncame in, and found the board laid with as substantial a meal as they\nhad for dinner, and plenty of nice kick-shaws besides. About midnight,\nafter taking eggy-beer and brandy, the old folks went home. The\nyoungsters remained to see, and join in, the games of the feasten week.\n\nMonday morning early, all the men were off to the wrestling. The ring\nwas in a field near Church-town. All the standards had been made\nbefore; they had only then to contend for the prizes, which were given\nby the ladies of the parish, and usually consisted of a pair of spurs\nfor the first prize, a laced hat or waistcoat for the second, and a\npair of gloves for the third. The sports of the wrestling-ring and\nplan-an-guare (the round) which was given up to the boys for their\ngames at quoits, were kept up from daylight till dark night, when all\nwent home for a hasty meal and to take the girls to the public-house,\nwhere the fiddle and fife in every room put life into the legs of the\ndancers; but they seldom found fiddles enough, and many a merry jig and\nthree-handed reel was kept agoing by the tune being sung to such old\ncatches as\n\n\n   \u201cHere\u2019s to the devil,\n    With his wooden-spade and shovel,\n    Digging tin by the bushel,\n    With his tail cocked up;\u201d\n\n\nor to \u201cMall Brooks is gone to the wars,\u201d with a rattling chorus to suit\nthe measure. The end to another old catch to which they shoot their\nheel and toe was\n\n\n   \u201cA guinea will sink and a note will float,\n    Better is a guinea than a five-pound note.\u201d\n\n\nSometimes they merely sang hal-an-toe (heel-and-toe) to keep the mill\na-going. At the same time the sober old folks would be below stairs\nsinging their \u201cthree-men\u2019s-songs.\u201d At last, when all had danced and\ndrunk so much that they could dance or drink no more, it was \u201churrah\nfor home, comrades, to be up for the hurling-match in the morning.\u201d\n\nTuesday morning you would hear the noble old hurling cry of \u201cGuare\nwheag y guare teag\u201d (fair play is good play) when the silver ball, with\nthis motto engraved on it, was thrown up from the cross. At the feast\nthe match was usually between St. Just and Burian or Sancreed; or\nSennen and St. Levan together were regarded as a fair match for St.\nJust. The run was often from Church-town to the stone marking the\nboundary of the four parishes, but when Pendeen was kept up in its\nglory then the goal was down to the green-court gate, where the noble\nold squire would have a barrel of strong beer, with abundance of other\ngood cheer, to treat all comers.\n\nPendeen didn\u2019t look wisht and dreary then, with the place crowded with\nladies, decked in all that was rich and rare, to see the hurling-ball\nbrought in. You should have been there to see all the beautiful\nchimney-stacks of the grand old house sending out the turf-smoke, to\nnote the clouds coming out of that noble hall-chimney, just beside the\ndoor; doesn\u2019t it tell one of the comfort and free heart of all within?\nWhat is it that makes that old building look so noble? Is it the angle\nat which the roof is pitched, the exact proportion and variety of the\nchimney-stacks, or the just proportions and correspondence of the\nwhole, that makes the old mansion so pleasing to the eye as well as\ninteresting?\n\nWhilst we are admiring the house, all the hurlers are drinking health\nand a happy long life to the squire and all his family. If the old\nstories may be credited there was always good store of something\nstronger than \u201cold October\u201d no farther off than the Vow, which the\nsquire, being a justice, was supposed to know nothing about. They say\nthat when a cargo from France was expected to be run into the Cove, the\nladies would contrive to send the good old squire from home, or keep\nhim indoors till the liquor was safe in the Vow\u2014the silks and laces in\nthe ladies\u2019 chests.\n\nFew were so curious as to venture near the Vow by night, scarcely by\nday, as all said the place was haunted by the spirit of a lady which\nhad often been seen coming out of the cavern in the depth of Winter,\ndressed all in white, with a red rose in her mouth; and woe betide the\nperson who had the bad luck to see the ghost\u2014misfortune was sure to\nfollow. We know now that great part of the ghosts which were said to\nhaunt many old mansions in the west were mere creations of the\nsmugglers\u2019 brains, to scarce away the over-curious from the convenient\nhiding-places furnished by these old houses in their vaults, caverns,\nsecret closets behind or beside the chimneys, with many other\ncontrivances for the concealment of persons and property.\n\nThe hurlers from the other parishes, whether they lost or won, were\nmade to go back to church-town or home with our St. Tusters to be\ntreated. If the strangers would neither eat or drink with them they\nwould soon have to fight with them, and all in friendship too. They\nwould like enough be asked, \u201cDost thee think thyself too good to eat or\ndrink with me then? If that\u2019s the case, come let\u2019s see which is the\nbest man of us.\u201d When they had half-killed each other, and had been\nonly parted by their comrades to save their lives, then they would\nshake hands, and say \u201cWell thee art worth having for a comrade; thee\nart just as good a man as myself,\u201d and be the best friends in the world\never after; and the night would be passed in dancing and other fun till\nmorning.\n\nWhen the feast was over with many, yet others would turn out for\nslinging matches, on the Wednesday. This sport, if it may be called so\n(often more like a battle), is as ancient as wrestling, or hurling, and\nhas no doubt been in vogue as a pastime ever since the sling was\nregarded as next in importance, as an offensive arm, to the bow and\narrow. The stories about the giants slinging rocks at each other on\nMorvah Downs is proof enough of the antiquity of the sport. In the time\nof Betty and Jacob, the boys and girls, by constant practice with the\nsling, were so dexterous in its use that they could hit a mark at a\nvery great distance. The men of St. Just, and many of the women too,\nliked the sport so well that they would often draw for sides. The two\nparties place themselves on the burrows of old tin works at a\nconvenient distance, and sling stones at each other, for dear life;\nthey didn\u2019t mind a few cut heads, for the fun of the thing.\n\nWe have said nothing about Jacob, Betty and their feasters this good\nwhile, but then, you must know, they took their share in all the games\nthat were going on, the same as the rest.\n\nWhen Wednesday came, which is known as servy-day, when all the odds and\nends of the feast are served up, early in the afternoon the feasters\nreturn home. It wasn\u2019t come to servy-day either with Jacob and Betty;\nbut as they intended to hold the \u201cLittle Feasten Day\u201d (for some\nvisitors who could not come the feasten week) they didn\u2019t press the\ncousins to stay any longer.\n\nOn Thursday, Betty thought they might as well return to the ordinary\nfare of pease-porridge, and save the joints of meat for next Sunday\u2019s\nvisitors. Jacob went to bal, just for the saying of the thing. Nobody\nthought of doing much before the next week, as it takes days to tell\nall the news about the feast, the news brought to the parish by the\nstrangers, and to get to rights, as we say. The crock, with water to\nboil a gallon or so of peas for Jacob\u2019s supper, was only put on in the\nafternoon, as he was sure to be late home. Betty placed some coals of\nturf fire under the crock, and enough (as she thought) of fursey-turves\nround the brandes (trivet) to keep peas to boil: then she went out to\n\u201ccoursey\u201d a bit.\n\nBesides the feasten news, there was then, and always had been, a\nnever-ending subject for them to talk of in their constant fears of\nsome foreigners or other landing in Whitsand Bay or Priest\u2019s Cove. Who\nthey were to be, they couldn\u2019t tell exactly. Only they knew that the\nred-haired Danes [25] were to come again, when Vellandruchar [26] mill\nwould again be worked with blood, and the kings would dine on\nTable-m\u0101yon (m\u0113n) for the last time (as the world was to come to an end\nsoon after). This they still firmly believe may take place any day,\nbecause Merlin uttered a prophecy to that effect more than a thousand\nyears ago. As the time of Betty Toddy\u2019s glory was about the\ncommencement of the American war of independence, when the French took\nsides with cousins over the water, the greatest fear then was that the\nFrench would land some night and carry off the tin; they didn\u2019t fear\nmuch for what the French would do in the way of fighting, so they said.\nBetty and the rest passed the evening, or night rather, in going round\nChurchtown to hear the news and drinking confusion to the French in\nalmost every house. Long before Betty came in, Jacob came home pretty\nwell slewed (tipsy) and very hungry, but the peas were just as hard as\nwhen put in the crock; for soon after Betty went out, the fire went\nout. However, Jacob ate about a gallon of the peas, ready or raw, and,\nthat he mightn\u2019t have the mully-grubs, took an extra glass of brandy;\nand was in bed snoring, grunting, groaning, and tossing like a\nporpoise, when Betty came in. We know that ill-boiled peas are very\nindigestable, so one may guess how they troubled Jacob, among the beer\nand brandy, half raw as they were. Betty could hear all Jacob\u2019s\nuneasiness, as there was only a screen of thin boards between their\nchambers, but she little heeded Jacob\u2019s groaning, having enough to do\n(as she wasn\u2019t very steady in the head) to get into bed, to sleep\nherself sober.\n\nTowards the morning part of the night Betty awoke in a terrible fright.\nShe had lost all recollection of Jacob\u2019s groans, as she went to bed,\nand, when she was fairly sensible now, his roars were frightful. Her\nfirst thought was of the French! Without staying to dress, she tore out\nof the house, roused all the neighbours from their beds, by crying out\nat everybody\u2019s door as she went tearing, half-naked, round Churchtown\n\u201cGet up! Get up! You\u2019ll be murdered alive, the French es landed. I\nheard some of \u2019em in our house!\u201d\n\nIn a few minutes after, half the women in Churchtown were racing round\nthe place, crying \u201cFire!\u201d and \u201cMurder,\u201d \u201cBlood and Thunder; you\u2019ll all\nbe killed in your beds and be buried alive; the French es landed, get\nup! get up!\u201d The bells were set ringing in the tower. Will Tregear\nfired the furze on the Biccan (Beacon). The Biccan hills were soon all\na blaze from St. Just to Plymouth, where the nearest troops were\nstationed then. Whilst the bells were still ringing, and women\nscreeching in Churchtown, trumpet and drum sounded reveill\u00e9 in Plymouth\ngarrison. The troops in red-hot haste got under arms, and were marching\nWestward ho! Jan Trezise was sent off, fast as horse could go, to meet\nthe troops and guide them to St. Just. There were relays of horses kept\nin all the principal towns on the road to Plymouth, ready saddled as\nsoon as the Biccan fires gave notice of the enemy landing in the West.\n\nThey say that Jan didn\u2019t ride very fast after he passed Penzance, for\nthe pack-saddle he took in his hurry to ride on so galled him that he\ncould hardly sit on the horse\u2019s back when he arrived at Crowlas,\nsitting sidelong for more ease. The landlady took pity on him, gave him\nthe best pillow she had in the house to make a softer seat for him, and\na good dram of course; then on he went as best he could for Redruth,\ncussing the French all the way.\n\nWhen Betty had alarmed all the town she came in and waked up her\nbrother, but Jacob only cussed the peas, the French, and Betty too;\nthen snored away again. Betty, knowing that the smugglers brought the\nsilks, laces, and other smart things from France, and that the French\ngreatly admired dress and fashion, donned her gay gown, with all her\ntrinkets and trappings; placed bread, cream, and honey on the board,\nthat the French officers, whom she expected to see every minute, might\ntake her for a grand lady of the land, and treat her with great\nrespect. So she seated herself on the chimney-stool ready to rise and\nmake her curtsey, and thinking what she should say when the French\nCaptain came in. There leave her.\n\nAt last, when daylight came to dispel the fears of the people of\nChurchtown, they traced all the alarm spread by Betty to the\nindigestible peas eaten by Jacob for supper. Yet they seem never to\nhave thought of the consequences of the false alarm, and of having the\ntroops quartered on them for nothing, till the parson hearing of it in\nPenzance (where he lived) came out the Saturday to see what was the\nmatter. To make sure that no Frenchmen were lurking about, all the\ncreeks and coves were searched, the hills and carns inspected. When\nsatisfied that all the fuss was for nothing they had the sense to send\noff countermanding orders by the parson\u2019s man.\n\nThe troops left Plymouth, and came on West in uncertainty as to where\nthe enemy had landed, Jan Trezise having lost his road, and got down to\nGweek, where he was found a month after in clover, for Gweek people\ntreated him like a gentleman for bringing them the news (there was no\nfear of the French finding them, yet they liked to know what was going\non in the rest of the world).\n\nThe parson\u2019s courier found the troops wandering about in a fog on the\nFour-burrow downs, not knowing what way to steer. When told of the\nfalse alarm they were glad enough to turn tail and cut off home again.\n\nThere are plenty more queer things told about Betty Toddy, and others\nwho lived about this time in St. Just, but they are such wild rants\nthat one don\u2019t like to mention them now, in these precise times, for\nfear the prim, sour folks who call themselves enlightened may accuse\none of romancing like an Old Celt. Not that any one need care anything\nabout their grimace; least of all an Old Celt.\n\n[Perhaps this story may be somewhat embellished or exaggerated through\nthe volant fancies of the Drolls; yet, from all that we have heard\nabout the matter, there is good reason for believing that a false alarm\nof the French having landed in St. Just occurred, as stated above, on\nthe Feasten week, when they were so muddle-headed that they didn\u2019t\nthink of, nor care about the consequences of signalling to Plymouth for\ntroops. \u201cThey might all come to Feast, if they would; and welcome.\u201d In\nsome versions of the story the troops are said to have arrived in\nMarket-jew, without knowing where they were wanted; yet the alarm had\nspread, from seeing the Beacons blazing, that the French had landed in\nvarious parts of the county.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GHOST-LAYER.\n\n\nThere need be no difficulty about getting a ghost laid. We have just\nheard of a local preacher, living in the district between Camborne and\nHelston, who, according to his own account, has put many troublesome\nspirits to rest, generally by settling for them their mundane affairs,\nabout which they were troubled, by reasoning with and advising them to\nstay below, bear their punishment with a good heart, make the best of a\nbad matter, and hope for better times. He allowed that sometimes he was\nmerely deluding the ghosts; yet, no matter, the end sought was\nattained\u2014anything to get rid of them!\n\nAs he had a rather uncommon adventure in laying one ghost, we give an\naccount, somewhat abridged, of this enterprise.\n\nFrom some trifling cause the spirit got back again to its late abode,\nbefore the mourners had quitted the public-house, in Churchtown, where,\nas is customary, they stopped awhile to treat and take leave of their\nfriends, who had come to the funeral from a distance.\n\nThe ghost became, at once, so annoying, that none could rest in the\nhouse with it, and, a few nights after the burial, the family of the\ndeceased, not knowing what to do to obtain any rest, fetched the\npreacher, who was believed to possess extraordinary knowledge of\nspiritual matters and power over the ghostly world and its inhabitants.\nHe entered the haunted house alone. After many hours passed in prayer\nand expostulation with the obstinate spirit, it at last consented to\nreturn to its grave and stay there, if the exorcist and preacher would\naccompany it to the churchyard to see it landed there.\n\nAnd now happened the most remarkable part of this affair. About\nmidnight, the ghost layer bound the spirit with a piece of new rope,\nand fastened the other end of it round his own waist, that the spirit\nmightn\u2019t give him the slip. The spirit, gentle as a lamb, was then led\nout of the house; but it had no sooner crossed the door-sill than the\ndwelling was surrounded by a pack of yelping hounds, of which the\ntown-place was full, and the old one riding up the lane in a blaze of\nfire.\n\nThe spirit, to save itself from being caught by hounds and huntsman,\nmounted high up in the air, taking the man (hanging by the middle) with\nit. Away they went, over trees, hills, and water. In less than a minute\nthey passed over some miles, and alighted in the churchyard, close by\nthe spirit\u2019s grave, which the man saw open, and blue sulphurous flames\nissuing therefrom, and he heard, coming from below, most horrid shrieks\nand moans.\n\nThe ghost, knowing it was no use to contend with the man of faith, only\nstopped to say farewell, and then descended into its grave, which\nimmediately closed. The man\u2014overcome, by being borne, with lightning\nspeed, through the air, or by the infernal fumes rising from the open\ngrave,\u2014fell down in a fit, from which he didn\u2019t recover till daybreak,\nand then he was scarcely able to leave the churchyard. When near the\ntown-place, which he had left with the spirit, in the branch of a tree\nhe found his hat, that must have fallen from his head on first mounting\nthrough the air.\n\nThe most probable solution of this story (told in good faith and firmly\nbelieved) is that the ghost-layer, after taking too much spirit in the\npublic-house, rambled into the churchyard, there fell asleep, and\ndreamed the rest.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCORNISH DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OLD MEN.\n\n\nJob Munglar.\n\nLoard! uncle Jan Trudle, dost a hire the news\nHow belike we shall stompey in temberan shoes?\nFor the Franchmen and Spangars be coaming, they saey,\nFor to carry us ale from ould Inglant away!\n\n\nJan Trudle.\n\nHould tha toang, tha\u2019 great toatledum pattick of Newlyn,\nWhat becaze the old wemmen be dwailing and druling,\nAnd fright\u2019ning one tother with goblins and goastes,\nAnd a squaling \u201cThe Franchmen be got \u2019pon the coastes!\u201d\nShoar thee beestu\u2019n sich a whit-liver\u2019d saft-bak\u2019d Tim-doodle\nAs to think they\u2019ll titch ground this \u2019em side of the poodle.\nNoa\u2014drat\u2019em! they weant bring thick noashion to bear,\nWhile there\u2019s bould Coarnish curridge to give \u2019em a cheer.\nAnd trust me, Job Munglar, I\u2019ll weage me ould hat!\nThey have too much of slydom to venture \u2019pon that.\nBesides ef they shud, as a body may saeya,\nDust a think that we\u2019d let \u2019em goa deancing aweay?\nNoa\u2014Faith! thof I stand here so ould as thy vaather,\nAnd thee and thy bastards ale reckon\u2019d togeather;\nThof I\u2019m lame in my click-hand, and blind \u2019pon one eye,\nYet by Gambers! Jan Trudle would scoarn to fight shy,\nOr stand gogling for gapes, like an owl at an eagle,\nOr yowling just ain like a Jany Tregeagle!\nNoa\u2014dost hire ma! Job Munglar, cheeld veane! dest a hire?\nThere\u2019s no mortal can saey I\u2019m afeard to stand fire.\nAnd thee knawst et for sartin, as how, and so be,\nWhen the marchants wor sheppin the bearley, dest see,\nAnd we run\u2019d off to Padsta to nack their purceedings;\nDed I mind the riat-act-man and \u2019es readings?\nNoa, I called out the Hubbar\u2014soa hard as I cud,\nAnd cried, stand to et boys! tes for bearly or blood!\nAnd when ale the soadgers ded loady their guns,\nI made the purpoashals to dost \u2019an weth stoans.\nSoa we cobb\u2019d et away jest like lyants and tygars\nTill we made am at laste fale a snapping the trigars.\nAnd drat \u2019em! Job Munglar! I\u2019m bould for to saey\nThat I steev\u2019d down three rud-coats so ded as a daey.\nBut I scorn to stand speeching braggashans and soa,\nAs ale round the Bal here do very well knoaw.\nYet in caze, ef so be, as the Papishes coame,\nFor to roust us ale out from our houzen and hoam,\nI\u2019ll be cut up in slivers for meat for the crowas,\nEf I doant slam this tamlyn souse into their joaws.\nThof I\u2019ve been ever sence that I noozled the nepple,\nDurk as pitch a won side, and a hafe of a crepple;\nYet I\u2019ve heart\u2019s-blood enow if we chance to fale too\u2019t,\nFor to murder five Franch and a Spangar to boot!\nBut et es noa moar likely to coam unto pass,\nThan thick moyle to fale talkeing like Balaamses ass!\n\n\nJob Munglar.\n\nWell! that maey be thickey suppoashal\u2019s o\u2019 thine;\nBut fath! \u2019tis noa mazedish condudle o\u2019 mine!\nNoa\u2014soa sartin as thickey there place es Kearn Braey,\nThe Franchmen be coaming to car us awey.\nThey\u2019ve five hundred great sheps, and mashes of men,\nAnd sich powars of cannons, as ever was sen!\nBut the worstest of ale (sez a man cum\u2019d from Famuth),\nThey have swared to burn ale from Tol Ped\u2019n to Plemuth;\nAnd to force ale the people, boath Chrestians and Jews,\nFor to live upon quilkins and pagetopooes;\nAnd moar too than thickey, they\u2019ll hitch in a roap\nEvery soual that weant pray to the Devel and Poap!\nThof I beant quite soa rich-like in cuyn as a squire,\nYet I\u2019ve soam little cob-shans, Jan Trudle! dedst hire?\nSoa for doubting, cheeld lookey! I\u2019ve steev\u2019d et, oak farm,\nAnd \u201cfast bind it, fast find it,\u201d weant do one noa harm.\nSoa for doubting cheeld vean! (as I tould tha afoar)\nI\u2019ve squadg\u2019d et down ninety good fathoms and moar,\nIn a drang, where ould scratch, ef ha ever inclin\u2019d et,\nMight sclau ale his claws off afoar he wud find et.\nFor the outlandish Pagans, in caze they do landey,\nWill go drifting for cuyn, like excise-men for brandey;\nBut ef ever they smill out the pleace where I\u2019ve poat et,\nMay my corps like a pelchard be saleted and goated!\n\n\nJan Trudle.\n\nWhy then zounds! let \u2019em coam, ef soo be they\u2019ve a mind\nThee hast shanks for to skeyce with thy fardle behind.\nThee maeyest scamp wi\u2019 the wemmen and cheldren, thee goose!\nAnd the oather gret gaukums that take the same coose.\nAnd may ale the  [27]big thunder-bolts up in the clouds\nTumble down \u2019pon my body, and squat \u2019em to jouds,\nMay I broyle like grain-tin in a blowing-house fire,\n\u2019Tell I\u2019m rud as the smith makes the pieces of ire;\nEf I weant be shut ded, afoar enny soap-meagar,\nShall slavify me like a blackey-moor negar,\nAnd make me ate quilkins and pagetepooes,\nAnd worship the Devel and wear woaden shoes! [28]\nNoa fath! by the sperit and soal of my body,\nI\u2019d rather be toarn\u2019d to a hoddymandoddy!\nDoan\u2019t stand, tha\u2019 great lutterpooch! chewing tha thumb;\nFor they\u2019ll get a mayn dousting when ever they coam!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA DIALOGUE BETWEEN GRACEY PENROSE AND MALLY TREVISKY.\n\n\nGracey.\n\nFaith and trath then, I b\u2019leve, in ten parishes round,\nSickey roage, sichey vellan, es nat to ba found!\n\n\nMally.\n\nWhot\u2019s tha fussing, un Gracey! long wetha, cheel vean?\n\n\nGracey.\n\nA fussing aketha! od splet es ould braeane!\nOur Martin\u2019s cum\u2019d hum, cheeld, so drunk as a beast,\nSo cross as the gallish from Perranzan veast,\nA kicking, a tottering, a cussin, and swearing,\nSo hard as the stomses a tarving and tearing.\n\n\nMally.\n\nNaver mind et, un Gracey!\u2014cheeld, put en to bed:\nAal slepe ale the lecker away from hes head.\n\n\nGracey.\n\nI wudden go neast an to fang the King\u2019s crown;\nFor a swears, ef I speke t\u2019un, aal cleave my skull down.\nThee never in aal thy born days, fath and shoar,\nDedst behould sickey mazegerry pattick afore.\nWhy a scatt all to midjans and jouds for the nons\nA cloam buzza of scale milk about on the scons;\nAnd a catch\u2019d up a shoul for to steve me outright;\nAnd I run\u2019d away ready to fainty for fright.\nLoard! tell ma, un Mally! what shall I do by an\u2014\nFor zountikins! death! I\u2019m affeared to go nigh an.\n\n\nMally.\n\nI know what I\u2019d gee\u2019n, ef sa bee \u2019twor my caze:\nI\u2019d scatt the ould chacks an, I\u2019d trem an, un Grace!\n\n\nGracey.\n\nI\u2019m affear\u2019d a ma life to go nigh the ould vellan,\nElse, please father, I bleve I should parfectly kell an,\nBut I\u2019ll never no more be so bauld and abus\u2019d:\nMy arms here like bazam the roage have abruis\u2019d!\nI made for hes supper a muggetty pye;\nBut a shant clunk a croom ate, I wish a may die!\n\n\nMally.\n\nI tould thee, afore that the job was adone,\nThat theedst find out tha odds ate so sure as a gun:\nBut thee wusent hark to me for doubting, for why,\nBecase thee didst know en much better than I?\nBut I know\u2019d the trem aan before thee hads got an,\nAnd tould thee a mashes of stories about an.\nBut thee answered so toytish, and skrink\u2019d up tha noze,\nA gissing \u2019twas gret stramming lyes I suppoze.\nThere\u2019s one of es pranks I shall always remembar,\n(\u2019Twill be dree years agon come the ighth of Novembar),\nI\u2019d two purty young mabyers as eyes cou\u2019d behould,\nSo fat as the butter, just ighteen weeks ould:\nThey were picking about in town-place for meat:\nSo I hove down some pellase among mon to eat;\nWhen who but your man cum\u2019d a tottering along,\nSo drunk that I thoft he wud fale in the dung:\nAleft fale hes hoggan-bag jest by the door;\nSo I caal\u2019d to the man (as one would to be sure)\nSays I: \u201cMartin! dust hire, cheeld? cum take up tha bag;\u201d\n\u201cArra, (sezza) for what art a caleing me dog!\u201d\nAn a run\u2019d forth, tha roage, an nar better nar wus,\nNact the mabyers both stef with a geart maur of fusse.\nLike anow ef I eadnt got hasty\u2019s away,\nHe\u2019d adone as a ded by Jan Rose t\u2019other day;\nWhen a got in his tantrums, a wilful ould devil,\nAnd slam\u2019d the poor soal in the head with a kebbal.\n\n\nGracey.\n\nWhen the cyder is run\u2019d away every drap,\n\u2019Tis too late to be thinkene of plugging the tap:\nAnd marriage must go as the Loard doth ordain:\nYet ef I\u2019d know\u2019d the coose aan, un Mally, cheel vean?\nEf I\u2019d known the coose aan but nine weeks ago\nI\u2019d never ha had the ould vellan, I know.\nBut a vow\u2019d and a swared that ef I\u2019d be hes wife,\nI never should want all the days of my life;\nAnd a broft me a nakin and corn-save from Preen\u2014\nEn ma conscience, thoft I, I shall live like a Queen!\nBut tes plagy provoking, adsplet hes ould head!\nTo be pooted and slopt so! I wish a were dead!\nWhy a spent half hes fangings last Saturday night:\nLike anow, by this time, tes gone every dyte.\nBut I\u2019ll tame the ould deval afore et es long\u2014\nEf I caant wa ma vistes I will wa ma tonge!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS CAROLS.\n\n\nSome of us remember when it was a custom, in the parishes of West\nCornwall, for a few elderly persons to meet in Church, late on\nChristmas Eve, and sing till after midnight, a good number of cheerful,\nquaint old carols, which were quite different from the solemn Christmas\nhymns that have supplanted them.\n\nThe favourite carols, for the most part contained such legends as are\npreserved in the Mysteries, or Old Miracle Plays, which continued to be\nperformed in the western parishes, on Sunday afternoons, down to\nElizabeth\u2019s reign or later. Others may have been derived from the\nApocryphal Gospels.\n\nSuch, for instance, are the circumstances referred to in the\nCherry-tree carol, beginning with\n\n\n   \u201cJoseph was an old man, an old man was he,\n    When he wedded Mary, in the land of Galilee,\n    When Joseph and Mary walked in the garden good,\n    There were cherries and berries as red as the blood.\u201d\n\n\nAnd the Holy-well, which thus begins:\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cAs it fell out, one May morning,\n      And upon one bright holiday,\n    Sweet Jesus asked of His dear mother,\n      If He might go out to play.\u201d\n\n\nMany other examples might be given of these legendary pieces, which are\nnow almost forgotten.\n\nWe were delighted, however, last Christmas, to hear a few youngsters\nsinging in Penzance streets the pleasant one called the Sunny Bank, or\nthe Three Ships, which is also very old.\n\nAmong those of special interest may be noticed \u201cIn those Twelve Days,\u201d\n\u201cThe Joys of Mary,\u201d and \u201cMan\u2019s Duty.\u201d Slightly different versions of\nthese are common here and in Wales; and according to Mr. W. Sandys,\nthere is a Breton song, as old as the fifth century, in the dialect of\nCornouaille, called \u201cAr Rannou,\u201d or \u201cLes Series,\u201d arranged as a\ndialogue between a Druid and his disciple on their ancient maxims and\nrites, which is similar in idea and construction to \u201cIn those Twelve\nDays,\u201d or \u201cWhat is that which is but one?\u201d\n\nThe early missionaries engrafted on this ancient Armorican poem a Latin\nhymn, in the same form, where the series of twelve subjects is\nconnected with the Christian religion and agrees with those of the\ncarol,\n\n\n   \u201cWhat is that which is but one?\u201d\n\n\nAt the end of each verse in the Druid\u2019s Song, the Latin hymn, and the\nthree last-mentioned carols, all the previous subjects are repeated in\nthe style of \u201cThe House that Jack built.\u201d The whole piece can be\nconstructed from the last verse. That of \u201cIn those Twelve Days,\u201d is\ngiven as an example:\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cIn those TWELVE days, and in those twelve days, let us be glad,\n    For God of His power hath all things made.\n\n                 What are they that are but twelve?\n                 Twelve Apostles Christ did choose\n                 To preach the Gospel to the Jews.\n                            And in those twelve days, &c.\n\n                 Eleven thousand virgins did partake,\n                 And suffered death for Jesu\u2019s sake.\n\n                 Ten commandments God hath given,\n                 Use them well, and go to Heaven.\n\n                 Nine degrees of angels high,\n                 Which praise God continually.\n\n                 Eight beatitudes are given,\n                 Use them well, and go to Heaven.\n\n                 Seven days in the week have we,\n                 Six to work and the seventh holy.\n\n                 Six ages this world shall last,\n                 Five of them are gone and past.\n\n                 Five senses we have to tell,\n                 God grant us grace to use them well.\n\n                 Four Gospels written true\u2014\n                 John, Luke, Mark, and Matthew.\n\n                 Three persons in the Trinity,\n                 The Father, Son, and Ghost Holy.\n\n                 Two Testaments, as we are told,\n                 The one is New, the other Old.\n\n                 We have but One God alone,\n                 In Heaven above sits on His throne.\n                            And in those twelve days,\u201d &c.\n\n\nOld country folk may still be often heard chanting this ancient\neffusion, with all its repetitions. It is more frequently, however,\nrecited or taught to children as a kind of pious exercise for their\nmemories at Christmastide.\n\nCornish people have been famous for their carols from an early date.\nScawen says:\u2014\u201cThey had them at several times, especially at Christmas,\nwhich they solemnly sung, and sometimes used in their churches, after\nprayers, the burthen of them being \u2018Nowell, Nowell, good news, good\nnews, of the Gospel.\u2019\u201d\n\nThese old joyful Christmas songs have long held their own\u2014thanks to\ntheir wonderfully interesting legends and their lively tunes, that seem\nlike the echoes of merry peals of bells.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nANCIENT MIDSUMMER CUSTOMS.\n\n\nOur bonfires, torches, and tar-barrels, with the peculiar hand-in-hand\ndance around the blazing piles, remind us of ancient times when similar\ncustoms were regarded as sacred rites by our forefathers; and it would\nseem as if some vestiges of these time-honoured religious notions were\nstill connected with Midsummer bonfires in the minds of old-fashioned\npeople, living in remote and primitive districts, where the good folks\nstill believe that dancing in a ring over the embers, around a bonfire,\nor leaping (singly) through the flames, is calculated to ensure good\nluck to the performers, and to serve as a protection from witchcraft\nand other malign influences during the ensuing year.\n\nMany years ago, on Midsummer\u2019s eve, when it became dusk, very old\npeople in the West country would hobble away to some high ground,\nwhence they obtained a view of the most prominent hills, such as\nBartinney, Chapel Carn-brea, Sancras Bickan, Castle-an-dinas,\nTrecrobben, Carn Galvar, St. Ann\u2019s Bickan, and many other beacon hills\nfar away to north and east, which vied with each other in their\nMidsummer\u2019s blaze. Some of them anxiously watched for a sight of the\nfirst fire. From its position, with respect to them, they drew a\npresage of good or bad luck. If first beheld in the east it was a good\nsign. There are now but few bonfires seen on the western heights; yet\nwe have observed that Tregonan, Godolphin, and Carn Marth hills, with\nothers away towards Redruth, still retain their Baal fires. We would\ngladly go many miles to see the weird-looking yet picturesque dancers\naround the flames on a carn, or high hill top, as we have beheld them\nsome thirty years ago.\n\nWe are sorry to find that another pleasing Midsummer\u2019s observance,\nwhich also appears to be ancient, has almost died out. Yet within the\nmemory of many who would not like to be called old, or even aged, on a\nMidsummer\u2019s eve, long before sunset, groups of girls, of from ten to\ntwenty years of age, neatly dressed and decked with garlands, wreaths,\nor chaplets of flowers, would be seen dancing in the streets.\n\nOne favourite mode of adornment was to sew or pin on the skirt of a\nwhite dress, rows of laurel-leaves, often spangled with gold leaf.\nBefore Midsummer small wooden hoops were in great demand, to be\nwreathed with green boughs and flowers for garlands, to be worn over\none shoulder and under the opposite arm. Towards sunset, groups of\ngraceful damsels, joined by their brothers, friends or lovers, would be\nseen \u201cthreading the needle,\u201d playing at \u201ckiss-in-the-ring,\u201d or simply\ndancing along, every here and there from Chyandour to Alverton, from\nthe Quay to Caunsehead, as the upper part of the town used then to be\ncalled, perhaps with more propriety than Causewayhead.\n\nAnd here, at Caunsehead, this innocent pastime was most generally\nobserved and lingered longest.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE \u201cHILLA.\u201d\n\n\nFrom the ideas of old folks respecting this distemper, one may\nconjecture that its Cornish name meant some kind of spirit which had,\nfor the time, taken a material form. Forty years or more ago, an old\nfarmer of Sancreed, who had been a noted hurler when in his prime, told\nme that in his younger days, when hurling matches came off between\nSancras and some neighbouring parish almost every Sunday afternoon, he\nseldom missed a game, and if the silver ball came into his hands it\nseldom left them until he brought it to Sancras churchtown. When hard\npressed, as they always were on arriving near the \u201cgold\u201d (goal) the cry\nof \u201cGare teag\u201d (fair play) \u201cfor Sancras boys\u201d would be heard for a mile\nor more from churchtown, and put them in heart for their last run;\nwhile St. Just men would be calling \u201cOne and ale (all) for Santusters,\u201d\nas they came down round the Bickan to cut off their opponents, if they\ncould, as their last hope. But that they could seldom do. Then, after\nresting awhile, with his comrades, he steered his course for Sellan,\nwhere he lived with an uncle, or grandfather, one old Uter Bossence. \u201cI\ncan\u2019t say how long we stayed in the comfortable old public house, I\u2019m\nsure,\u201d said the hurler, \u201cfor we were all so happy together and loath to\npart; those from a distance just stepped in, had a drink, and away; at\nsuch times, too, the usually quiet old inn would wake up an be all\nalive for a bit. Then the \u2018tenders\u2019 (waiters) on coming into the rooms\nwith pewter flagons of foaming ale would sing out, \u2018The bird in hand,\nmy dears; we can\u2019t stay to use the chalk!\u2019 A fluttering bird with his\nlegs grasped by a hand, was painted on the old signboard, and under\nthis picture the couplet:\u2014\n\n\n   \u2018A bird in hand is better fare\n    Than two that in the bushes are.\u2019\u201d\n\n\nThe old man went on to say how every now and then, he got piskey-led on\nhis way home to Sellan. As sure as he missed the church-road he would\nbe led miles about, round and round the same field, ere he could find\nit again. If he left the field he seldom knew where he was again before\nthe break o\u2019 day, and then was most likely to find himself near Brane\nRings (Caer Brane) instead of on the other side of churchtown. Near the\nRings piskey would leave him, laughing like nothing else but a piskey!\n\nWhen once inside the Castle enclosure, he lay down and slept soundly\ntill sunrise or after. For everybody knew that anywhere within the\nRings on Brane hill, the same as at Bartinney, nothing evil that\nwanders the earth by night could harm them. They meant spirits of the\nBucka-boo (dhu) tribe. Small people (fairies) are friendly to man and\nbeast, unless interfered with, and Brane Rings was one of their haunts.\n\nIf he wanted to get home early and tried to break through the fog,\nwhich always surrounds a piskey, he would oftener find himself in broad\ndaylight, down by Chappel Uny than over in Sellan. Sometimes, however,\nwhen by bad luck the ball was carried off to another parish, he was\nready, on returning homeward, to drop down and sleep in a pool of\nwater. \u201cAt such times,\u201d said he, \u201cI tumbled into the first house I came\nby, no matter where \u2019twas, for in these times, a Bossence was home\nanywhere in Sancras or Santust either.\u201d Just as soon as he lay\ndown\u2014whether in bed, among the hay, or elsewhere,\u2014the Hilla would be on\nhim and lay with such a dead weight that he could neither move hand nor\nfoot, nor call for help if it were to save his life, which seemed to be\nalmost squeezed out of him sometimes. When the Hilla left he came to\nhimself and found all about him wet with sweat. \u201cAnd I felt as sore,\u201d\nsaid the old hurler in conclusion, \u201cas if I\u2019d ben thrashed with a\nthrashal on a barn-boards; then, when I cud, I stretched myself in the\nsunshine on the bare ground, for there\u2019s nothing like the sun and earth\nfor healing the bruises in one\u2019s flesh and getting the pain out of\none\u2019s bones; and I\u2019m sure as I\u2019m speakan to thee, my son, that the\nHilla was nothan else but the same cussed piskey, in another form; and\nolder and wiser people say the same thing.\u201d\n\nOnly a few weeks since an elderly native of St. Just told me he had\noften heard his father say that people who were subject to the Hilla,\nor feared it, were in the habit of taking to bed with them a couple of\nforks, one of which was placed on either side within reach of the hand.\nIf the troubled person could stretch his or her arms, or only one arm,\nand touch a fork with one finger even, that instant the Hilla would\ndecamp; for this sprite, like all other evil ones, feared cold iron so\nmuch that the Hilla-ridden never had the chance to stab the thing.\n\nThe elder St. Just man did not know for certain about the Hilla\u2019s form,\nas it was never seen; yet, from the feeling on the breast, or whatever\nit was, people said it was a great hairy thing which lay on them with a\ndead weight that almost stopped their breathing.\n\nThe \u201cStag\u201d is a lighter creature of the same class. People whose rest\nhas only been slightly troubled say they only had the \u201cStag\u201d and not\nthe \u201cHilla,\u201d by good luck.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANCIENT CORNISH LANGUAGE IN THE COLONIES.\n\n\nCornishmen\u2019s clannish propensities are well known and are most apparent\nwhen they meet in foreign lands. At the gold-fields of Australia, as\nelsewhere, they stand by and support each other \u201cthrough thick and\nthin.\u201d Cornishmen are also preferred for many kinds of work which\nrequire some degree of engineering skill, and they seldom undertake any\nemployment for which they are incompetent. Consequently, many persons\nfrom other shires who have never been west of the Tamar try to pass\nthemselves off as Cornishmen, and sometimes succeed in being received\ninto the fellowship of \u201cOne and All.\u201d If, however, the stranger be\nsuspected of \u201csailing under false colours,\u201d when they are all in\nfamiliar chat about nothing in particular, \u201cCousin Jackey\u201d will take\noccasion to say to the new chum \u201cMy dear; ded \u2019e ever see a duck klunk\na gay?\u201d If the stranger be up to the intent of the question he will\nprobably reply, \u201cLearn thy granny to lap ashes,\u201d which is the West\nCountry equivalent for teaching the same venerable dame to suck eggs;\nbut, if ignorant of what the question means, he is given to understand\nthat they regard him as an interloper and will be no more deceived by\nhim than a duck can be made to klunk (swallow) a gay (fragment of\nbroken crockery.)\n\nThe proverbial saying of \u201cnobody ever saw a duck klunk a gay\u201d\u2014meaning\nthat no one will be deceived beyond a certain point\u2014may be puzzling to\nsome Cornish readers as well as to strangers; those, however, who are\ncountry-born and bred remember that when children they often left the\ntable with their meals unfinished and ran out with their morsels in\ntheir hands and their \u201cgays\u201d in their pockets, eager to join their\nplaymates in the town-place; and how the village ducks\u2014knowing the\nchildrens\u2019 custom\u2014gathered around them to pick up the crumbs, or to\nsnatch the food from the childrens\u2019 hands, and the urchins often tossed\nthem a \u201cgay,\u201d which the greedy fowl gobble up and drop, one after the\nother, but never swallow. It is a comical sight to see how the ducks,\non having discovered the cheat, look askaunt at the \u201cdidjan\u201d of broken\nclome, shaking their tails and quacking in anger or scorn the while.\n\nThe Gileadites\u2019 Shibboleth served much the same purpose in the times of\nthe Judges of Israel as the old proverb does to-day among Cornishmen\nabroad. (Judges xii chap., 5 and 6 verses.)\n\nThe usual test above-mentioned fails sometimes, chiefly from young\nCornishmen making comrades of strangers, as they are apt to do for\nshort spells, in which case they have other tests for the next\nopportunity, but all turn on the same idea\u2014that of using words only\nunderstood by themselves. One more will serve as an example.\n\nA Cornishman will come behind the stranger who wishes to pass for a\ngenuine Cornubian and say, quite natural-like, \u201cMate! there\u2019s a green\nmyryan on thy nudack.\u201d The venomous bite or sting of a green myryan\n(ant) being much dreaded, a Cornishman would either put his hand to the\nnape of his neck, to brush it off, or show in some way that he\nunderstood the meaning\u2014looking \u201cas dazed as a duck against (on hearing)\nthunder\u201d the while.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nACCORDING HOW ET MAY DROP.\n\n\nShortly after Jackey came a-courting, one Sunday afternoon, his\nsweetheart placed on the board all she required for making a heavy\ncake. Last thing, before mixing flour and cream, she took a hearty\npinch of snuff and wiped her fingers on her \u201ctouser.\u201d Whilst making the\ncake, she said to Jackey, \u201cthee hast been courtan me now for years, off\nand on, and always promised thee west marry me soon; now west a marry\nme before Christmas?\u201d Whilst the woman was talking and working up the\ncake, Jackey noticed a snuffy drop quivering on the tip of her nose.\n\u201cCan\u2019t tell thee yet,\u201d Jackey replied, \u201ces accordan how a may drop.\u201d An\ninstant after he stamped away to the door, and turning round, called\nout, \u201cNo! I\u2019ll neither marry thee before Christmas nor after, nor eat\nany more cakes of thy makean.\u201d How it dropped was made plain enough by\nJackey\u2019s behaviour.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCORNISH WORDS IN USE.\n\n\u201cSA! SA!\u201d\n\n\nThe exclamation \u201cSa!\u201d which is frequently heard in the country, and\nsometimes in town, is probably the old Cornish word sa, \u201cstand!\u201d It has\ncontinued in use, though its meaning has been forgotten. It is employed\ninstead of \u201cstand still!\u201d \u201chold!\u201d \u201cavast!\u201d \u201cenough!\u201d and such-like\nwords, uttered in haste to arrest speech or action. Its usage, however,\nwill be best shown by a few familiar examples.\n\nIn all parts of the country hereabouts, it is spoken to a restless cow\nto bid her be still whilst milked,\u2014\u201cSa! Molly! sa!\u201d Very likely most\nwords used to cattle and poultry are ancient Cornish, and had meanings,\nnow lost. \u201cSa, sa! eat petats, let the crust for supper!\u201d is a saying\noften addressed to persons who want to enjoy all their good things at\nonce. It is suggested by the well-known potato-pie with its substantial\nroll of crust and the custom of reserving a good portion of the latter,\nto serve, instead of cake for supper.\n\nA short time ago, a butcher belonging to a western town had a horse of\nan uncertain age and no remarkable qualities; yet the owner was always\n\u201ccracking it up\u201d as the best beast in town, of its size\u2014equally good\nfor saddle and harness; sure-footed, staunch to collar, and so on. He\nalso gave his fellow tradesmen to understand that anyone who coveted\nthis choice animal must pay a good sum to tempt him to part with it.\nFor a few days, butchers in surrounding stalls, to their surprise,\nheard no mention of the famous horse; then they learnt that it had\nchanged owners, and for a lower price than it was expected the seller\nwould have accepted. Butchers in general are much given to banter, and\nthose of the town in question, liking this pastime very much, renewed\ntheir jibes by telling the seller of Dobbin that if he had at first\nonly asked a fair price for his horse he would have got much more for\nit. One of them remarked that what he had stated in favour of the beast\nwas as near the truth as could be expected from a jockey, and nearer\nthan the owner knew of. Another, who was two or three stalls off,\nbellowed, \u201cAye by golls! [29] He nearly told the truth, for a wonder,\nbut all through\u2019s ign\u2019rance.\u201d In short, they tried to persuade the\nseller that he had made a bad bargain, though they knew the horse had\nfetched its full value, or more. The jockey-butcher sat listening to\nthe others\u2019 jeers with good humour, or returning them in the same vein,\ntill, becoming tired of their long harping on the same string he sprang\nup, and shouted, \u201cSa! sa! lev\u2019n go, es dry eatan\u201d (let him go, he is\ndry eating), \u201cas the old man said for the hare.\u201d\n\nThe (native?) fable, or story from which our jolly butcher took his apt\nreply, runs thus:\u2014\n\nAn old couple lived all alone in a little old house \u201cout by night\u201d (an\nout-of-the-way place). The old woman was constantly in a bad temper,\nbecause a hare got into their garden and ate the cabbages; she scolded\nand tormented her old man all day long because he didn\u2019t build the\ngarden hedges higher, or do something else to keep the hare out. To all\nher aggravating \u201cjaw,\u201d he would only reply, \u201cSa, sa, dear, when that\nhare es fat enow we\u2019ll have a good pie.\u201d One Saturday night,\naccordingly, he set a jin among the cabbages. On Sunday morning he got\nup by break o\u2019 day, and ran out to see if the hare were \u201ccome to trap.\u201d\nThere it was, a fine one, caught by a fore leg. The old man, overjoyed\nby his good luck, without stopping to take up the hare, ran in, calling\nto his wife all the way, \u201ccome \u2019e along out, my dear; be quick; and see\nwhat a capital pie we shall have for dinner to-day.\u201d She tore out in\ngreat \u201cstroath\u201d (confused haste), slipped on her clogs, crossed the\ngarden, and got to the trap before her old man; but all she saw of the\nhare was a fore foot in the jin, and the white of its tail passing\nthrough a hole in the hedge, as it scampered off. The hare, on hearing\nthe old woman\u2019s clogs coming clap-a-clap among the cabbages, gave a\ntwist, severed a bit of skin, which alone held it; the trap in closing\nhad broken the bone. \u201cThat\u2019s like thee, thee old buffle-head,\u201d screamed\nshe, \u201cnot to take up the hare at once and bring am in, instead of\nhobblan away to bring me out, draglan through the dew to catch my death\nthis cold mornan, all undressed as I am; and that while, the hare,\ntwistan and turnan, broke\u2019s leg and es gone.\u201d\n\n\u201cSa! sa!\u201d said the old man, \u201clev\u2019n go, es dry eatan.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCORNISH OBSERVANCES WITH REGARD TO THE SUN AND MOON.\n\n\nOnly a few years ago elderly farmers of the Land\u2019s End district\ncommenced the breaking of grass land with a sort of religious\nsolemnity, to bring it into its three years\u2019 course of tillage. On\nentering the field, the cattle, attached to the plough, were turned\ntowards the west; and the ploughman saying, \u201cIn the name of God let\u2019s\nbegin,\u201d proceeded with the course of the sun to \u201cbreak ground\u201d by\nturning a few yards of sod in that direction; afterwards the field\nmight be ploughed towards any point that was convenient.\n\nThe same rite was observed by some on beginning to plough an arable\nfield; and when they commenced to sow a few handfuls of grain were cast\nround\u2014with the same formality\u2014from east to west, for luck. Following\nthe sun\u2019s course in several other kinds of work was also regarded as a\nmeans of ensuring success.\n\nDairy-women always place their pans of milk so that they shall be\nskimmed, in turn, going with the sun, or from left to right. The\nscalded or clouted cream, for making butter, being placed in a shallow\ntub, is stirred round with the hand, or a wooden peel, in the direction\nof the sun\u2019s course; if turned in a reverse manner, butter cannot be\nproperly made\u2014so it is believed. Young people dance round the\nMidsummer\u2019s bonfire in the same order; if any of them take the wrong\ncourse it is believed, or at least said, they will die unmarried. When\nthe bonfire has burned sufficiently low, old and young leap through the\nflames towards the place of the setting sun.\n\nIn the spring, people visit a \u201cPellar\u201d (conjuror) as soon as there is\n\u201ctwelve hours\u2019 sun,\u201d to have \u201ctheir protection renewed,\u201d that is, to be\nprovided with charms; and the wise man\u2019s good offices to ward off, for\nthe ensuing year, all evil influences of beings who work in darkness.\nThe reason assigned for observing this particular time is, that \u201cwhen\nthe sun is come back the Pellar has more power to good\u00e9\u201d (do good).\n\nIn curing diseases, charms are worked against the sun to backen the\ncomplaint. Ricketty children bathed in a holy well on the three\nWednesdays in May, are dipped thrice and taken round the spring as\noften against the sun\u2019s course. For the cure of boils or eruptions, the\nafflicted crawl nine times from east to west, under a bramble, rooted\nat both ends. Many other examples might be given of practices regarding\nthe sun, but are much to the same effect.\n\nOne may notice a remarkable belief, however, that if a person, by false\nswearing, compasses the life of another, the sun is thereafter\ninvisible to the perjured one. This idea is so well known that to hint\nat a person\u2019s inability to behold the sun is regarded as a great\ninsult.\n\nAn observance with regard to the moon may be here mentioned. Most folks\nare acquainted with a practice called \u201cwashing in a dry dish,\u201d for the\ncure of warts and other ailments. To get rid of warts on the hands they\nare shown the moon nine times on three successive nights before full\nmoon; three times on the full, at intervals of three quarters of an\nhour; and thrice afterwards, on three following nights. On each\noccasion the patient, or rather the supplicant, looks from the moon to\nhis hands, and from his hands to the moon\u2014whilst rubbing them together\nas if washing them\u2014and holds them towards the moon nine times, saying:\u2014\n\n\n   \u201cI wash my hands in this thy dish,\n    O, Man in the Moon, do grant my wish,\n    And come take away this.\u201d\n\n\nFor the cure of various other ailments this charm is worked in much the\nsame way. The above-mentioned remnants of Zabaism are suggestive of\nPh\u0153nician tin-traders\u2019 connection with old Bellerion.\n\n\n\nThere are many ancient beliefs and practices with respect to the moon\nstill lingering in West Cornwall, which seem to be almost forgotten\nelsewhere. The following are a few examples amongst many.\n\nHerbs for drying, to be used in fomentation, or for other medicinal\npurposes, are gathered at the full of the moon; when winter\u2019s fruit\nshould also be picked and stored, in order that it may retain its\nplumpness. Elderly persons prefer to sow their garden seeds and others\nduring the moon\u2019s first quarter, from the idea that they will then\ngerminate quicker and grow stronger than on the decrease.\n\nTimber should be felled on the \u201cbating\u201d of the moon, because the \u201csap\nis then down,\u201d and the wood will be more durable.\n\nWhen the old iron \u201cchills\u201d (lamps) were in general use, rushes for\nmaking \u201cporvans\u201d (wicks) were cut at the full moon, because it was\nbelieved that they were then fuller of pith and less liable to shrink\nthan if cut at other times.\n\nOld gentlemen who wore their hair long behind, or in \u201cpigtails or\nqueues,\u201d and other persons as well, of that day, were very particular\nabout having their heads trimmed at the time of full moon, that their\nhair might grow the more luxuriantly.\n\nThe first money taken of a market-day is still frequently spit on for\ngood luck; and if silver, kept for luck-money, to be shown to the next\nnew moon, and turned three times towards the person who shows it. Three\nwishes were made whilst showing the money, which the wisher turned\nthree times from the moon towards himself.\n\nIt is considered unlucky to get the first sight of a new moon through\nglass, and many persons go out of doors purposely to see her for the\nfirst time, when they hold towards her a piece of silver to ensure\ntheir success whilst that moon lasts. Those who offer this kind of\nadoration to Luna are mostly provided with a crooked sixpence, which\nthey call a pocket-piece, and wear as a means to retain good luck. This\nobservance of showing money to the new moon is, probably, a vestige of\nan ancient rite connected with the worship of Luna or Astarte.\n\nAnother belief, which still holds good, is that when a child is born in\nthe interval between an old moon and the first appearance of a new one,\nit will never live to attain to puberty. A recent observation confirms\nthis as well to animals as children. Hence the saying of \u201cno moon no\nman.\u201d Other popular notions, among old folks, are that when a boy is\nborn on the waning moon the next birth will be a girl, and vice vers\u00e2;\nthey also say that when a birth takes place on the \u201cgrowing of the\nmoon,\u201d the next child will be of the same sex. Many of these fancies,\nhowever, may be astrological notions, handed down from ancient times\nand common to many places. Here much of such lore has been learnt from\nSibley\u2019s \u201cTreatise on the Occult Sciences,\u201d which is the oracle of our\nwestern astrologers; though they seldom let their study of that and\nsimilar works be known for fear of the ridicule with which it is now\nthe fashion to regard such pursuits.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCORNISH CONJURORS\u2019 CHARMS AGAINST WITCHCRAFT.\n\n\nThe following are some of the spells supplied by West Country \u201cPellars\u201d\nto those who seek their protection, as stated in a notice of \u201cCornish\nObservances with regard to the Sun.\u201d\n\nA strip of parchment, inscribed with the words SATOR AREPO TENET OPERA\nROTAS, is regarded as a protection from many evils when worn as an\namulet; all the more so because these magical words read the same\nbackwards as forwards. These words also form a magical square, and can\nbe read up or down, backwards or forwards, or any way\u2014thus\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\nAt the time of an old lady\u2019s decease, a little while ago, on her breast\nwas found a small silk bag containing various charms; among others, a\npiece of parchment, about three inches square, having written on one\nside of it NALGAH. Under this is a pen-and-ink drawing of a figure\nsomewhat like a bird, with two pairs of wings, a pair extended and the\nothers folded beneath them. The creature appears to be hovering, and at\nthe same time brooding on a large egg, sustained by one of its legs;\nwhilst it holds a smaller egg at the extremity of its other leg, which\nis outstretched and long. Its head, round and small, is unlike that of\na bird; from the rudeness of the sketch, and its faded state, it is\ndifficult to trace all the outlines. Under this singular figure is the\nword TETRAGRAMMATON. On the reverse, in large letters,\n\n\n                                JEHOVAH\n                              JAH, ELOHIM,\n                                SHADDAY,\n                                ADONAY,\n                      HAVE MERCY ON A POOR WOMAN.\n\n\nA Pellar of great repute in this neighbourhood tells me, however, that\nthis precious document is inscribed with two distinct charms\u2014that the\nNalgah is the figure only.\n\nThe ABRACADABRA is supplied by our \u201cwhite-witches\u201d for the cure or\nprevention of some diseases; the letters, arranged in the usual way,\nare enclosed in two intersecting triangles.\n\nAnother potent spell is a rude draft of the planetary signs for the\nSun, Jupiter, and Venus, followed by a cross, pentagram, and a figure\nformed by a perpendicular line, and a divergent one on each side of it,\nunited at the bottom. Under them is written, \u201cWhosoever beareth these\ntokens will be fortunate and need fear no evil.\u201d\n\nThe charms are folded in a paper on which is usually written, \u201cBy the\nhelp of the Lord these will do thee good,\u201d and enclosed in a little bag\nto be worn on the breast. Bed-ridden folks have them placed in their\npillows, and the conjurors visit such infirm ones yearly to \u201crenew\ntheir protection.\u201d\n\nWestern Pellars are ignorant of the meaning of the above formulas, but\nregard them as powerful words and signs that have been handed down from\nwise men of ancient times who followed a like profession.\n\nThere is one practitioner in the vicinity of Penzance who is well\nversed in Astrology, from having made this science the study of a long\nlife.\n\nBesides the above-mentioned counter spells to sorcery and other\nmysterious evils, persons are furnished with witch powders, to be cast\nover such children or cattle as may be ill-wished, begrudged, or\n\u201cover-looked;\u201d with regard to the latter, holding two forked (spread)\nfingers towards a person that has evil eyes, is believed to be a\nsafeguard from their blasting influence.\n\nA short time ago one might obtain blood-stones, milpreves, or\nsnake-stones, but these are become rare; the blue stone or glass rings,\nin which were seen the figure of an adder, or the pattern of a snake,\nwere much prized, because it was believed that those who wore them were\nby that means safe from being harmed by any of the serpent tribe, and\nthat man or beast having been stung, if given water to drink wherein\nthis stone had been infused, would soon recover from the poison.\n\nCornish folks have such confidence in their conjurors\u2019 mysterious\nscience, that many go a great distance to consult them, and the mere\nthreat of \u201cgoing to the Pellar\u201d is often sufficient to procure the\nrestitution of stolen goods, or compensation for injury; and, after\nall, their remedies may be as beneficial as those usually prescribed\nfor imaginary ailments.\n\nMost Cornish folks are familiar with the following lines, or others of\nthe same import:\u2014\n\n\n    Born on a Sunday a gentleman.\n    Monday\u2019s child is fair in face.\n    Tuesday\u2019s child is full of grace.\n    Wednesday\u2019s child is sour and sad.\n    Thursday\u2019s child is merry and glad.\n    Friday\u2019s child is loving and giving.\n    Saturday\u2019s child works hard for its living.\n\n\nAnother version says\u2014\n\n\n    Wednesday\u2019s child is full of woe.\n    Thursday\u2019s child has far to go.\n\n\nThe assumed principles of astrology furnish a key to the above; as the\nsubject is supposed to be influenced according to the nature of the\nplanet or divinity after whom the day is named, and which is regarded\nin medical astrology, as lord of the first house for the respective\nday.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nALL ON ONE SIDE, LIKE SMOOTHY\u2019S WEDDING.\n\n\nSome eighty or ninety years ago a male member of a well-known family\nwas about to be married. He was a soft-spoken individual, and, in the\ndays when nearly every one had a nickname, he was called and known\ngenerally as \u201cSmoothy.\u201d When the wedding-day came it was found that all\nthe invited guests were his relatives and friends\u2014not one the bride\u2019s.\nHence the saying.\n\n\u201cAll on one side, like Smoothy\u2019s wedding,\u201d is often applied to cases of\nbiassed judgment, or an unfair award from a prejudiced view of the\nsubject.\n\n\u201cSmoothy\u201d is a nickname commonly given to a double-faced, fair-spoken\nhypocrite,\u2014one who runs with the hare and holds with the hounds.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPISKIES, SPRIGGANS, SMALL PEOPLE, AND KNOCKERS.\n\n\nAccording to the Fairy belief of the old Cornish folk, the Piskey has\nseldom been seen in any other shape than that of a weird,\nwizzened-looking, little old man. As such he has often been spied of\nmoonlight winter\u2019s nights threshing the corn in the barns of lonely\nplaces. Boslow and Lejarn are often spoken of as being favourite haunts\nof the goblin. Another of his well-known pranks is to mount on the\nnecks of the colts, where he plaits his Piskey stirrups in the winter,\nand rides the colts after the cows like mad in the summer. Leading the\nfolks into the bogs, by appearing like a person with a lantern or light\nfrom a window, were of constant occurrence unless the night wanderer\ntook the precaution to turn some garment inside out, to break the\nspell.\n\nThe Spriggans, quite a different class of beings, are the dourest and\nmost ugly set of sprights belonging to the elfin tribe; they are only\nseen about old ruins, barrows, giant\u2019s quoits and castles, or other\nplaces where treasure is buried, of which they have the charge. They\nalso steal children, leaving their own ugly brats in their place, bring\nbad weather to blight the crops, whirlwinds over the fields of cut\ncorn, and do much other mischief to those who meddle with their\nfavourite haunts.\n\nThe innocent Small-people, on the contrary, are always described as\nbeing extremely beautiful by all who have had the luck to see them,\nholding their merry fairs and sprightly dances on the velvety turf of\nthe greens, sheltered glades between the cairns, or in other secluded\npleasant places, dressed in their bright green nether garments,\nsky-blue jackets, three-cornered hats on the men and pointed ones on\nthe ladies, all decked with lace and silver bells. They are as lovely\nas the flowers of the fields. These good small folks often showed great\nkindness to those people to whom they took a fancy, and have frequently\nbeen known to come into poor cottages, divert good old bed-ridden folks\nwith their merry pranks and gambols, and fill the air with the\ndelicious odours of flowers, and such sweet melody as few but angels\never hear and live.\n\nThe Bockles, or Knockers, can scarcely be classed as fairies; they seem\nrather to be a hybrid race between ordinary ghosts and elves, as the\nminers believe them to be the restless souls of the Jews who formerly\nworked in the tin-mines of Cornwall. The tinners often hear them\nworking when underground; sometimes, these ghostly workers may be heard\neven from the surface; yet they so rarely make their appearance now\nthat we hardly know what they are like.\n\nThere are a few other mythical beings belonging to our elvin creed, but\nthey have been so seldom seen of latter days, that very little is now\nknown of the Buccas, Browneys, Mermaids, &c. Probably the mermaids so\nmuch dislike steam ships that the fair syrens have taken themselves\noff, with all their combs and glasses, to the China seas, so as to be\nout of the way of the fiery monsters of the deep.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOLD CORNISH WORDS.\n\n\nStrangers are often puzzled to know what we Cornish people mean by some\nof our words. Let us take some old Cornish words still in common use,\nas skaw for the elder-tree; skaw-dower, water-elder; bannel, broom;\nskedgewith, privet; griglans, heath; padzy-paw (from padzar, four), the\nsmall grey lizard; muryan, the ant; quilkan, the frog (which retains\nits English name when in the water); pul-cronack (literally pool-toad)\nis the name given to a small fish with a head much like that of a toad,\nwhich is often found in the pools (pulans) left by the receding tide\namong the rocks along shore; visnan, the sand-lance; bul-horn, the\nshell-snail; dumble-dory, the black-beetle (but this may be a\ncorruption of the dor-beetle). A small, solid wheel has still the old\nname of drucshar. Finely pulverized soil is called grute. The roots and\nother light matter harrowed up on the surface of the ground for burning\nwe call tabs. Guldaize, harvest feast. Plum means soft; quail,\nwithered; crum, crooked; bruyans, crumbs; with a few other terms more\nrarely used.\n\nMany of our ordinary expressions (often mistaken for vulgar\nprovincialisms) are French words slightly modified, which were probably\nintroduced into the west by the old Norman families who long resided\nthere. For instance; a large apron to come quite round, worn for the\nsake of keeping the under clothing clean, is called a touser (tout\nserre); a game of running romps, is a courant (from courir). Very rough\nplay is a regular cow\u2019s courant. Going into a neighbour\u2019s for a spell\nof friendly chat is going to cursey (couser) a bit. The loins are\ncalled the cheens (old French, echine.) The plant sweet-leaf, a kind of\nSt. John\u2019s wort, here called tutsen, is the French toute saine (heal\nall). There are some others which, however, are not peculiar to the\nwest, as kick-shaws (quelque chose), &c. We have also many inverted\nwords, as swap for wasp, cruds for curds, &c. Then again we call a fly\na flea; and a flea a flay; and the smallest stream of water a river.\n\nIshan is a genuine old Cornish word; it is only given to such dust as\ncomes from winnowing, the result of which process is husks, chaff, &c.\n\nRefuse, consisting of defective grains, seeds, &c., on the \u201ctail\u201d\n(leeward end) of a winnowing sheet, was, by old \u201cwinsters,\u201d called\nattal.\n\nHarvest-time reminds one of our free-hearted old farmers and their\nbountiful goolthise, at which all comers were welcome to eat, drink,\nand be merry. This name for an entertainment given on the principal\ncorn-carrying day\u2014generally the last\u2014is preserved from our ancient\nlanguage.\n\nIn Scilly a harvest feast is called Nicklethise.\n\nIn addition to the above we have the following terms connected with\nharvest work and the preparation of corn for mill or market. Dram, a\nswathe of cut corn; croust, the afternoon\u2019s refreshment, generally of\nhot fuggans (cakes) and ale (Latin crusta).\n\nCollebrands, defective and smutty ears, supposed to be blighted by the\nfine weather lightning, called by the same name.\n\nPederack and brummal, arish mows. The former is conical in shape, with\nthe ear ends of all the sheaves turned inward and upwards; the latter,\nwhich is also called a culver-house mow, is in shape much like an\nold-fashioned, round, stone-built pigeon-house; having the part which\nanswers to a culver-house roof finished with the sheaves turned, ear\nend, downwards and outwards. A brummal mow is the best for continued\nmoist weather, because the ears on a mow-top are less liable to sprout\nwhen reversed. An ill-shaped, bulging pederack mow is said, in\nderision, to be \u201clike an old culver-house,\u201d by those who don\u2019t know\nwhat the object of their comparison means.\n\nBrummal is so much like a Gallic name for the sort of weather we call\nslaggy (full of misty rain), that they are, probably, offshoots from\nthe same old root.\n\nColp, a short rope for carrying sheaves from a mow-hay to the barn;\nalso a blow. Keveran, a strip of hide or leather which unites the two\nsticks of a \u201cthreshal\u201d (flail) here called the \u201chand staff and\nslash-staff.\u201d Liners, threshed wheaten sheaves. Kayer, a coarse sieve\n(probably a modern corruption of Cadar a-Chair, e.g., Cader Michel; St.\nMichael\u2019s Chair on St. Michael\u2019s Mount). Layer, a winnowing-sheet. To\nreeve, to separate with a fine sieve, small corn, seeds, &c., from the\ngood grain.\n\nMost West Country folk use many other words connected with husbandry\nwhich sound very unlike English, and are unknown in the eastern part of\nthe county, as Colpas, anything which serves as a prop, or an underset,\nto a crowbar, or other object when used as a lever. Visgey (mutation\nfor Pigol), a large pick, or mattock; tubble is another name for the\nsame. Piggal, a beat-axe. Monger, a straw horse-collar, &c., &c.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY OF LOCAL WORDS.\n\n\nAree faa, exclamation: \u201cdear me.\u201d\n\nBal, a mine.\nBannel, a broom, a yellow flowering shrub.\nBeety, to mend nets.\nBenen-vat, a good woman.\nBenkeyl, a living stream.\nBen-ma-brea, woman of my heart.\nBalsh, small rope.\nBoobun, wick of the \u201cchill.\u201d\nBowjowler, a place in the fishing-boat, to keep the foot-line.\nBreal, mackerel.\nBreedy, to make nets, by meshing with needle and pin-roller.\nBroaze, on the point of boiling.\nBroazen, briskly; the fire burns briskly.\nBruz, small furze; remnants.\nBucca-boo, a fool; a bogey.\nBussa, a salting pot for meat.\nBussa-head, a blockhead.\n\nCaboolen, a stone used by seiners.\nCaboose, portable fishing-boat\u2019s fire-place.\nCapis, very large meshes in a trammel-net.\nCavers, the darnel.\nChea, word used in calling swine to feed.\nChea-chanter, hold your tongue.\nChill, a lamp.\nClibby, sticky, like molasses.\nClomb, earthenware.\nClunk, to swallow.\nCobesta, a part of fishing tackle.\nCodgy or Clidgy, adhesive; gummy.\nCoits, a pile of rocks; group of stones.\nCostan, straw and bramble baskets.\nCowal, fish basket, with a band for the head, carried by fishwomen.\nCowl, fish-bladder.\nCowleck, a glutton.\nCravel, mantel-beam.\nCroggan, limpet-shell.\nCrowse, refreshment, carried to field in hay, corn, and potato\n  harvests.\nCrum, crooked.\nCrush, shrunk with age.\n\nDerns, a door-frame.\nDidgen, a bit; a small portion.\nDien, a man.\nDowse, to throw on the ground.\nDowsing-rod, divining rod, used to discover minerals, water, &c.\nDrethen, a sand-pot, a sand-area \u2019neath the sea.\nDrizzle, small rain.\nDrizzling-dour, small stream.\n\nEnys, an island.\n\nFlucan-courses, a term in mining; cross-courses.\nFreathed out, frayed.\nFriday cum-sennet, next Friday week.\nFuggan, a cake; dinner cake.\nFun, a small kind of rush.\nFusy, good.\n\nGeek, a sly look; a peep.\nGing, to fasten a fish hook to line with wire.\nGord, a nine-feet rod to measure land.\nGriglens, remains of a heath broom.\nGuldize, harvest home.\nGurry, a four-handled barrow with enclosed sides.\nGwarrah, the farthest, the most distant.\nGweean, perry-winkle.\n\nHayl, a river.\nHeevil, three-prong fork, a stable implement.\nHilla, the nightmare.\nHogan, miners\u2019 dinner.\nHuel, a mine.\n\nIanken, walking quickly.\n\nJonic, fair, straightforward.\nJsenequick, italian-iron.\nJouder, fish overboiled.\nJowdy, to walk in water with boots and stockings on.\n\nKanker, a small crab.\nKay-yer, a coarse winnowing machine.\nKeals (quilles) nine-pins.\nKeal-alley, a bowling-green.\nKeddened and Cabageed, booted with mud; dirty.\nKeg, a dog.\nKente-pathen-gy, wooden pins belonging to the stone anchor used in\n  punts.\nKeygans, small refuse roots.\nKibbal, a mine bucket.\nKibbin, to steal.\nKicker, fishing boats\u2019 small mizen sail.\nKeggil, a piece of wood used by thread-spinners.\nKiskey, a rotten stick.\nKist-vaen, stone chest.\nKu-lar, to lend.\n\nLaggen, to splash in the water.\nLaister, yellow iris, or water flag.\nLasking, keep near shore, a term used by fishermen.\nLenth, shelter, cover from the weather.\nLigge, broth; soup.\nLudras, a frame for the (Killick).\n\nMeanolas, a fire-place, a square box made of stones and clay, made by\n  fishermen.\nMidge-go-morrah, hesitation, doubt, excuse.\nMiggle-cum-par, mixed fuel\u2014a term used in swine feeding; confusion, a\n  mixture.\nMinch, to play truant\u2014shun school.\nMoppeneede, hide and go seek, a game.\nMowaz, a maid.\nMore, the root.\nMuryan, an ant, emmet.\n\nNacken, pocket handkerchief.\nNuddick, back part of the neck.\n\nPadger-paw, a lizard.\nPag-ae, please.\nPeacher, a lure, an enticement.\nPedna-a-mean, heads and tails, a game of pins.\nPedn-borbas, cod\u2019s head.\nPigal, a farm implement.\nPiler, a farm implement, used to pound, or cut the beards from barley\n  in winnowing.\nPilles, naked oats (avena nuda).\nPlanchen, wood floor.\nPodn, mine dust; tailings.\nPol, a pool.\nPolyn, a stick.\nPunick, a small person; a dwarf.\nPurvans, shreds of cotton used in wick-making for a \u201cchill.\u201d\n\nQuail, withered.\nQuilken, a young frog.\n\nRaf, refuse, waste.\nRiggling, cleaning out the fire-place with the poker.\nR\u00fbt, to rub; friction.\n\nScabby-gullion, a stew.\nScat, to knock; break to pieces.\nSchecojan, call; invitation.\nScraggen, straggling.\nScrof, the refuse.\nScroggan, a worthless person.\nScud, to spill any liquid.\nScruff of the nuddick, nape of the neck.\nShong, a broken mesh.\nShethen, any thing long; a piece of hake used as bait.\nSkillet, small tin saucepan.\nSkubmaw, small parts; bits of wreck.\nSlag, small driving rain (drizzle).\nSlintrim, an incline; going down an incline.\nSlotter, a sticky wet mess.\nStag\u2019d, booted in mud.\nStroath, wild haste.\nStrop, string; a piece of rope.\nSwap, a wasp.\nSabs, to burn tabs,\u2014grass tufts, raked together into piles for burning,\n  in preparing ground for seed.\n\nTabs, turf, harrowed fine.\nThurl, leary.\nTimmy-noggy, a notched square piece of wood, used to support the lower\n  end of the Vargord.\nTo garm, to shout in anger; scold.\nTolyer-predu, baking-dish.\nToust, toiled or rumpled.\nTowse, noise; tumult.\nTowser, coarse apron.\nTrantums, friskiness; wildness.\nTre, a farm.\nTubbal, double ball-pick.\nTubban, a tuft of earth.\nTummels, large quantity, applied in agriculture to crops of straw and\n  hay.\nTut, hassock.\n\nVargord, a spar, used as a foresail; bowline in fishing-boats.\nVean, little; \u201cchild vean,\u201d little child; kerris vean, little kerris;\n  treveneth vean, &c.\nVezy, without; distant; away.\nVumfra, blow; a heavy slap.\n\nWidden, white.\nWiddles, nonsense; foolishness; romancing.\nWhinz, mine-winch.\n\nZawn, a cavern.\nZelli, a conger eel.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSUBSCRIBERS\u2019 NAMES.\n\n\nAllen, C. B., Kilburn, London.\nAllsop, Miss, Penzance, 3 copies.\nAnderson, T., Penzance.\nAndrews, William, F.R.H.S., Hull.\n\nBarwis, J. C., Penzance.\nBatten, Joseph Childs, London.\nBennett, E. G., Plymouth.\nBerryman, Alexander, Penzance.\nBlewett, J. P., Penzance.\nBoase, Francis, J.P., Penzance, 2 copies.\nBoase, Geo., Queen Anne\u2019s Gate, Westminster.\nBoase, Rev. Charles W., Exeter College, Oxford.\nBolitho, Mrs. W., Polwithen.\nBolitho, William, Jun., J.P., Ponsandine, 3 copies.\nBorlase, John, Castle Horneck.\nBorlase, W. C., Larrigan.\nBorlase, Rev. William M., Zennor, 2 copies.\nBotheras, R. Gorton, Manchester.\nBrokenshire, E., Penzance.\nBrooks, William, Reigate, Surrey.\nBrune, Charles G. Prideaux, Prideaux Place, Padstow, 2 copies.\n\nCarne, Henry, Penzance.\nChevely, J. C., Madron.\nChope, Rev. R. R., Wilton House, London.\nColenso, Richard, 2 copies.\nColenso, W.\nCommins, Thos. T., 3, St. Paul\u2019s Churchyard.\nCornish, Miss, Penzance.\nCornish, C. H., Skaton Chapel.\nCornish, Henry R., Penzance.\nCornish, James M., Penzance.\nCornish, Thomas, Penzance, 2 copies.\nCornish, Thomas R., Buenos Ayres.\nCouch, J. Q., M.R.C.S.E., Penzance.\nCoulson, J. B., Penzance.\nCourtenay, James, Bristol.\nCraig, Mrs. S., 11, Parliament Street, Liverpool.\n\nDent, Mrs., Sudeley Castle, Winchcombe.\nDingley, Mrs., Beachfield House, 2 copies.\nDrake, Rev. W. N., Ruan, 2 copies.\nDrew, J. E., Penzance.\n\nFagan, Rev. H. S., St. Just Vicarage.\nField, Thomas W., Marazion.\nFisher, Edward, Sidmouth.\n\nGeoffroi, H. M., School of Science and Art, Penzance.\nGilbert, Hon. Mrs., Trelissick.\nGreen, William, 9, Cullum-street, London, E.C.\nGrylls, Thos., Penzance.\n\nHarry, R., London.\nHarvey, Miss, Penzance.\nHarvey, J. S., Penzance.\nHattam, Thomas, St. Anthony.\nHosking, Samuel, Bank Buildings, Hull.\nHudson, Robert S., Redruth.\n\nJames, Arthur H., St. Just.\nJames, John, Rosevean House, 2 copies.\nJames, Stephen H., St. Just.\nJames, Stephen H., B.C.S.\nJennings, E., Linares, Spain.\n\nKevern, J. T., 2 copies.\n\nLach-Szyrma, Rev. W. S., Newlyn.\nLanyon, J. J., Penzance.\nLea, Henry Carey, Philadelphia, U.S.\nLovell, James, Jun., Chyandour, Penzance.\n\nMann, Capt. Benjamin P., London.\nMatthews, Robert, Penzance.\nMatthews, R., Jun., Tregoose, Helston.\nMauleverer, Miss, The Mall, Armagh, Ireland.\nMenneer, Miss A., 7, Trewartha Terrace, Penzance.\nMichell, A. O., Marazion.\nMichell, W. H., Penzance.\nMillett, George Bown, M.R.C.S., Penzance.\nMillett, J. N., Lelant.\nMitchell, W., \u201cWestern\u201d Hotel, Penzance.\nMontgomery, H. M., 5, Clarence Place, Penzance.\nMorewood, R. D., Trinity House, London.\nM\u00fcller, Professor Max, Oxford.\nNance, Capt. Francis, St. Martin\u2019s, Scilly Isles.\nNinnis, Paul C., Linares, Spain.\nNoy, W. D., London.\n\nPaull, A., M.R.C.S.E., Truro.\nPaull, Nicholas, Penzance.\nPellew, W. H., Penzance.\nPentreath, Dr. F. R., Head Master of Winborne School.\nPentreath, Capt. Wm., Pentreath Villa, Mousehole.\nPentreath, Richard, Australia Villa, Exmouth, Devon.\nPentreath, Richard, H.M.C., London, 2 copies.\nPentreath, William B., H.M. Customs, London.\nPeter, Thurstan C., Redruth, 2 copies.\nPreston, R. H., Penzance, 3 copies.\nPrice, Charles, Birmingham.\nPrynne, C. M., The Republican, Springfield, Mass., U.S.A.\n\nRalfs, John, M.R.C.S.E., 2 copies.\nRawlings, W. J., Downes, Hayle.\nRichards, Mrs., Newlyn.\nRickarby, James W. B., Brixton, S. W.\nRundle, Rev. S., Ladock.\n\nStewart, Henry, Penzance.\n\nThe Penzance Public Library.\nThomas, Henry, Clarence place.\nTrenoweth, Captain James, Jun., London.\nTrenwith, Charles, Hayle.\nTrevail, Silvanus, Tywardreath.\nTrowsdale, T. B., Young People\u2019s Institute, Hull.\n\nUren, J. C., Penzance.\nUren, J. G., Penzance.\n\nVictor, H., Penzance.\n\nWellington, R., Penzance.\nWhite, Miss, Penzance.\nWhite, W. N., Covent Garden.\nWhite, R., Jun., 6, Cornwall Terrace, Penzance.\nWildman, A. C., Penzance.\nWildman, Henry E., R.N., Halifax, Nova Scotia.\nWilliams, Henry, Penzance.\nWilliams, J. H., London.\nWilliams, J. H., Higher Penrose Farm, near Helston.\nWilliams, Major, Washington, U.S.A.\nWilliams, T., Trinity House, London.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] The once general custom of \u201ctouching the cravel\u201d for the purpose of\naverting evils foreshadowed by ill-omens, &c., seems to have almost\ndied out with the disuse of open fire-places for burning furze and\nturf.\n\nSome fifty years ago the practice must have been known all over the\ncounty, and farther off. A \u201cpellar,\u201d called Lutey, then in great\nrepute, enjoined those under his \u201cprotection\u201d to perform the rite at\nstated periods, as a safeguard against witchcraft and bad luck\ngenerally. In the spring\u2014as soon as there was twelve hours sun\u2014this\nwise man was resorted to by people from all parts of the county, and\nfarther away, to have their \u201cprotection\u201d renewed. This was always the\nterm used, and its meaning well understood. Great numbers came over\nfrom the Scilly Islands, and the captains and crews of Welsh vessels\ntrading to Hayle often sought this conjurer\u2019s aid.\n\nOne may hope that the pleasant old Christmas pastime of burning\nivy-leaves and rushes was still observed, last Twelfth-night, in some\noutlying hamlets where the good folks are not yet so \u201cenlightened\u201d as\nto conceive that they know much more than their grandparents.\n\nThose who have taken part in this old observance for obtaining presages\nregarding the most important events of life, know that \u201ctouching the\ncravel\u201d must be carefully complied with on leaving the hearth to gather\nwhat they require; and the first thing on their return, before any of\nthem may speak, and their more interesting rites commence.\n\nIf any of the company happen to speak by the way, the charm is spoiled,\nand the seeming presages will be unreliable, unless the incautious ones\nreturn, touch the cravel, and resume the work.\n\nOne may be excused for dwelling so long on these almost forgotten\ncustoms, as they may have some significance, interesting to antiquaries\nat least. It is high time to glean the little that remains of old-world\nobservances; for even in such remote places as the northern parishes,\nmost folks, under middle age, are chary of giving any information about\nthem.\n\n[2] See the Tinner, page 21.\n\n[3] The name usually given to St. Just feast as it is the nearest\nSunday to All-Hallows.\n\n[4] Grease which oozes out from the gudgeons of mine machinery.\n\n[5] The herb scrophularia aquatica.\n\n[6] Avena nuda.\n\n[7] At that time the duty on salt was 4d. per pound; and, at the low\nprice for which pork was then sold, it took nearly the value of one\nside of a carcase to buy enough salt to cure the other side.\n\n[8] Literally corn-feast; the last day of corn carrying, when\nneighbours usually assist each other, then have a good supper and\ncarouse.\n\n[9] Beacon.\n\n[10] Mean men.\n\n[11] Frogs.\n\n[12] Shell-snails.\n\n[13] Small Lizards.\n\n[14] Patrick Kennedy\u2019s description of an Irish wake, may remind elderly\nCornish people of a custom generally observed in West Cornwall, at\nleast, in the last century; that of holding watch-night, with the\ndeceased, for one night, and keeping lighted candles in the room in\nwhich the body was laid out, every night until the funeral.\n\nAll those friends of the family who intended to follow the body to its\ngrave, as \u201cmourners\u201d were expected to join the watchers. It was\ncustomary to have a supper for them (the watchers) about midnight; and\na few hours afterwards the watching was concluded.\n\nIt was never the custom here, within our remembrance to address the\nspirit, supposed to be hovering near its body, until the latter was\nconsigned to earth, as the Irish do at this day. In their \u201ccroneing\u201d\nthe spirit is mostly spoken to in consoling or flattering words; and\noften a little blarney is added also. Both in Ireland and here, it was\nthought a great slight or an insult if friends, who had formal notice\nof a decease, did not attend at the watch-night or wake. It is evident,\nhowever, that these customs are remnants of the same ancient British\nusage, amongst those of the Celtic race.\n\nA pleasing picture of this ancient observance may be seen in\nCymbeline,\u2014Act iv. Scene 2.\n\n[15] He-Goat.\n\n[16] She-Goat.\n\n[17] See page 70.\n\n[18] Mr. W. J. Henwood.\n\n[19] Before this old building was demolished, a few months since, it\nwas photographed by Mr. R. H. Preston.\n\n[20] Wednesday in Feasten week.\n\n[21] Dogs with old tin pans, or the like, tied to their tails.\n\n[22] A century or so ago, the people of Ludgvan were so much celebrated\nfor their dexterity in throwing and catching the silver ball, that they\nwere known far and near as the Ludgvan hurlers, and still hold in\nremembrance their ancient renown by retaining it to this day as a\nnickname. Formerly, they were as proud of this name as of their holy\nwell, and of the tradition they firmly believe\u2014that none who have been\nbaptized in its waters ever have been, or ever will be, hanged.\n\n[23] \u201cMalbrook is gone to the wars.\u201d This once popular ditty was a\nversion of the celebrated French song of\n\n   \u201cMalbrough s\u2019en va-t-en guerre,\n    Mironton, mironton, mirontaine,\u201d\n\nwhich was composed after the battle of Malplaquet in 1709, by some\nFrench officers; who, after being defeated by the Duke of Marlborough,\nconsoled themselves by making the facetious song in which they imagined\n\n   \u201cMonsieur Malbrough is dead.\u2014\n    What\u2019s more\u2014he\u2019s buri-ed,\u201d\n\nmany years before he gave up the ghost and ceased to be the object of\nthe soldier\u2019s admiration and terror.\n\nThe name of Marlborough having been first corrupted by the French into\nMalbrough, was further changed by the English into Malbrook. Only a few\nyears since the old song was republished in Paris, in the collection of\n\u201cChansons Populaires,\u201d under the title of \u201cMort et convoi de\nl\u2019invincible Malbrough.\u201d From the translation of an amusing essay,\nwhich precedes the song in this collection, we quote the following.\nSpeaking of Marlborough, the writer says, \u201cNot being able to conquer,\nthe enemy lampooned him, and each of his victories was followed by a\nnew satirical song; such verses being in France then, as in the good\ntimes of Cardinal Mazarin, the people\u2019s most ordinary means of taking\ntheir revenge.\u201d\n\nThe song was preserved only by tradition in some of the provinces,\nwhere it had been probably left by the soldiers of Villars and de\nBufflers; but in 1781 it resounded, all of a sudden, from one end of\nthe kingdom to the other. It happened that when Marie Antoinette gave\nto the throne of France an heir, he was nursed by a peasant named\n(probably nicknamed) Madame Poitrine, who had been chosen, among other\nqualifications, for her healthy appearance, and good humour. The nurse,\nwhile rocking the royal cradle, sung Malbrough, and the dauphin, it is\nsaid, opened his eyes at the name of the great general. The name, the\nsimplicity of the words, singularity of the burthen, and the touching\nmelodiousness of the air, interested the queen, and she frequently sang\nit. Everybody repeated it after her, and even the king condescended to\nquaver out the words, \u201cMalbrough s\u2019en va-t-en guerre.\u201d Malbrough was\nsung in the state apartments of Versailles; in the kitchens; in the\nstables; it became quite the rage: from the Court it was adopted by the\ntradespeople of Paris, and passed thence from town to town, and country\nto country; it was wafted across to England, where it soon became as\npopular as in France. It is said that a French gentleman, wishing, when\nin London, to be driven to Marlborough Street, had totally forgotten\nits name, but, on singing the air of Malbrough, the coachman understood\nhim immediately, and drove him to the proper address with no other\ndirection.\n\nGoethe, who travelled in France about the same time, was so teased with\nthe universal concert of Malbrough, that he took a hatred to the duke,\nwho was the innocent cause of the musical epidemic. Malbrough made\nitself heard, without ceasing. Apropos of everything, and apropos of\nnothing, it gave its name to the fashions, to silks, head-dresses,\ncarriages, and soups\u2014was reproduced, in short, in all manner of ways\nand forms, and, nothing short of the Revolution, the fall of the\nBastile, and the Marsellaise hymn, were sufficient to smother the\nsounds of that hitherto never ceasing song. The warlike and melancholy\nair of the song did not, any more than its hero, originate in France,\nand we have sought in vain to trace its history back from the time when\nNapoleon\u2014in spite of his general antipathy to music\u2014roared it out\nwhenever he got into his saddle to start on a fresh campaign. We are\nnot unwilling to believe, with M. de Chateaubriand, that it was the\nsame air which the crusaders of Godefroid de Bouillion sang under the\nwalls of Jerusalem. The Arabs still sing it, and pretend that their\nancestors learned it at the battle of Massoura, or else from the\nbrothers-in-arms of De Joinville, who repeated it to the clashing of\nbucklers while pressing forward to the cry of\n\n   \u201cMountjoy, Saint Denis!\u201d\n\n[24] This old Cornish word Bucca (still in common use) has various\nsignifications, and none very clearly defined. It appears to belong to\nthe same family of words as the Irish \u201cPooka,\u201d and the Welsh \u201cPwcca.\u201d\nAs above, it is often applied to a poor, half-witted person of a\nmischievous disposition\u2014one about whom there is anything weird or\nwisht\u2014to a ghost, or any kind of frightful apparition, and by\nassociation of ideas to a scarecrow. By Buccaboo, which is probably a\ncorruption of Buccadhu (black spirit) we mean Old Nick, or one of his\nnear relations. As an example of this, there is a story told of an old\nlady who lived long ago at Raftra, in St. Levan. The old dame, when\nmore than fourscore, was so fond of card playing that she would walk\nalmost every Winter\u2019s night, in spite of wind or weather, to the\nvillage of Trebear, distant a mile or more, that she might enjoy her\nfavourite pastime with a family of congenial tastes who resided there.\nThe old lady\u2019s step-daughter wished to put a stop to what she regarded\nas rather scandalous vagaries, the old dame seldom arriving home before\nthe small hours of the morning; with this intention the young mistress\npersuaded the serving-man to array himself in a white sheet, &c., so as\nto personate a ghost that was accused of wandering about a lonely spot\nover which old madam would have to pass. The Winter\u2019s night was dark\nand rainy, when, about midnight, the ghost seated himself on the side\nof Goon-proynter stile, where he had to wait two or three hours. The\ndear old lady was in no hurry to leave pleasant company as it was\nChristmas time. At last the old lady passed Padz-jigga, mounted the\nstile, and seated herself to draw breath opposite the ghost. Over a\nwhile, she said, \u201cHallo! Bucca gwidden (white spirit) what cheer? And\nwhat in the world dost thee do here with Bucca Dhu close behind thee?\u201d\nThis cool address so frightened Bucca-gwidden that he ran off as fast\nas he could lay feet to ground, the old lady scampering after, clapping\nher hands and calling \u201cGood boy, Buccadhu; now thee west catch Bucca\ngwidden and take\u2019n away with thee!\u201d The ghost was so frightened that he\nfell in a fit and was never right in the head after. Then he was a real\nbucca in the sense of our Betty\u2019s sweetheart, and the strong minded\nsociable old lady enjoyed many more years of her favourite pastime with\nher friends in Trebear.\n\nAnother Bucca of the mischievous class lived in St. Just but a short\ntime since, who gave rise to the saying \u201cBetween both,\u201d as Bucca said.\nBeing, as usual, loafing about the public-house of a pay day, when\nthere is more than the ordinary good cheer about, Bucca happened to\nlook into a room where Capt. Chynolds and another gentleman were\nsitting in the window-seat. The captain said to the intruder, \u201cWhich\nart thee, Bucca, a fool or a rogue?\u201d Before making any reply, Bucca\nplaced himself between them, then answered \u201cI\u2019m between both, I\nbelieve!\u201d Another day he was idling about a new shaft that two men were\nengaged in sinking\u2014one filling the kibbal, the other winding up the\nstuff with a hand winze. The man to grass told Bucca to take hold of\nthe winze and wind up a few kibbals whilst he lighted his pipe. Bucca\nwound up two or three all right. When the next kibbal full was near the\ntop of the shaft he called out \u201cHold on there below while I spit on my\nhands a minute.\u201d Down went the kibbal, winze and all smash, and half\nkilled the man below. Bucca took to his heels crying \u201cTriz-wiz,\ntriz-wiz; whipper-snapper, catch me if thee cust.\u201d (canst).\n\nAnother trick of the Bucca was to watch when the women put a nice bit\nof cake to bake that they might have a comfortable cup of tea before\nthe good man came home from work. They would be sure to go out to\ncoursey (gossip) a bit while the cake was baking. Then Bucca would\nsteal in, carry off the cake, and place a turf under the bake-pan,\ncarefully covered with fire again. When the gossip came to take up the\nnice bit she might be heard to exclaim \u201cWell I never thought I\u2019d been\nout so long; my cake is burned to ashes.\u201d\n\n[25] The \u201cred-haired Danes\u201d have continued a source of terror and a\nname of reproach to the present day. On the first of this month a\nLongrock quarrel was the subject of a magisterial inquiry at the\nPenzance town-hall, when it was proved that the defendant, Jeffery, had\ncalled one of the complainants, Lawrence, who has rubrick hair, a\n\u201cred-haired Dane.\u201d In Sennen Cove, St. Just, and the western parishes\ngenerally, there has existed, time out of mind, a great antipathy to\ncertain red-haired families, who were said to be descendants of the\nDanes, and whose ancestors were supposed, centuries before, to have\nlanded in Whitsand Bay, and set fire to, and pillaged the villages.\nIndeed, this dislike to the Rufus-headed people was carried so far that\nfew families would allow any member to marry them, so that the\nunfortunate race had the less chance of seeing their children lose the\nobjectionable tinge of hair.\n\n[26] As the name Vellandruchar means wheel-mill, the mill which was\nformerly in this place was probably one of the oldest in the West. At\nno great distance from Vellandruchar is the site of another ancient\nmill called Vellansager. This name is equally suggestive, as denoting\nthat the serging or bolting apparatus was not then common in the mills.\nThese old mills were situated in the lower part of Burrien, on the\nstream which divides that parish from Paul. According to tradition, a\nsanguinary battle was fought on the moors a little above Vellandruchar,\nbetween Arthur and the Danes, when they say the mill was worked with\nblood, and that arrow, spear and axe-heads, with the remains of other\nweapons, have frequently been found in the bog-turf (peat soil) which\nis cut for fuel from Vellandruchar Moors. These moors were also said to\nbe so much infested with adders, in old time, that cattle could not be\nturned into them in Summer, until one day an adder got into a pot of\nmilk, which a man who was cutting turf on the moor brought with him to\ndrink. The man placed a turf on the mouth of the pot, and stopped the\nadder in it. In a short time the imprisoned adder made a peculiar\nnoise, which attracted other adders round the pot. These, in turn,\nseemed to call others, until from all parts of the moors the adders\nwere seen directing their course straight to the interesting captive.\nThe men cutting turf on the moors were all obliged to flee the low\ngrounds. Towards night, when they ventured into the moor, they found\nthat a mass of adders, as large as an ordinary hay-cock, had interlaced\nthemselves into a solid heap over and round the pot. The people then\nformed a ring of dry furze, and other fuel they found ready cut, around\nthe mass of adders, now apparently torpid. When many scores of trusses\nof furze were collected, fire was placed at the same instant to several\nparts of the ring of furze. They say that the noise made by the burning\nadders was frightful, and that a great number of milpreaves were found\nin the ashes.\n\nThis story of the adders is also told about Trevethow Moors, the ground\nnow called the Hay Meadow, and many other places.\n\n[27] At pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras, Pallentes umbras\nErebi, noctemque profundam, &c., &c.\n\n[28] This was nearly the language of our learned countryman, Mr. Moyle,\nin \u201cA charge to the Grand Jury at Liskeard, April, 1706.\u201d \u201cIf France\n(says he) prevails in this war, we shall be dragooned into idolatry,\nslavery, and wooden shoes.\u201d\u2014See Moyle\u2019s works, vol. 1, p. 163.\n\n[29] \u201cGolls\u201d or \u201cgollies\u201d is the Ph\u0153nician name for Hercules, according\nto the Rev. Mr. Hogg, in his Fabulous History of Cornwall, so that the\nuse of the term, vulgar as it may appear to some, connects the butcher\nof our narrative with a favourite deity of the Ph\u0153nicians.","title":"Stories and folk-lore of West Cornwall. Third Series","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":90873}