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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75799 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                         STORIES AND FOLK-LORE
+                                   OF
+                             WEST CORNWALL
+
+                                   BY
+                           WILLIAM BOTTRELL.
+
+              “The proper study of mankind is man.”—Pope.
+
+                WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY MR. JOSEPH BLIGHT.
+
+
+
+                             THIRD SERIES.
+
+                                PENZANCE
+                  PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY F. RODDA.
+                                 1880.
+
+                    (Right of Translation reserved.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+The publication of the present work has been attended by circumstances
+of pathetic interest. It is to be feared that it will be the last
+literary testament of its author, who, before the whole was completed,
+was stricken by a severe stroke of paralysis, which has incapacitated
+him from holding a pen in his hand. He must, therefore, claim the
+indulgence of the critics and the public in this third series of
+Cornish tales.
+
+The whole subject of folk-lore, however, is at this moment of such
+general interest, that still it is hoped that this little addition to
+the stores now being gathered from every nation under heaven, may be
+acceptable to the literary world. The publication of Melusine, a
+periodical solely devoted to folk-lore subjects, at Paris, was followed
+in England by the formation of the Folk-lore Society in 1878, which
+promises to take an important position among the learned societies of
+the English nation, and whose publications have already reached the
+third volume. The valuable collections of this society have doubtless
+done much to systematize the work already done, and to encourage the
+labours of collectors of folk-lore throughout the world.
+
+The poet truly says,—
+
+
+    “The proper study of mankind is man.”
+
+
+and so the folk-lore student, in collecting the myths, the proverbs,
+the traditions, the customs of the peasants of many lands, is doing an
+important work in accumulating facts bearing on the history of mankind;
+not the mere records of the wars and doings of kings and generals, but
+of the beliefs, aspirations, thoughts and feelings of the working
+classes of various nations.
+
+In this work the author has done some valuable service, and it is to be
+hoped that this addition to his former labours may be found of value,
+seeing that it deals not with the traditions of the peasantry of
+distant and foreign lands, but with the legends and traditions of the
+country folk of one of the most romantic and interesting counties of
+“Merrie England.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                                 PAGE
+    Legends of Ladock                                               1
+    The Prize Wrestler and Demon                                    3
+    The Feathered Fiend                                            12
+    The Ghosts of Kenegie                                          21
+    Laying Wild Harris’s Ghost                                     26
+    Cornish Castles                                                37
+    The Haunted Lawyer                                             39
+    Hallantide: or a St. Just Feast fifty years ago                48
+    Mill Stories                                                   60
+    A Poor Tinner’s Feast                                          62
+    An old Droll about a Poor Tinner’s Feast                       69
+    A Madron Feast of fifty years ago                              73
+    Zennor Hearthside Stories                                      80
+    The Seaman’s Ghost                                             84
+    The Old Woman’s Ghost                                          88
+    The Mutton Feast of St. Ives                                   89
+    The Witch of Kerrow                                            91
+    Fairies on the Eastern Green                                   92
+    The last Threatened Invasion: Commotion and False Alarm
+      in the West                                                  95
+    Mal Treloare and Sandry Kemp kiss and become good friends
+      again: or Backbiting Crull outwitted                         97
+    The Three Geese                                               100
+    The Earl of Stairs’ Son                                       105
+    From Penzance to Carn Galva: Noteworthy objects by the way    114
+    Madron                                                        114
+    Madron Well                                                   115
+    Madron Chapel                                                 117
+    Lanyon Quoit                                                  117
+    Lanyon Town Place and House                                   119
+    The Crick-stone                                               119
+    Men Scryfa                                                    121
+    The Four Parishes                                             121
+    The Giant of Carn Galva                                       122
+    The Penzance of our Grandfathers                              126
+    The Old Market-House and its surroundings                     126
+    The Battle of Architectural Styles                            128
+    The Self-taught Architect                                     128
+    The Bustle of a Market Day                                    129
+    Madam Trezillian’s Head-Dress                                 130
+    The Ancient Fish-Women of Penzance                            131
+    The School-days and Home of Pellew                            131
+    The Western approach to Penzance                              133
+    Parson Spry and his Wooden Horse and Dog “Sport”              133
+    The Rev. James Bevan                                          137
+    Country Clerks and Country Choirs                             138
+    Old Christmas Carols                                          138
+    Ancient mode of conducting Funerals                           139
+    Former means of information among the people                  140
+    The Astrologers of the West                                   141
+    Conjurors and their Spells                                    142
+    Old Justice Jones                                             143
+    The Vingoes of Treville                                       143
+    Pellew and his Cornish crew                                   144
+    Ancient Games                                                 144
+    Old methods of Conveyance—Riding Pillion                      145
+    Popular Songs of the times, Marlbrook, and Sentimental
+      Ditties                                                     145
+    Green Lanes and Footpaths                                     148
+    Pack-Saddles, &c.                                             148
+    Going to Town on Market-day                                   149
+    Early part of this Century                                    150
+    An old-fashioned greeting                                     151
+    The Ghosts of Chapel-street and St. Mary’s Chapel-yard        152
+    Local Nicknames                                               155
+    Merry-geeks and Market-Jew Crows                              155
+    Ludgvan Hurlers and Gulval Bulls                              155
+    Moushal Cut-throats and Newlyn Buckas                         156
+    Sancras Pigs and Buryan Boars                                 156
+    St. Levan Witches, &c.                                        157
+    Santust Fuggans and Morvah Chick-chacks                       158
+    Nancledrea Rats and Zennor Goats                              158
+    Towednack Cuckoos and St. Ives Hakes                          159
+    A Cornish Droll: Betty Toddy and her Gown                     161
+    The Ghost-layer                                               171
+    Cornish Dialogue between two old men                          173
+    A Dialogue between Gracey Penrose and Mally Trevisky          175
+    Christmas Carols                                              177
+    Ancient Midsummer Customs                                     179
+    The “Hilla”                                                   181
+    The Ancient Cornish Language in the Colonies                  183
+    According how et may drop                                     184
+    Cornish words in use                                          185
+    Cornish observances with regard to the Sun and Moon           187
+    Cornish Conjurors’ Charms against Witchcraft                  190
+    All on one side, like Smoothy’s wedding                       192
+    Piskies                                                       193
+    Old Cornish Words                                             195
+    Glossary of Local Words                                       197
+    Subscribers’ Names                                            199
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LEGENDS OF LADOCK.
+
+
+                       “A good man there was of religioun,
+                        That was a poure persone of a toun:
+                        But riche he was of holy thought and werk,
+                        He was also a lerned man—a clerk.
+
+                        And though he holy were and vertuous,
+                        He was to sinful men not despitous,
+                        Ne of his speche dangerous ne digne (proud),
+                        But in his teching discrete and benigne.”
+
+                                                               Chaucer.
+
+
+A little more than a century ago the Rector of Ladock was the Rev. Mr.
+Wood, who was a most zealous churchman even in the days of misty
+prejudice, when churchmen in general looked upon nonconformists as
+scabbed sheep in their fold, and held that no schismatics were to be
+tolerated. From having unwavering faith in the grace conferred by his
+ordination, he was endowed with remarkable powers as an exorcist and
+ghost-layer. The reverend gentleman was also an adept in astrology and
+other occult sciences, which enabled him to perform wonders. The simple
+folk of that secluded place, believing that their good parson possessed
+more knowledge than is attributed to ordinary members of the three
+learned professions combined, sought his aid in their physical
+infirmities and social disturbances, as well as for their spiritual
+wants. These simple, honest people were not much troubled in regard to
+the latter. In those tranquil times they were comparatively temperate
+in religious matters. There were many traits in the secular side of Mr.
+Wood’s character for which he was much liked and respected. If any
+dispute arose between his parishioners the matter was referred to him;
+and, such was their confidence in the justice of his award, that they
+always abided by his decision. If they had difficulties in parish
+business the parson explained the law on the subject, and the matter
+was settled accordingly. With the youngsters, too, he was a great
+favourite. He encouraged them to keep up the old games of wrestling,
+hurling, and other manly sports. The silver hurling-ball was left in
+the parson’s care, and at the Tides, when he gave it to the young men,
+he would say to them, “Now, my boys, be on your honour with each other,
+and let it be your pride to behave according to the legend engraved on
+your ball, in old Cornish, which means, as you know, that ‘Fair Play is
+Good Play!’ Be sure, too, that One and All observe the ancient laws of
+your games, which I will explain to ye if there should be any
+uncertainty.” Mr. Wood mostly gratified the youngsters by being a
+spectator of their games, and, unless he appeared on the Green, some of
+them went to request his presence.
+
+He would often say to the men, “A knowledge of the science of wrestling
+is as necessary as that of boxing to give one a ready means of self
+defence. Besides, it is a respectable exercise from its antiquity. Old
+chroniclers say that the hero Corineus (or Corin) with his Trojan
+hosts, by their faculty of wrestling subdued the Giants by whom this
+Western Land was possessed when he and Brutus, with their followers,
+landed at Totnes.” He told them how Corin threw the Giants’ king,
+Gogmagog, on Plymouth Hoe, and then cast him headlong into the sea over
+the cliff ever since called Langomagog, or the Giant’s Leap.
+
+
+   “For which the conquering Brute, on Corineus brave
+    This horn of land bestowed, and marked it with his name,
+    Of Corin, Cornwall call’d, to his immortal fame.”
+
+
+“Soon after this,” Mr. Wood used to say, “the rest of the giants died
+for grief. The remembrance of Corin’s exploit was also preserved by the
+figures of the wrestlers being cut out in the turf on Plymouth Hoe.
+These were renewed as they were worn out. The Cornish should be proud
+to excel in this exercise, for the remembrance of the great Corineus
+from whom they are said to derive their pedigree! So shew yourselves
+like brave Trojans, my boys—equally ready to fairly fight and then to
+feast with their opponents, using no cunning wiles or tricks to betray.
+They were good hurlers, too, as well as wrestlers. Besides this, our
+old heroic games, and the chase, which may be classed with them, afford
+such wholesome excitement as serves to dispel melancholy thoughts,
+which, if they be brooded over, are apt to render people crazy,
+especially when they lead such solitary lives as most country-folk
+must. The wisest of eastern sages has said that there are proper times
+for joyous diversions as well as for labour. Such old romances, too, as
+are related around the winter’s hearth, serve the same good purpose in
+that dreary season.”
+
+It seems that, formerly, in spite of all the subtle disguises that the
+devil assumed, he was mostly known when ranging abroad; and Mr. Wood
+was always able to detect and conquer him, if he ventured within his
+jurisdiction. The parson changed the Evil One into the shape of an
+animal, and then belaboured the infernal beast lustily with his
+hunting-whip, until it ran away, howling like Tregagle. When walking,
+Mr. Wood usually carried a stout ebony stick. On its massive silver
+head was engraved a pentacle, or Solomon’s seal, and on a broad ring or
+ferrule, just below the knob, were planetary signs and mystical
+figures. This staff was regarded with curiosity and awe. It was said
+that, by means of it, “he ruled the planets, controuled evil spirits,
+repelled witchcraft, and performed supernatural work generally.”
+
+The following stories are still told by the winter’s fireside in Ladock
+and adjacent parishes. As usual there are various versions, which
+differ in detail, because our old droll-tellers claimed a free flight
+for fancy in such portions of their stories as admitted of it.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE PRIZE WRESTLER AND DEMON.
+
+
+There was a famous wrestler of Ladock, called John Trevail, though more
+generally known among his comrades as “Cousin Jackey,” from the common
+practice of thus styling favourites who may be no relation. One
+Midsummer’s day Jackey went into a neighbouring parish and threw their
+champion wrestler. In his pride, he said, as he swaggered round the
+ring, “I am open to a challenge from any man, and wouldn’t mind having
+a hitch with the Devil himself, ef he’d venture!”
+
+After the wrestling he passed a few hours with his comrades in the
+public house. On his way home, alone, about the “turn of night,” he
+came to a common called Le Pens Plat, which is two miles or more from
+Ladock Churchtown. As he was going on slowly, from being somewhat
+tired, and not very steady in the head, he was overtaken by a gentleman
+dressed like a clergyman, who accosted him in gentle tones, saying,
+
+“I was at the wrestling to-day, and I think you are the prize wrestler.
+Am I right?”
+
+“Yes, sir, I won the prize that I now carry,” replied Trevail, who felt
+very uneasy at meeting there such a strange, black-coated gentleman at
+that time of night, though a full moon and clear sky made it almost as
+light as day.
+
+“I am very fond of wrestling myself,” resumed the stranger; “it’s an
+ancient, manlike exercise, for which we Cornishmen have always been
+renowned; and, as I want to learn more science in my play, I should
+much like to try a bout with you; say for your gold lace hat and five
+guineas, which I will stake.”
+
+“Not now, sir, for I’m tired,” Jackey replied, “but I’ll play you after
+dinner-time if you please, when I’ve had a few hours rest—say two or
+three o’clock, if it will please you.”
+
+“Oh no; it must be at midnight, or soon after, now the nights are
+short,” said the stranger; “it would never do for one in my position to
+be seen here wrestling with you, high by day; it would scandalize my
+cloth in these particular and gossip-loving times.”
+
+Trevail hesitated, and thought of the wild words he had uttered in the
+ring. He had then challenged the Devil, and he felt persuaded that he
+was now face to face with his enemy, in this lonely spot. Thinking it
+best, however, to be as civil as possible, he agreed to the stranger’s
+proposal to meet him there at midnight, or soon after; they shook hands
+to the bargain, and the gentleman gave him a purse with five guineas in
+it for his stake, saying at the same time—
+
+“You are well known to be an honest fellow, I’ve no fear of your not
+bringing the money and your prize won to-day; and if, by any mischance,
+I shouldn’t come, the money is yours; but there’s little doubt of my
+being here sharp upon midnight.”
+
+He then wished Jackey good morrow, and went away over the common by
+another path leading northward. The poor fellow felt, as he trudged
+along homeward, that he had sold himself to the Old One. In looking
+down, when he said good morrow (he couldn’t bear the stranger’s eye) he
+saw what he believed to be a cloven foot peeping from beneath his long
+black skirts. Poor fellow! he felt as bad as gone, unless he could be
+rescued some way. But he could devise no plan by which to avoid his
+fate.
+
+Dragging himself along, as best he could, afraid to look behind him, he
+got to his dwelling about three o’clock in the morning. His wife, on
+hearing the door opened, came downstairs. Seeing Jackey’s haggard looks
+she refrained from “jawing” him as usual, when he came home late, and
+the want of her rough talk made him feel worse than ever. Jackey took
+from his pocket the bag of guineas, and threw it into the tool-chest,
+among a lot of lumber, saying, “Molly, my dear, doesn’t thee touch that
+shammy leather bag for the world! ’Tes the Devil’s money that’s in am!”
+Little by little he told her what had happened on the common, and
+concluded by moaning out,
+
+“Oh Molly, my dear, thee hast often wished that Old Neck would come and
+take me away bodily, and now et do seem es ef thy prayers are to be
+answered.”
+
+“No, no, Jackey my son, never think of et,” sobbed she; “whatever I
+said was only from the lips outwards, and that’s of no effect, my
+darlin. I can’t afford to lose thee yet for awhile. As the sayan es,
+‘Bad as thee art it might be wes (worse) without thee.’ Go the wayst up
+to bed, my son, et mayn’t come to that for awhile: I’ll this minute put
+on my cloak and hat, and away to the passen. No good for thee, nor all
+the world, to say no, for he only can save thee.”
+
+On her way to beg Mr. Wood’s assistance she called up a croney with
+whom she was on pretty fair terms just then.
+
+“Arrea! soas; what’s the matter?” exclaimed the gossip, looking from
+her chamber-window. “Have anybody cried out that you’re in such
+‘stroath’ (hurry) at this untimely hour.”
+
+“Come along to the passen’s,” replied Molly. “I’m so ‘flambustered’
+(worried) I can hardly speak. Somethan dreadful have happened to our
+Jackey; and you mustn’t drop a word to anybody, for your life, of what
+I’ll tell ’e on the road.”
+
+The reverend gentleman, being an early riser, was standing at his door,
+looking out in the grey of the morning, when he saw the two women, in
+much agitation, coming towards him. Ere he had time to speak, Jackey’s
+wife, with her apron to her eyes, sobbed out, “Oh, your reverence, I be
+a poor woman ruined and undone, that I be; for our dear Jackey have ben
+and sold hisself to the Old One, and will be carried away bodily the
+very next night ef you don’t save am! That a will.”
+
+After some questions Mr. Wood got an inkling of the case, and said to
+Molly,
+
+“Make haste home, my good woman, and tell Jackey, from me, to cheer up;
+I’ll see him presently and tell him how to act, and I’m pretty sure the
+Devil will meet his match, with my assistance.”
+
+Shortly after sunrise Mr. Wood entered the wrestler’s dwelling, and
+found him stretched on the chimney-stool, sound asleep. When Jackey
+knew the wise step his wife had taken—the only one indeed of any use
+under the circumstances—he became tranquil, and, worn out as he was
+with great exertion of body and mind, he soon forgot his troubles. Mr.
+Wood roused him and said,
+
+“Why, Jackey, is there any truth in what your wife has just told me, or
+did you fall asleep on the common and have an ugly dream? The
+chamois-bag that Molly spoke of may contain nothing more than
+wart-stones that bad luck cast in your way; but tell me what happened
+from first to last, and let’s see the bag.”
+
+Trevail related his adventures, and concluded by saying,
+
+“’Tes all like an ugly dream, sure enow, your reverence, and I wish it
+were nothing else, but the Old One’s money es there in my tool-chest,
+and I remember every word that passed; besides I should know him again
+among ten thousand,—such fiery eyes I never beheld in any other head,
+to say nothan of the glimpse I had of his cloven foot.”
+
+Then Jackey brought the bag, holding it at arm’s length with a pincers,
+as he might a toad. Urged on, he opened it and turned out five pieces
+of glittering gold.
+
+The parson, having examined them, said,
+
+“The sight of these spade guineas, with what you have told me, leave no
+doubt that you bargained to wrestle with the Devil; for he it is; you
+could get this gold no other way; I’m certain you wouldn’t use unfair
+means to obtain it. The money seems good enough, whatever mint it might
+have been coined in. Yet take courage, you must be as good as your
+word, and to-night meet the Old One, as you call him. Don’t fail to be
+at the appointed place by midnight, and take with you the stakes, as
+agreed on.”
+
+Jackey looked very dejected on hearing this; intimated that he didn’t
+like to go alone, and that he had trusted to have Mr. Wood’s company.
+
+“You must keep your word with the Devil,” continued the parson, “or he
+may come and fetch you when least expected. I shall not go with you,
+yet depend on it I’ll be near at hand to protect you against unfair
+play.”
+
+Whilst saying this Mr. Wood took from his pocket-book a slip of
+parchment, on which certain mystic signs and words were traced or
+written.
+
+“Secure this in the left-hand side of your waistcoat,” said he, in
+giving it to Jackey; “don’t change your waistcoat, and be sure to wear
+it in the encounter; above all, mind ye—show no fear, but behave with
+him precisely as you would with any ordinary wrestler, and don’t spare
+him, or be fooled by his devices.”
+
+Jackey’s wife now came in. She had been “courseying” (gossiping) on the
+road, to ease her mind. Mr. Wood left the dwelling; and Trevail, now in
+pretty good heart, went with him some distance.
+
+On parting the parson cautioned him to keep the matter private.
+
+“That I will be sure to do,” replied Jackey; “I havn’t told a living
+soul but my wife, and she can keep a secret first-rate—for a woman.
+There’s no fear now of my showing a white feather, thanks to your
+reverence.”
+
+At the appointed time our prize-wrestler went boldly to Le Pens Plat
+Common and waited near the spot agreed on. At midnight the gentleman in
+black arrived by the same path he took in the morning. They looked hard
+at each other for some minutes without speaking, till Trevail said,
+“I’m come in good time you see, and there are the prizes on that rock.
+You know the rules of the game, I suppose, that one must lay hold above
+the waist; whichever makes three falls in five bouts wins the prize; it
+belongs to you, as the challenger, to take the first hitch.”
+
+Still the stranger made no reply, and kept his gleaming eyes on the
+wrestler, who, feeling uncomfortable under his persistent stare, looked
+towards the rock, where the prizes lay, and said, “Then, if you won’t
+wrestle, take your money, and no harm done.”
+
+That instant Trevail felt himself seized, all unawares, by his
+waistband and lifted clear off the ground. It seemed to the man as if
+the Old One rose with him many yards above the earth; and its
+“far-re-well to all the world with me now,” thought Cousin Jackey to
+himself.
+
+During a desperate struggle in the air, however, the man got his right
+arm over his opponent’s shoulder, and grabbing him on the back with a
+good holdfast, took a crook with his legs. In the encounter the
+wrestler’s breast, or rather his waistcoat, touched the Evil One, who
+on the instant lost his hold, fell flat on his back, as if knocked
+down, and writhed on the ground like a wounded snake. The wrestler
+pitched to his feet as he came down, never the worse, but his temper
+was now raised to such a point that he was ready to fight or wrestle
+with any man or devil.
+
+The other rose up with fury in his countenance, and exclaimed, “You
+have some concealed weapon about ye that has wounded me; cast off that
+waistcoat.”
+
+“No, by golls,” replied Jackey, “that I wont, to please ye; feel my
+jacket if you like; there’s no blade in am, not even a pin’s point, but
+’tes you that show the queer tricks; catch me off my guard again ef you
+can.”
+
+Saying this he clenched the Old One like a vice; but they had a hard
+struggle for more than five minutes, pushing and dragging each other to
+and fro at arm’s length. The Old One seemed afraid to close in. Jackey
+felt all out of sorts with the blasting gleams of the other’s evil
+eyes, and couldn’t get a crook with his legs. At last, making a
+desperate plunge, he freed himself from the Devil’s grasp; took him
+with the “flying-mare,” and threw him on his back with such a “qualk”
+as made him belch brimstone fumes.
+
+The devil quickly sprung up, looking very furious, and said, “I’m
+deceived in you, for your play is very rough, and I desire you to
+request Parson Wood to go home. I am confused and powerless whilst he
+is looking on.”
+
+“I don’t see Mr. Wood, nor anybody else but you,” returned Jackey.
+
+“Your sight mayn’t be so good as mine,” replied the other. “I can only
+just see his eyes glaring on me from between the bushes on yonder
+hedge, and I hear him mumbling something too. If I’m foiled again it
+will be all owing to your confounding parson. I hope to serve him out
+for this some day.”
+
+“Never mind our passon, he can wrestle very well himself,” said Jackey
+in a cheerful tone, “and do like to see good play; so come on, at it
+agen.” Saying this he grasped his opponent in a “Cornish hug,” with
+more vigour than ever, laid him on his back as flat as a flounder, and
+said, “There, you have had three fair falls; but if they don’t satisfy
+’e, I’ve more science to teach ’e yet.” The wrestler kept a sharp eye
+on the prostrate one, intending to give him another thumping qualk the
+instant he rose, unless he asked for quarter. During the half minute or
+so that he watched the demon crameing on the ground like a serpent, the
+sky became overcast, and the moon obscured with gathering clouds, which
+seemed bursting with thunder. Looking closely, in the dim light, at the
+gentleman in black, Jackey was frightened to see that, in a twinkling,
+his feet and legs had become like those of a huge bird; his skirts
+changed to a pair of wings; and his form was still changing to that of
+a dragon, when he flew away, just skimming the ground at first, and
+leaving in his wake a train of lurid flame; then soared aloft and
+entered the pitch black clouds, which, on the instant, became all
+ablaze with lightning, and thunders roared, echoing all around from
+hill to hill. As the black cloud ascended, with a whirling motion, it
+appeared like an immense wheel revolving in the air, flashing lightning
+and shooting thunder-bolts from all around its border.
+
+The demon’s sudden change and flight, with the noxious vapours spread
+around, so confused and stupefied Jackey, that for a minute or so he
+lost sight of all above and below. Whilst still like one in a trance,
+gazing on the sky, now clear overhead, he felt a hand on his shoulder,
+and heard Parson Wood say, in cheery tones, “Well done, my boy; I was
+proud to see thy courage and good play. See, there’s the devil’s
+battery,” continued he, pointing to a small black cloud so far away as
+to be almost lost to view; and casting a glance round he noticed, on a
+rock, Jackey’s gold-lace hat and the bag of money.
+
+“Come, my son, rouse thee,” said he, “take up thy prizes and let’s be
+off homeward.”
+
+The wrestler took up his hat, but looked askaunt on the bag of guineas,
+as if unwilling to touch it.
+
+“Take the money,” urged Mr. Wood. “It’s fairly won; but some old
+sayings are passing in thy mind such as ‘A guinea of the devil’s money
+is sure to go, and take ten more with it.’ ‘What’s gained over the
+fiend’s back will slip away under his belly;’ and other old saws of the
+like meaning, which don’t refer to such money as that; but to unfair
+gains gotten by those thieves in heart who are too greedy to be honest.
+Yet even such often hold fast the cash for themselves and theirs, when
+the devil cries quits by taking them all at last.”
+
+Trevail took up the bag, and, as he pocketed it, a flash of light drew
+their attention to the fiend’s retreat, now so high that it appeared a
+mere dot in the clear sky. They saw a streak of fire leave it, and,
+descending like a shooting star, fall in a neighbouring parish.
+
+“Mark that, Jackey!” exclaimed Mr. Wood, “for it’s no other than your
+wrestling devil, or one of his company, who has come down amongst St.
+Endor witches; and it strikes me that we havn’t seen the last of him
+yet.”
+
+“There’s a hut on a moor just where he dropped,” said Jackey, “in which
+a number of hags meet every now and then; and when they have agreed on
+the mischief they are to work, about midnight they fly away on their
+brooms or ragwort stalks. In the small hours of morning they are often
+seen beating homewards in the shape of hares. Many old hags over that
+way get what they like for the asking. If any one of them hap to be
+refused she’ll shake her bony finger at the one who denies her, and
+say, ‘You will wish you had,’ and sure enow, from the fear of some ill
+wish falling on them or theirs, the old witch is pretty sure to get all
+she looked for.”
+
+On their way home Jackey thanked the parson most heartily for his
+protection, and told him that in the first bout he thought all was over
+for him in this world, when the Old One rose with him off the earth
+“ever so high.”
+
+“You are mistaken in that, my son,” replied Mr. Wood, “it was only your
+fright on being seized unawares and suddenly lifted off the ground that
+made ye think so; for, to give the devil his due, he never tried to fly
+away with you. I saw it all, and precautions had been taken to guard
+against foul play on his part, if any tricks were attempted, as you
+will understand by-and-bye, when I tell you of my night’s work.”
+
+Jackey didn’t contradict the reverend gentleman, but he was of the same
+opinion still; and whenever he told the story in after years, always
+asserted that on his first hitch he was taken up “towers high,” and
+still getting higher, until he came to close quarters with the Old One.
+
+“I have had a busy time of it,” continued Mr. Wood. “Long before
+midnight I was on the ground—which I knew from your description to be
+the place of your encounter,—and summoned thither many powerful
+spirits, who attended with pleasure to see such a wrestling. They
+hadn’t, of late, beheld the like, though, in days of yore, contests
+between men and demons were not unfrequent. The one you have conquered
+is a devil of high rank. He came attended by a great number of lower
+degree; and precautions were taken to place around ye a ring of my true
+and valiant spirits, who made your opponent’s attendant fiends remain
+in an outer circle.
+
+“Besides, there were crowds of vagrant spirits wandering to and fro, on
+the earth and in the air, as is their custom from midnight to
+cock-crowing; all of them stopped to witness your contest. They were
+all visible to me, though by you unseen; and well for ye it was so,
+because a sight of such beings would be sure to shock ye or any other
+unprepared mortal. Many in the crowd were very ghastly in appearance.
+Your demon’s retainers were in their usual form, which suits them for
+air or earth.
+
+“Many bets were made between the spectators in both circles and
+overhead; and a great many of the demon’s backers are bound to serve
+the winners for ages. They don’t much mind that, however. Time hangs
+heavy on their hands; and of all spirits, fallen ones are the most
+restless, as it goes against their grain to do mortals a good turn. For
+the sake of some change in their wearisome existence they rise
+tempests, serve the evil behests of witches, and perform other acts of
+deviltry, such as we often hear of; yet they are a melancholy set that
+one might pity.”
+
+The wrestler expressed his wonder at what the parson related; yet, from
+what he had heard of devils’ doings, wasn’t much surprised.
+
+Over a while Mr. Wood resumed, “I am somewhat chagrined though all has
+gone well on the whole; for I was watching to see thee give three fair
+falls, intending then to rush on the devil and shame him, if possible,
+with a lusty thrashing with my hunting-whip, it’s fastened round my
+waist; but, as bad luck would have it, in getting hastily over the
+hedge my skirts caught in brambles, and I dropped my ebony staff. That
+instant, whilst it lay on the earth, the demon took a form which used
+to be common amongst the infernal brood. At his signal the attendant
+fiends formed a thunder-cloud to receive their chief. The guardian
+spirits, well pleased, only quitted their charge when my hand was laid
+on your shoulder; all the rest you saw.”
+
+“I have often heard,” said Jackey, “of a dragon that burned Helston,
+was that a devil too?”
+
+“Very likely, or something as bad,” replied Mr. Wood. “The tradition
+handed down simply says that, in old times, before there was a bar
+formed at the Loe, and when the tide flowed past the site of St. John’s
+Mill, a dragon often came from over sea and burnt the ancient town. Yet
+the dragon which visited Helston might only have been a northern
+pirate’s ship known by that name.
+
+“I was going to tell you that I owe this wrestling devil a grudge. Who,
+indeed, in my place wouldn’t be vexed with the beast for taking the
+disguise he so impudently assumed? Decked as he was in a three cocked
+beaver and black garments, he might easily pass himself off for a
+clergyman, without a close scrutiny.”
+
+“I thought sure he was,” said Jackey, “he wore a white neck-cloth too;
+and one could hardly make out if he had a cloven foot or no.”
+
+From walking slowly home it was broad day when they arrived at the
+parsonage. Mr. Wood gave the wrestler a substantial breakfast of cold
+beef, bread, and ale. After a hearty meal, Jackey said, “I should be
+glad to serve your reverence at any hour by day or by night, for I owe
+you more than life.”
+
+“Not so, my son,” the parson replied, “for I have only done my duty in
+guarding from the wolf a wild and thoughtless one of my flock.”
+
+The money, however, did the wrestler but little if any good, and it was
+the cause of quarrels between him and his wife, and of both with their
+neighbours. Jackey soon learnt how it was rumoured all around that he
+had sold himself to the Old One to have his wishes gratified for a few
+years, with the usual consequences to follow. Now he had told nobody
+but his wife—of course, Mr. Wood’s prudence was not to be
+suspected,—and she had only spoken of her trouble to her crony, who
+went with her to the parson. Accordingly, dame Trevail accused her
+gossip of having spread many falsehoods round the parish, and abused
+her for the breach of confidence.
+
+The crony retorted by saying, “Fool that thee art, however cust (canst)
+thee expect me, or anybody else, to keep thy secrets, when thee cusn’t
+keep them thyself? And what do I care; I han’t had any share of thy
+dirty money; by golls! I wedn’t touchen weth a peer of tongs; I han’t
+got a spoon long enow to sup weth thy old gentleman. All the neighbours
+do say that of late, since thee hast had thy new rig out, from top to
+toe, thee art become so huffish and toit (uncivil in reply) that they
+can’t venture to say ‘What cheer,’ or give thee the ‘time o’ day’; and
+that poor Cousin Jackey han’t got a minute’s peace in his own house
+with thy constant ballarggan (abuse) and naggan that will fret am to
+death before long. Then thee mayst wring thy hands and cry ‘bad as
+Jackey was, a es wes (worse) to live without am.’ Well, soase! my
+bedgownd and towser (large coarse apron to come all round and tie
+behind) es good enow for me or any other honest workan woman. They say
+that thee wert decked out like a lady in church a Sunday, with thy new
+covertail (kirtle) gownd, who but thee forsooth! A clean bedgownd,
+check-apron, and quilted-petticoat do more become thee. ’Tes no wender
+people do gibe thee for thy pride; and ’tes as good as an old ‘merable’
+play to hear what they do say about thee. Now, go thee wast along home,
+and think over what I’ve told thee.”
+
+For many years after this Jackey continued to be the champion wrestler
+of his neighbourhood; and the story of his midnight adventure took the
+form of a droll just like the above.
+
+Shortly after Mr. Wood gave the wrestler his ghostly aid, the reverend
+gentleman had much fiendish annoyance on that account, as will be seen
+in the sequel to this story.
+
+One may remark that many old folks often compare a droll subject to an
+old miracle play, though they have but a misty idea of what it was. The
+other day an elderly man of Newlyn, in speaking of old droll-tellers
+meeting together and spinning their yarns, said, “It is as good as an
+old miracle-play to hear them.” On my asking what an old miracle play
+was, he replied that he couldn’t say exactly, but from what he had
+heard, he thought it was much the same as an old guise-dance. He wasn’t
+much out, as “St. George and the Dragon” was the guise-dance he had in
+view.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE FEATHERED FIEND.
+
+
+Ladock men were famous ringers of old; but from a few weeks before
+their champion’s victory over the demon-wrestler, the fine old bells of
+their church had been silent because their ropes were quite worn out,
+and other gearing connected with them required repairs to be used with
+safety. Shortly after Trevail’s victory, an evil spirit, in the form of
+a very large bird, with coal-black plumage, and fiery eyes, but of a
+kind unknown to Ladock folks, was seen perched on the tower for several
+nights in succession, where it remained for hours jumping from one
+pinnacle to another, and making an unnatural clamour, which was heard
+far away. Shortly after it came by day, and even during Divine Service.
+The pastor and his flock were distracted by its croaking and cawing, as
+if in derision.
+
+When the clerk, with five or six other elderly men and two women, who
+formed the choir, quavered through the psalms—which they sung in parts,
+much in the mode of old “three-man-songs,”—this feathered fiend, just
+over their heads, on the tower, would utter such infernal noises as to
+make sad discord of the old men’s music. The clerk seldom used a book,
+as he knew pretty well, by heart, the three or four psalms they usually
+sung; but sometimes he would commence with a verse from one, and then
+give out portions of others; and now his memory was so confused by
+irritation that one Sunday he concluded by giving,—
+
+
+   “And now may Heaven amend us all,
+    And into bliss us bring!”
+
+
+Happily the two female singers discovered his mistake as he was going
+to finish the verse with—
+
+
+   “This was the hunting of the Cheviot:
+    God send us all good ending!”
+
+
+Every now and then the accursed thing would mimic all sorts of familiar
+but jarring sounds; sometimes it screeched “like a pig caught in a
+gate;” then quickly changed its note to imitate the cry of hounds in
+full chase; or the cackling and scolding of old women. By such noises
+coming down from the elevated site, many of the congregation were
+constrained to burst out in roars of laughter, which, like yawning, is
+very catching. Prim folks, who put great restraint on themselves in
+order to retain a solemn demeanour, suffered such pains that they had
+to leave Church and give vent to their pent up feeling.
+
+Mr. Wood was nonplussed; the Evil One was too high up to be reached
+with his hunting-whip, and the methods by which he had formerly
+exorcised demons now failed. From this one’s position, he could not
+comply with all the prescribed formulas, such as enclosing him in a
+magic circle, &c. The reverend gentleman felt his fame as an exorcist
+was at stake. He told his people that the accursed thing was no other
+than a mean mocking devil sent thither by the demon-wrestler to torment
+him, out of revenge for his aid to their champion, whereby Jackey’s
+victory and the Evil One’s discomfiture were assured.
+
+The increasing vexation continued for many weeks, until Mr. Wood was
+struck with an idea which he turned to good account; and which should
+be recorded for the benefit of others who may ever have to encounter
+the like difficulties.
+
+One Sunday, after evening service, when the congregation had
+dispersed—the clerk and sexton waiting in the porch,—the parson came
+out of the Church sighing, “Oh! for how long is this grevious trial to
+endure;” and, turning to his clerk, said, “We and the people might as
+well have stayed at home for all the benefit derived by them from
+either the service or the sermon this afternoon. I could not help
+observing that their attention was more given to the horrid noises
+which reached them from the tower than to my instructions from the
+pulpit.”
+
+“It’s a very hard tryal for you, to be sure,” replied the clerk, “but,
+as for me, I’ve more than once had a great mind to smash my bass-viol
+and rush out of Church; ’tes always hard work for me to keep our
+singers in time and tune; and now, with this screechan devil on the
+tower, we are always in confusion, and might as well sing ‘Chevy Chace’
+for all the words anybody can hear; et wed try the patience of Job ef
+he, like me, had a ‘pare’ of singers to lead, and the devel makan such
+a ‘drilzey’ (irritating noise) over hes head; it wed be wes for am than
+havan to listen to hes conceited com——”
+
+“Pray thee leave Job and his comforters for the time,” exclaimed Mr.
+Wood. “The good man, like many another, might well say, ‘Save me from
+my friends.’ I noticed, too, that many strangers come from a great
+distance, more and more every Sunday, drawn hither by curiosity. I have
+tried all authorised means for expelling demons that the position taken
+by this one admits of; but I find the truth of what has long been said,
+that, of all devils, those of the mocking kind are the most difficult
+to subdue; they may be likened unto hairbrained, self-conceited fools
+amongst mortals, who can only be ruled by the rod, and this fiend keeps
+too high up to be reached by my whip. Yet sometimes, indeed, when I
+read to the fiend at the utmost pitch of my voice, he remained so still
+that I hoped he was being subjected to my will; but the conjuration or
+incantation ended, he always hopped upon a pinnacle, cocked his tail,
+danced round, and cried caw, caw, as much as to say it’s all a farce,
+and I like to hear your voice.”
+
+“Now only to think of es emperance,” murmured the clerk.
+
+“I have heard, too,” continued Mr. Wood, “that some thoughtless
+youngsters have proposed to try on him the virtues of powder and lead.
+I am glad to learn, however, that they have been better advised; the
+result of such temerity would, probably, be something awful for them. I
+now come to the particular matter I wish to speak with you about.
+
+“During a long pause I had to make in my sermon this afternoon, whilst
+the plumed devil took his turn, a thought occurred to me which I hoped
+might be a happy inspiration.”
+
+“Goodness grant et,” cried the impatient clerk; “do ’e tell me what et
+es, and hear the devil screaman now.”
+
+“You know what is said in Holy Writ respecting little children,”
+resumed Mr. Wood. “You likewise know that sage old folks have a saying,
+‘the Evil One can’t endure the sight of an innocent child,’ and——”
+
+“Aye, verily,” interrupted the clerk; “bless me, sure ’tes a wender I
+dedn’t think of that before, why old people—who are the only ones that
+know anything—say a babe in a house es more use to keep evil sperats
+out of en than a five-pointed star (pentagram) cut on the drussell
+(door-sill), and any number of hos shoes nailed to the lentran
+(lintel). Besides, we all know the rash lawyer who summoned the sperat
+of that unjust stewart, Jan Tregagle, into Court, by sayan, ‘ef
+Tregagle seed the money paid, may Tregagle appear and declare et.’ By
+the time the words were well out of hes mouth, the enraged sperat stood
+before am, sayan,—‘Thee hast found et easy to bring me here, but thee
+west find et harder to put me away agen;’ and the enraged Tregagle wed
+ha torn the lawyer lem from lem, ef he hadn’t snatched a little child
+from a woman’s arms and held et in hes own. Weth that protection he
+defied the wild sperat—who was jest the same as a devil, from beean
+weth them so long,—drove am into a corner and pinned am there, while
+all the other people tore out of Court, for their lives, except the
+cheeld’s mother and the judge. As a was ’sizes there happened to be
+many passens in town (Bodmin), and they, on hearan of et, went all
+together to lay Tregagle. You know what trouble they had nearly all
+night, and couldn’t quell the sperat till the Rector of Roach came
+among them and——”
+
+“Ho!” exclaimed the parson, “west thee keep me here all night with thy
+endless fables about Tregagle, that we have all heard from our
+childhood. Listen to what I was about to say regarding the means
+whereby I hope to expel this fiend from Ladock.
+
+“I suppose there are several unbaptised children in the parish, as many
+women have been in childbed, I know, since last Ladock-tide (the parish
+feast), but none of their children have been christened.”
+
+“Haif a dozzen, or more, have ben in the straw,” replied the old man,
+“and all their children are kept tel next feasten-tide, to be
+christened then, accordan to custom, that the same treat may serve for
+witnesses (sponsors) and feasters; that et may be ‘the more the
+merrier,’ for feasten-time; and some of them are nearly ready to tumble
+in agen before they’ve returned thanks for their last deliverance. I
+was gwean to say just now,” continued the clerk, as Mr. Wood was about
+to speak, “that ef you had only been in the world in Tregagle’s time,
+and qualified for a sperat-queller and devel-driver as you are now,
+that Evil One, who es more like a devel than a mortal’s sperat, wedn’t
+ha been left to carry on, in the way he ded, for many years; after
+sweepan the sand from one West country cove to another, in a crack,
+when they were miles asunder; stoppan up the Loo, and so changan
+Helston from a seaport to an inland town; then back again for another
+job, and frightnan people out of their lives almost, with the devel and
+hes hounds chasan am round and round Gosmoor and about, tryan to keep
+am from the Chapel on the rock, where Tregagle always took refuge.
+Happely passons fixed am, at last, to team out Dosmery. There he’ll
+have to stay, for ever and ever and aye. He mait as well try to dip the
+ocean dry weth hes leaky croggan (limpet shell) as that bottomless
+pool, which as a part of the sea, they say, as et do fall and rise with
+the ebb and flow of the tide; and for a few minutes after the tide’s
+turn to ebb, there’s a whirlpool in the meddle of en, when bushes and
+other light things floatan near are sucked down, and sometime
+afterwards they rise agen in Falmouth Harbour or St. Austell Bay, I
+forget which,—some say the one and some ’tother. I wanted to ax ’e
+somethan about ’n, fearan I shud forget, but——”
+
+“Stop, for goodness sake,” cried the parson, “leave Dosmery and
+Tregagle to the charge of Old Nick and be—be attentive to what I have
+farther to say regarding our own devil, and the means to be essayed for
+driving him; and when we have happily concluded, we will—on some
+winter’s night—overhaul these old stories, to see if there be a few
+grains of truth underlaying the mass of fables.
+
+“Now, as I take it that recently baptised children have the greatest
+power to drive away evil spirits, I wish you to go round the parish
+to-morrow, and request all prudent women who have lately undergone the
+pains and perils of childbirth, to come and be churched next Sunday
+afternoon, if they are able, and to bring their babes to be christened
+at the same time. If a goodly number can’t be got to come next Sunday,
+let it be on the following week, but arrange with the mothers that they
+all come at the same time.”
+
+“I’ll do the best I can, accordan to your wishes,” replied the clerk,
+“but they won’t be willan to come before the feast, because poor people
+don’t care to make two treats when one would do.”
+
+“Tell them to give the sponsors cake and ale, for the time,” replied
+Mr. Wood, “and put off their chief entertainment till the tide, when
+we’ll have a merry time of it. The feasten week I’ll go round and visit
+them all; and you, being fiddler-in-chief, shall have enough to do.
+Call at my house when you come back to tell me how you have got on, and
+that we settle on the number, and other matters to be observed.”
+
+Whilst talking they had walked slowly towards the parsonage. The clerk
+having agreed to Mr. Wood’s proposals, they wished each other good
+night and separated.
+
+Early on the following morning Clerk Courtney, as he was called, began
+his journey round the parish to ask the mothers of all unbaptized
+children to bring them to be christened the next Sunday afternoon.
+After stating the urgent reason for his request, the women replied to
+the effect that they would have preferred leaving their christenings
+till the feast, for the sake of economy; yet being desirous, above all
+things, to please their good parson, they promised to attend, as
+required, and thought it nothing strange that they should be wanted for
+such an occasion, as they knew the trouble the devil had given, and the
+prevalent belief in the power of young children to rout evil spirits.
+Few of the good dames were provided with wheaten flour, as barley-bread
+was the “staff of life” then in all labourers’ and most small farmers’
+households. They told the clerk, however, that if they couldn’t get
+wheat to take to mill, in time for making a christening cake, they
+would buy a few penny worth of biscuit, so as to have white-bread for
+offerings on their way to be “uprose.” They would on no account neglect
+this old custom of giving to the first person met on the way to be
+churched a good slice of cake or wheaten bread of some sort; it was
+believed to bring good luck to the giver, receiver, and child.
+
+The mother also drew a presage, from the first person by whom met or
+overtaken on leaving her threshold. She regarded encountering boy or
+man as a good omen that her next born would be a boy. Such was the
+dislike of many mothers to meeting another woman that they often left
+the path, or, if they saw no way for avoiding a meeting, the poor woman
+passed the omen of ill-luck on the right hand, as she would a witch,
+and appear not to see her. Yet their most general plan was to turn back
+home, if not far from it, and touch the “cravel” (mantle-stone across
+the head of an open chimney) with her forehead, and cast into the fire
+a handful of dry grass, or anything picked up, on the way back, that
+would burn; then start again, hoping for better luck.
+
+The practice of resorting to the hearth and touching the “cravel” [1]
+with the head, is regarded as the most effectual means of averting any
+impending evils of a mysterious nature.
+
+The reasons for their preference of boys to girls may be found in the
+old sayings:—“While the boy is away his bread winning, the maid is home
+doing nothing but spinning.” “Boys can take care of themselves, but
+maidens can’t.”
+
+The dames would all get a “half-a-strike” of wheat each and take it to
+mill if they could. They liked going thither to “serge” (sift) their
+flour to their liking, and hear the latest gossip from the miller’s
+wife, or other women who brought their grist. Mills were so noted as
+places for scandal, that any slanderous tale used to be called a “mill
+story.” The mill, too, was the usual place of rendezvous for young
+folks of summers’ evenings, when they generally had a dance, to music
+from the miller’s fiddle,—all the old millers could play dance tunes.
+If the miller hadn’t leisure, some of the merry company either beat up
+the time on a “crowd” (sieve-rind with a sheepskin bottom, used for
+taking up corn, flour, &c.), or they sung verses of old ballads which
+suited the measure. We will no longer linger over our pleasing old
+customs.
+
+As most of the sponsors were courting couples, living in the parish,
+the clerk gave them timely notice, too, that the young women might get
+up their best rig-out, as he called it, against the grand occasion.
+Some of the mothers, poor dears, who were so earnest that there should
+be no “hitch” in the matter, accompanied the clerk to houses where they
+apprehended finding any difficulty, to help him over it. They had no
+occasion, however, for the women, without exception, agreed they could
+go through “fire and water” to please their good parson. “Bless hes
+heart,” said they, “hes door es always open to a poor body in want;
+he’d give the shirt from hes back to any one in much distress; and he
+esn’t a bit sticked up, though wise man as he es, he might well be
+proud of his learnan.”
+
+“’Tes never his way,” said another, “to be like the old priest of the
+fable, who was ever ready weth hes blessan, but wed never bestow a
+farthan; as for our passon, he wed have us all be merry and glad tell
+the end.”
+
+“Aye, we all know there esn’t his equal round about,” said the clerk.
+“Moreover, et will be something for ’e all to remember weth pride; and
+your cheldren’s cheldren may well feel exalted to hear how their
+‘grammars’ help’t to rout the devil from Ladock.”
+
+Before night the old man was assured by as many mothers as he thought
+sufficient that they would bring their babes to be christened the next
+Sunday. On his way home he called in at several farm-houses, in all of
+which he was made welcome with something substantial to eat, and good
+strong ale to help him on. The folks were always glad to have him and
+his violin at their merry-making times, such as “gulthise”
+(harvest-feast) weddings, christenings, feasten tides, &c., although he
+had no great variety of dance tunes.
+
+Soon after day-down he arrived back to the parsonage, not a bit the
+worse for liquor, because he had taken little else than good wholesome
+home-brewed. Having told Mr. Wood how he had succeeded, the reverend
+gentleman, after a pause, said, “You have done well, better in fact
+than I expected; the number of women to be depended on amounts to
+eight, though you thought them more. Now everything is significant. It
+was held by wise men of yore, and is by many of the present day, that
+peculiar virtues belong to particular numbers, representing the signs
+of planetary and other powers; indeed, a magic square is as powerful
+for controlling demons as the impress of Solomon’s seal, which you call
+the five-pointed star. So to neglect nothing which might tend to our
+success, we will have a fortunate, or what you would call a lucky
+number of children. You know everybody hereabouts use nine in all their
+charms and many other matters. They also call old stone circles
+‘nine-maidens,’ though they are, for the most part, formed of many more
+than nine stones. The latter part of this name, however, is a double
+corruption, first from the old Cornish men (stone) into medn (just as
+pen is changed to pedn); thence it became Saxonised to maiden, which,
+in turn, suggested foolish legends about dancing-maidens turned to
+stones to account for this unmeaning name. The general use of nine
+seems to indicate that the ancient inhabitants regarded it as a sacred
+number. According to eastern sages, twelve is the best of all, because
+it contains the number of signs on the sun’s yearly circuit, and for
+various other reasons.
+
+“So we will make up a round dozen with four of the youngest christened
+last year. You can go and select them to-morrow; the mothers will make
+no difficulty, as they have nothing to provide; and here, take this,”
+said Mr. Wood, placing in the other’s hand a good sum in silver, “and
+give it amongst the poor women, that they may buy biscuit for their
+offerings, and not want to ask for trust.”
+
+The clerk, having supped heartily, promised to find the additional
+number on the morrow, and went home well content, particularly so
+because “the master,” as he called the parson, had given him money for
+the poor mothers.
+
+Next Sunday afternoon a dozen matrons came with their infants and the
+sponsors. There were many strangers as well as the regular
+congregation, and the devil on the tower, making his usual disturbance.
+
+There were nine women churched; and as many children christened, after
+service; when the parson walked out of Church, followed by twelve
+mothers, with their babes in their arms, and the godfathers and
+godmothers, in a procession, marshalled by the clerk. They were all
+arranged in lines, five deep, the mothers in front, opposite the belfry
+door. Mr. Wood directed each mother to pass her child from one of its
+sponsors to the other, the last handing it to him.
+
+He then held it up awhile, that the devil might behold it, and returned
+it to its mother.
+
+All the babes having been thus passed from hand to hand, their mothers
+held them aloft, whilst the parson walked to and fro, before them,
+reading and cutting the air, in various figures, with his ebony staff.
+He read and read for a long spell, in loud tones, yet the infernal
+being still remained,—pretty silent, however,—“clutted  in” close by a
+pinnacle, on the tower’s eastern edge, where he seemed quite heedless
+of the important proceedings below.
+
+At last some of the children, becoming tired, perhaps, began to cry,
+the others followed suit, and the twelve blessed babes, each one and
+altogether, seemed trying their utmost to scream the loudest; whilst
+the parson read or recited with increased vehemence. Then it was that
+the fiend hopped over on to the western parapet, and stretching his
+neck glanced down on the good folks.
+
+The effect of what he heard and saw was magical; at least it seemed so
+to the spectators.
+
+Giving a prolonged scream, which was heard for miles around, he darted
+straight up, to the height of a bow-shot, or more; then, shaping his
+course towards St. Ender, he quickly disappeared.
+
+Many of the spectators said they saw sparks and blue flames thrown off
+with every flap of his huge wings; but all of them agreed that his
+display of fire was nothing like what they had expected to behold when
+a devil takes his departure. Over a while, when it was found that he
+didn’t return, there was great rejoicing in Ladock; and he has
+nevermore been seen there from that time to this. The bells were put in
+order without delay, and their frequent joyous peals kept all such
+fiends at a distance.
+
+
+Note.—The clerk spoken of in the foregoing story was much respected by
+his neighbours on account of his ancient lineage; he was a descendant
+of the Courtneys who long owned Tretnurf, in Ladock, and lived there
+for many generations.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GHOSTS OF KENEGIE.
+
+
+Old folks of Gulval say that, in their grandparents’ time, the ancient
+mansion of Kenegie and its grounds were constantly haunted by three
+“sperats,” and, on some nights by many more.
+
+The following stories respecting them were told by an aged tinner of
+Lelant, as they had been often related to him by his mother, who had
+lived for many years in service at Kenegie, previous to her marriage,
+about fourscore years ago; some incidents are also taken from other
+versions.
+
+The first ghost, of whom there is any remembrance, and the one which
+remained longest, was the spirit of a thrifty old Harris, who made
+great additions to the house and walled-gardens, and was most unwilling
+to die and leave them. This spirit, however, gave but little trouble.
+He merely came on a certain night in every year—which was known to his
+descendants—to review the place in which he had taken so much delight;
+and only required that, on the night of his accustomed visit, the
+principal entrance door should be left open, as well as one opposite,
+opening into a paved court surrounded by offices.
+
+At that time the grand entrance was approached by a straight, stately
+avenue, flanked by a bowling green, with a picturesque two-storied
+summer-house or “look-out” at its further end.
+
+It was believed that any negligence in leaving open these doors, at the
+stated time, would be a cause of misfortune to the Harris family, or a
+token of its decline.
+
+Consequently, this custom was duly observed from farther back than
+there is any remembrance, until within a few years of the time when the
+last Harris of Kenegie disposed of his ancestral home. ’Tis said that
+when the spirit came and found the doors closed—through some mistake,
+it is supposed,—he made much unearthly wailing, till cock-crowing, then
+went moaning away and never returned.
+
+It is surmised that when the old family residence, in which he so much
+delighted, came into the possession of strangers, he neither desired to
+see it nor to hear of it again; and that he has, ever since, shut
+himself up in his family vault, where he has plenty of company, as one
+may judge from the great number of monuments in Gulval Church,
+recording the virtues of his descendants. Before that unlucky time,
+crickets were heard chirriping around the hearths of their old home all
+night long; but afterwards not one was heard or seen,—sure token of
+impending misfortune.
+
+The next ghostly visitor, and a more troublesome one, had been
+housekeeper and a great favourite with a later Squire Harris, much to
+the prejudice of his son and heir. The very night after her funeral,
+disturbances began; the whole household were annoyed by this husey of a
+ghost prancing along stone-paved passages, from one room to
+another—doors clashing and banging behind her,—till she entered the
+kitchen, where she would next be heard winding-up the great
+roasting-jack,—one of the old fashioned noisy clock-work machines, kept
+in motion by a heavy weight passing through the chamber floors, and
+attached to a rope or chain working over screeching pullies, fixed
+somewhere in the upper regions of the mansion.
+
+After an interval of scolding, shrieking, and the other accessories of
+a row, she would beat the table or dresser-bed with a rolling-pin, and
+make the pewter-plates rattle, by way of announcing, as she was wont to
+do, that the roast was ready, and to summon the servants to dish it up.
+Between the thumps, she screeched “Quick, come quick!” and another
+voice replied “Anon, anon!” Then the parlour furniture would be
+shifted, as if preparations were in progress for entertaining a large
+company. At length the inmates were glad to hear her high-heeled shoes
+patting over stairs and along the gallery, until they stopped at her
+late master’s bed-chamber door, which was usually the conclusion of her
+noisy exploits for the night.
+
+The shadowy figure of this old woman, in a long-bodied gown and kirtle,
+was frequently seen passing quickly through the court. Now and then it
+happened that a new servant, wishing to get ahead with her work—on
+washing days especially,—and not hearing any disturbance, ventured
+downstairs in the small hours of the morning; but, on entering the
+kitchen, her light was almost always blown out, and she got a slap in
+the face, from an invisible hand, that “made her see fire before her
+eyes;” and, on turning to leave the room, received a kick behind which
+made her remember to stay abed till cock-crowing.
+
+This housekeeper was “put to rest,” however, many years before the
+Harrises left their old home, and bound to perform such a task as she
+richly deserved. There are no particulars known of the way in which
+this was done; it is only stated that some powerful
+exorcists—neighbouring clergymen, who were then supposed to possess
+power over ghostly visitants—succeeded, after much conjuration, in
+quelling her, in some measure; but, as she absolutely refused to leave
+the place, they compromised matters by confining her to a small room,
+on the eastern or northern side of the mansion; with her were placed a
+fleece of black wool, a pair of cards, a “pole and kiggal” (distaff and
+spindle) and knitting needles. With these she was required to card the
+black fleece until it became white, and then to spin it and knit
+stockings of the yarn. Her closet door is walled up or plastered over,
+so that few know exactly where it is situated, though old folks who
+served the Harris family say they have often heard the clicking of
+cards in some remote part of the buildings, and that there was always a
+little hole, such as sparrows might nest in, through and through the
+wall; if filled up, it was sure to be opened over night, without being
+touched by mortal hands.
+
+Whether this old jade’s ghost still gives signs of her presence, is
+best known to the inmates. One would gladly dismiss her, but we shall
+have to mention her again in connection with “Wild Harris,” who next
+came back and haunted the place, down almost to recent times.
+
+The last Ghost of Kenegie—at least of whom there is any trustworthy
+tradition—was that of a spendthrift heir, known as “Wild Harris,” who
+is best remembered, because ordinary parsons’ collective power was
+found insufficient to lay him. He extended his walks all over the
+grounds and far away down in the “bottom” towards the mill. He was also
+often seen on horseback, chasing with one hound, on Kenegie Downs and
+elsewhere.
+
+Belated market folks and others dreaded to pass Kenegie Gate, for they
+frequently saw the “Squire’s sperat” standing in an alcove, just over
+this grand entrance. The ghost mostly wore a steeple-crown and feather,
+hunting-coat and riding-boots, or a long, black gown and flat cap, with
+lace and plume.
+
+He usually stood beside his family coat-of-arms, which may still be
+seen, and glared down on the road with a look as immovable as that of
+the lions carved in stone, that, on either hand, then guarded the gate.
+Sometimes, too, he was beheld seated beside the churchway-stile, a few
+yards further up the hill. Often on approaching this spot, people were
+made aware of the spirit being near, though invisible, by a sulpherous
+smell which pervaded the place.
+
+On winter nights, the Squire’s ghost, with a dozen or more of his “old
+comrades,” or such-like spirits, would assemble in the bowling-green
+summer-house, where they might be seen and heard from the mansion even,
+talking, singing, swearing, and shouting, in a state of uproarious
+mirth. Altogether, Kenegie must have been a lively place of nights,
+with the old housekeeper reacting scenes of her former rule within, and
+“Wild Harris’s” nocturnal carouse in the “look-out.” Few servants,
+however, lived there long; they didn’t relish such ghostly merriment,
+in which they had no other share than to be kept awake and terrified
+all night.
+
+No satisfactory account is handed down as to why these troublesome
+spirits could not or would not rest; there are, however, fragments of
+misty traditions which throw a little light on the subject.
+
+Of the old improving gentleman, who delighted in building, no more
+seems to be known than what has been stated. The other unresting Harris
+is said to have been an eager sportsman, with much wild-oats in his
+composition, who cared for little else but his hunter and hounds,
+except a young lady, a poor relation, dependent on his family, with
+whom she lived much like a fish out of water, being regarded as too low
+for the parlour on grand occasions; and, at all times, as too high for
+the kitchen, where she was treated as an intruder by the housekeeper
+and her creatures.
+
+This unfortunate damsel passed much of her time in the pleasant upper
+room of the summer-house with old maiden ladies of the family, who here
+wrought everlasting tapestry, fine lace, or embroidery, varying their
+labours by spinning, to stretch their legs, and by doing much other
+useful and ornamental work,—then regarded as necessary accomplishments.
+Here, too, the ancient dames sipped choice cordials of their own
+distilling or compounding; perhaps, in latter days, enjoyed their tea
+and gossip; and, from the balcony-like outer stair-landing, have
+watched the gentlemen’s healthy exercise and sports on the
+bowling-green. This choice retreat was finished with decorative wood
+and plaster-work; over the fireplace may yet be seen the family
+coat-of-arms; a broad window, opposite the entrance, commanded a
+delightful view over miles of rich pasture, orchards, and gardens; the
+western hills, with several parish churches; St. Buryan tower, standing
+boldly out, like a lofty landmark, against the sky. In the ground
+apartment, which also contains a fireplace, gentlemen, after their
+exercise on the bowling-green, rested and partook of refreshments with
+more enjoyment than—
+
+
+          “A party in a parlour,
+    Cram’d as they on earth are cram’d.”
+
+
+When the poor gentlewoman was in her bloom, “Wild Harris’s” father was
+a widower, in his dotage, and too much influenced by his housekeeper,
+who had been, during his wife’s lifetime, and was still, a special
+favourite with him. The old faggot, may she never cease carding, and
+her wool never become white! She ever disliked her young master, and
+detested the poor orphan lady, of whom she was jealous, fearing lest
+she might supplant her one day in governing the household. The dame was
+a malicious spy on the lovers, who frequently met in the summer-house
+and retired walks down the vale. Their interviews were all the sweeter
+for being stolen; yet soon, alas, they resulted in sorrow to the young
+lady.
+
+The old gentleman was much prejudiced against his poor cousin by being
+persuaded that, only for this unfortunate attachment, his son would
+have wedded a rich heiress, whose lands lay near the Harrises’
+“up-country” property. He declared that the day his son married his
+cousin, he would wed his housekeeper, so that she should still rule the
+roost. In spite of all opposition, however, the young man would have
+made an “honest woman” of his betrothed, but was hindered by the malice
+of the old dame and his father until too late; for the poor damsel,
+distracted with grief, wandered away one night, she knew not whither,
+and next morning was found, by her lover, drowned in a mill-pond.
+
+Shortly after this tragic event the old Squire died, and “Wild Harris”
+found himself master of Kenegie, but disinherited of much other
+property, bequeathed to his brothers in the army or navy. He had some
+satisfaction, however, in turning to doors the old mischief-making
+minion, but not much; she soon fretted herself to death, and was hardly
+laid in her grave ere she was back again, making such a din, out of
+mere spite, as hindered the inmates from getting a wink of sleep during
+the dead hours of night.
+
+The master of Kenegie became more reckless than ever; his days were
+spent in hunting, or holding games on the bowling-green; and his nights
+were passed in revelry.
+
+He kept open house, for rich or poor, who chose to partake of his
+hospitality. One and all were cordially welcomed. With all his faults,
+he had an open heart and hand; but, in a few years, he came to an
+untimely end, whilst still in his prime, by a fall from his horse when
+hunting on the Castle Downs. It is said that his horse was startled by
+a white hare that often followed him, and was believed to be the
+unfortunate lady’s spirit.
+
+He was borne to Gulval Church and laid in the vault at night, as was
+the fashion then with some of our old families. His burial was attended
+by many friends; and when some of them—who remained late at the funeral
+supper—came down the avenue to return home, they beheld him, as
+natural, seemingly, as life, standing by the summer-house steps,
+arrayed in his hunting-dress, and, by his side, a favourite old dog
+that had died when his master breathed his last.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LAYING WILD HARRIS’S GHOST.
+
+
+The following account of this ghost-laying is given as related by the
+old tinner, [2] except where his dialect might be unintelligible to
+general readers. It is curious that he made the spirit-queller address
+the ghost by the uncouth word “Nomine domme,” which he thought a proper
+name. One cannot doubt that the expression used by the original
+story-teller was (In) nomine Domini, which became corrupted, as above,
+by the usage of more ignorant droll-tellers of recent times.
+
+On asking my venerable gossip what the term signified, he replied to
+the effect that it would take a conjurer to tell. He had heard it was a
+magical word, very likely the spirit’s name among spirits, for old
+folks held that they acquire new ones quite different from what they
+bore when in mortal bodies; that persons, knowing and using these
+secret names, obtained power over spirits, whether black or white; by
+this means conjurers controlled them, and witches summoned fiends to
+work their wicked will for a time. According to old belief, the
+infernal gentry were fond of wandering incog., just like mortals of
+high rank, that they might not have too many witches to work for. That
+strange word was the only one remembered of the parson’s conjuring
+formulary; “the others,” said he, “were as long as to-day and
+to-morrow, not like ours, for none but a parson, or some such learned
+body, could utter them.”
+
+When speaking of evil spirits, he called them “Bukkaboos,” which is a
+recent corruption of “Bukka-dhu” (black spirit,) as old folks, who knew
+anything of Cornish, pronounced it. Within the writer’s remembrance,
+“Bukka-gwidden” (white spirit) was also in frequent use, though there
+was great latitude allowed to its signification. All good spirits,
+including, “small people” (fairies) were thus termed, except Piskey; he
+was regarded as “something between both,” like St. Just Bukka said he
+was, on seating himself between a mine-captain and a “venturer,” who
+asked him if he were a fool or a rogue?
+
+If Piskey threshed poor old people’s corn and did other odd jobs for
+them by night, he was just as ready to lead them astray and into bogs,
+for mere fun; to ride the life out of colts; dirt on blackberries; and
+do other mischievous pranks. A precocious child, one “too wise to live
+long,” who bothered old folks by asking awkward questions, was called a
+“Bukka-gwidden,” as well as a poor simple, innocent, harmlessly insane
+person, or near to it. My old west-country schoolmaster, of a little
+more than fifty years ago, often applied this name to his scholars.
+
+Persons who have been acquainted with our old droll-tellers know that
+they gave free rein to fancy, provided they had an audience to their
+mind; being well aware that, for the most part,
+
+
+   “A jest’s prosperity lies in the ear
+    Of him that hears it.”
+
+
+It is often remarked by strangers that the Cornish don’t understand a
+joke; but, if one may judge by the grotesque scenes and adventures of
+our old stories, that was not the case in past times, when there was
+less affectation and Puritanism than at present.
+
+Some of the incidents related seem absurd enough, yet, as they may
+dimly shadow forth some old belief, it was thought best to give them,
+for better for worse, as consistency is not expected in very old
+stories, such as follow:—
+
+The housekeeper was confined to her task, as already stated, long
+before the family succeeded in getting “Wild Harris” laid. Many
+ineffectual attempts were made, which only resulted in harm, by raising
+tempests which destroyed crops on land and life at sea; besides, after
+these vain trials of parson’s power, the ghost became more troublesome,
+for awhile, than he was before their interference with his walks.
+
+Fortunately, however, the Rev. Mr. Polkinghorne, of St. Ives, acquired
+the virtue whereby he became the most powerful exorcist and
+“spirit-queller” west of Hayle.
+
+From the little that is known of this gentleman, one may infer that he
+wasn’t, by any means, such as would now be styled a “pious character.”
+He is said to have been the boldest fox-hunter of these parts, but he
+would never chase a hare; any attempt to kill one would make him swear
+like a trooper. He kept many of these innocent animals—the
+hares—running about his house like cats; foolish people said they were
+the parson’s familiar spirits or witches he found wandering in that
+shape. He was a capital hurler, and encouraged all kinds of manly
+games, as he said they produced a cordial “one and all” sort of feeling
+between high and low. The parson was mostly accompanied by his horse
+and dog, which both followed him. When he stopped to chat, Hector, his
+horse, came up and rested his head on his master’s shoulder, as if
+desirous of hearing the news too. If he called at a house, both his
+attendants waited at the door, his horse never requiring to be held. He
+made long journeys with his steed walking alongside or behind him, the
+bridle-rein passed round its neck and the stirrups thrown across the
+saddle. Wonderful stories are also told about the high hedges and rocky
+ground that the parson’s horse would take him safely over, when after
+the hounds; and how the birds, which nestled undisturbed in his garden,
+and other dumb creatures seemed to regard him as one of themselves.
+
+On being requested to do his utmost in order that “Wild Harris’s” ghost
+might rest in peace, or be kept away from Kenegie, the reverend
+gentleman replied that he hoped to succeed if it were in the power of
+man to effect it.
+
+Other clergymen, hearing of what was about to be attempted, expressed a
+wish to be present at the proceedings. Mr. Polkinghorne replied that he
+neither required their assistance nor desired their presence, yet, any
+of his reverend brethren might please themselves for what he cared.
+Moreover, he charged them that, if they came to Kenegie on the
+appointed night, not to intermeddle in any way, whatever might happen.
+
+A night in the latter end of harvest was appointed for this arduous
+undertaking. Several clergymen being anxious to see how the renowned
+spirit-queller would act with a ghost that had baffled so many of them,
+about an hour before midnight four from the westward of Penzance, a
+young curate of St. Hellar (St. Hilary), and another from some parish
+over that way, arrived at Kenegie, and waited a long while near the
+gate, expecting Mr. Polkinghorne. At the turn of night, a terrific
+storm came on, and the six parsons, drenched to their skins, took
+refuge in the summer-house. Candles had been lit in the upper room of
+this building, as it was understood that the spirit-quelling operations
+would be performed there. They waited long, but neither Polkinghorne
+nor Harris’s ghost appearing, the curate of St. Hellar—impatient of
+inaction—took from his breast a book, and read therefrom some conjuring
+formulas, by way of practice, or for mere pastime. As he read, a
+crashing thunder-clap burst over the building, shook it to its
+foundations, and broke open the window. The parsons fell on the floor,
+as if stunned, and on opening their eyes, after being almost blinded by
+lightning, they beheld near the open door a crowd of “Bukka-dhu”
+grinning at them, and then partially disappear in a misty vapour, to be
+succeeded by others, who all made ugly faces and contemptuous or
+threatening gestures. “It was enough to make the parsons swear,” if
+they hadn’t been so frightened, to see how these jeering “Bukkas”
+mocked them.
+
+The reverend gentlemen crawled to the window and looked out, to avoid
+the sight of such ugly spectres, and to get fresh air,—that in the room
+smelt worse than the fumes of brimstone. Presently, an icy shiver ran
+through them, and they felt as if something awful had entered the room.
+On glancing round, they beheld the apparition of a man standing with
+his back to the fireplace, and looking intently towards the opposite
+wall. His eyes never winked nor turned away, but seemed to gaze on
+something beyond the blank wall. He wore a long black gown or loose
+coat which reached the floor; his face appeared sad and wan, under a
+sable cap, garnished with a plume and lace. He seemed unconscious of
+either the black spirits’ or parsons’ presence. Over a while, he turned
+slowly round, advanced towards the window, with a frowning countenance,
+which showed the parsons that he regarded them as intruders; and they,
+poor men, trembling in every limb, with hair on end, pressed each other
+into the open window, intending to drop themselves to the ground, and
+risk broken bones and an ugly “qualk” (concussion), for they were most
+of them fat and heavy.
+
+Meanwhile, scores of “Bukkas” continued to hover behind the ghost,
+grimmacing as if they enjoyed the parsons’ distress. Every minute
+seemed an hour to the terrified gentlemen; but, as some of them got
+their legs out through the casement, the tread of heavy boots was heard
+on the stone stairs, and Polkinghorne bounced into the room, when the
+ghost, turning quickly round, exclaimed, “Now Polkinghorne, that thou
+art come, I must be gone!” The conjurer quietly holding out his hand
+towards the ghost, quietly said “In nomine Domini, I bid thee stay;”
+then he turned to the black spirits, made a crack with his
+hunting-whip, said, “Avaunt, ye Bukkadhu,” and off they went, at his
+word, howling and shrieking louder than the tempest. The ghost stood
+still; Polkinghorne uttered long words in an unknown tongue whilst he
+drew around it, on the sanded floor, with his whip-stick, a circle and
+magical signs, with a “five-pointed star” (pentagram) “to lock the
+circle.” He continued speaking a long while without pausing, and his
+words sounded deep and full, as if, at once, near and afar off, like
+the “calling of cleaves” and surging of billows on a long stretch of
+shore, or thunder echoing around the hills.
+
+At length the spirit felt the able conjuror’s power, crouched down at
+his feet, holding out his hands, as if praying him to desist.
+
+Mr. Polkinghorne, whilst still saying powerful words, unwound, from
+around his waist, a few yards of new hempen “balsh” (cord), leaving
+much more of it attached. Having made a loop at the end, he passed it
+over the ghost’s head and under his arms; then, addressing him, said,
+“In nomine Domini, I bid thee stand up and come with me.” On saying
+this, he lifted from the floor, with his whip-stick, the spirit’s
+skirts, and under them nothing was seen but flaming fire.
+
+When Polkinghorne had the spirit standing beside him, with his eyes
+fixed and limbs motionless, like one spell-bound, he exclaimed, “Thank
+the Powers, it’s all right so far.”
+
+Casting a glance towards the other parsons, and seeing a book on the
+floor, he took it up, opened it, and speaking for the first time to his
+reverend brethren, said, “You, too, may thank your lucky stars that I
+came in the nick of time to save ye from grievous harm.” Holding it
+towards the St. Hellar curate, he continued, “This belongs to you, my
+weak brother; strange such a book should be in your possession! The
+penmanship is beautiful; it must have cost a mint of money, yet it is
+worse than useless,—nay, it’s perilous to such as you. By good luck,
+you read what merely brought hither silly ‘Bukkas’; one can’t properly
+call them demons, though no others were known here in old times; they
+now mostly keep to old ruined castles, ‘crellas,’ and ‘fougoes,’ yet
+they are always abroad in such a night as this. But, if you had chanced
+to have pronounced a word, that you don’t understand, on the next leaf,
+you would have called hither such malignant fiends, flying in the
+tempest this awful night, as would have torn ye limb from limb, or have
+carried ye away bodily. Perhaps, becoming tired, they might have fixed
+ye on St. Hellar steeple. For my part, I wish you were there, lest a
+greater evil befall ye this night.
+
+“You ought to have known, as any old ‘pellars’ (conjurors) would have
+told ye, if you had deigned to talk with such without preaching to
+them, that the secret of secrets, the unwritten words which make this
+book of use, are the names of powerful and benevolent spirits, by whose
+aid fiends are expelled. These secret names, by which alone they may be
+invoked, are only taught, by word of mouth, to the few who are
+initiated, after long probation, mental and bodily, and a more severe
+examination, by nine sages, than the likes of you would ever pass.
+Many, to their sorrow, have been presumptuous to make the essay. Sages
+hold that if these sacred names were written they would lose their
+magic power.
+
+“The mystic signs, necessary for obtaining mastery over some spirits,
+are only traced in sand, or other substance from which they are readily
+effaced when those deemed worthy have this knowledge imparted. Not so
+very long ago, the learned in occult science met, at stated times, on
+the lonely downs, and at the same places in which sages were wont to
+confer in days of yore for the examination of such as sought admission
+into their fraternity, and for the preservation of their mystic lore.
+Novices were principally examined as to their proficiency in the
+science of extension, and in making such reckonings as are required for
+constructing a planetary scheme at any given time. Not that these
+sciences had much connection with the more mysterious subjects treated
+of in this manuscript; but, it was justly considered that the person
+having a mind capable of comprehending geometrical problems, and of
+making abstruse astrological calculations, was worthy to be admitted
+into the brotherhood of sages, and, in time, to their higher
+mysteries.”
+
+After a pause, in looking sadly at the ghost, who seemed to listen with
+attention, he continued, addressing the gentlemen of St. Hellar, “I
+suppose you have heard the old saying, ‘Women and fools can rise
+devils, but it takes wise men to lay them.’ Indeed, tradition says
+that, in ancient times, fair young witches first obtained this dread
+knowledge from their demon lovers, to summon them whenever they
+desired; old hags soon pried into the secret—as they will into all
+kinds of deviltry,—and quickly communicated from one to another, until
+witches became numerous in all Christian lands; thousands of them were
+burnt as a warning, but their burning didn’t deter others from the like
+evil practices.
+
+“The demons became disgusted of witches continually crying after them,
+to wreck their vengeance on innocent man and beast, and did their best
+to evade them. Much more may be said on the subject, but time presses.
+I have still arduous work to perform, so only another word, my
+over-curious brother,—burn this book of magic in the first convenient
+fire.”
+
+Saying that, he cast down the book; spoke a few words, which the others
+didn’t understand; drew his foot over a mystic sign that “locked” the
+charmed circle; and, turning towards the spirit, said, “In nomine
+Domini, come thou with me,” and “Wild Harris’s” ghost was led away,
+quiet as a lamb.
+
+Mr. Polkinghorne, having reached the outer gate, took his horse, which
+he had left there. The poor beast trembled, though this ghost was not
+the first, by many, that had been near it. Having mounted, he gave the
+ghost more rope, and bade him keep farther from Hector. A minute
+afterwards the four west-country parsons, without as much as saying, “I
+wish’e well, till we meet again,” took down hill as fast as their
+horses could “lay feet to ground;” it was “the devil take the hindmost”
+with them.
+
+In passing up Kenegie lane, the parson’s horse was very “fractious;” it
+jumped from side to side, tried to leap over hedges, and screeched like
+a child; yet it became pretty quiet at last, when the spirit kept off
+to the end of his tether. Few bleaker places are to be found than the
+old road to St. Ives, passing over Kenegie downs. When they got there,
+the wind seemed to beat on them from all points at once; rain and
+thunder never ceased; the Castle-hill seemed all ablaze with lightning;
+at times, too, when a more violent blast than usual whirled around
+them, clouds of fiends hovered over them like foul birds of prey; the
+sky was pitch black, and demons were only seen by the forked lightning
+that burst from their midst. The ghost, as if seeking protection, came
+nearer the parson; then his horse’s terror became painful to witness,
+until a few magical words and a crack of his whip sent the devils
+howling away, and the ghost to the end of his rope. At last they came
+within a stone’s cast of a few dwellings called Castle-gate, and
+leaving the highway took a path on the left that wound up the hill to
+Castle-an-dinas.
+
+We leave them for awhile to look after St. Hellar curate and his
+friend.
+
+One might think that the two parsons from eastward would have taken
+their nearest way home, over Market-jew-green; but no, St. Hellar
+curate thought he would rather go many miles out of his way than miss
+this opportunity of seeing a spirit put to rest, and his friend was
+afraid to go home alone; so they both started after the ghost-layer,
+keeping sufficiently near to see him on horse-back, leading the spirit,
+as they ascended the hill. The lightning was almost continuous,
+otherwise the night was very dark. On reaching the open downs, however,
+they found it impossible to keep their saddles, even by holding on with
+both hands to their horses’ manes. Their hats were blown away, and
+their cloaks flying from their necks like sails in a hurricane rent
+from the yards. They alighted and trudged along, in single file,
+dragging their unwilling steeds behind them, for the horses wanted to
+take their accustomed road home, and didn’t like the ghostly company
+ahead.
+
+When Mr. Polkinghorne reached the hamlet, called Castle-gate, and
+entered a narrow lane leading up to Castle-an-dinas, they were so far
+behind as not to see his departure from the highroad; and, on coming
+near the lonely cottages, decided to stay there, if they could find
+shelter; but, on a closer view, the dwellings appeared to be deserted;
+the thatch was stripped from their roofs, leaving bare rafters on all
+but one of them.
+
+On approaching that dwelling, they heard Mr. Polkinghorne’s Hector
+neigh from the downs; their horses replied, and there was more
+whinnying from Hector, which showed the direction taken, and set St.
+Hellar parson all agog, to follow the ghost-layer. As they crossed the
+road and paused a moment, a whirlwind passed over the house, where they
+thought of seeking shelter, and took up a bundle of spars (small rods,
+pointed at both ends, and used for securing the thatch) which a
+thatcher, who had been repairing the roof, had left there, pinned to
+the work with a broach, that he might find them to hand when he
+continued his thatching. The bundle being taken high up and whirled
+about, its bind broke, and one of the devil-directed spars pierced St.
+Hellar curate’s side, just above his pin-bone, (hip-joint) like an
+arrow shot from a bow. He fell on the ground like as if killed, and his
+companion, in drawing the spar out of his friend’s side, had his hand
+burnt, just as if he had grasped red-hot iron.
+
+Presently, the black clouds rolled away westward, and the wind lulled.
+Then the spar-wounded man was raised by his companion; lifted on to his
+horse; and laid across the saddle, like a sack of corn. They went
+slowly on and reached Nancledery about daybreak. Having rested a few
+hours at the Mill, it was found that the St. Hellar curate was still
+unable to sit on horseback, and he was taken home in a cart.
+
+The reverend gentleman was, ever after, lame; and bore to his grave
+marks of his spar-shot wound; that’s the last we heard of him.
+
+We now return to Mr. Polkinghorne. At the time of this ghost-laying
+there were, around the Castle-hill, extensive tracts of open heath,
+which are now enclosed; and the highway is skirted by hedges, where it
+was then open downs, there being several more small dwellings built at
+Castle-gate.
+
+The parson’s Hector was well acquainted with the lay of the country all
+around, as he had often crossed it following the hounds; and, after
+scrambling through the narrow lane, tried his utmost to take away down
+over the moorland to a smith’s shop in Halangove, where he had often
+been shod. By a firm hand on the bridle-rein his master kept him
+up-hill for a furlong or so, when they came to an old gurgie (ruined
+hedge) that once enclosed a fold. On one side there was a bowjey
+(cattle or sheep-house). A dwelling and outhouses have since been
+built, and a few quillets (small fields) enclosed near this spot. Mr.
+Polkinghorne alighted, turned his horse into the old “shelter,” and
+bade the ghost approach.
+
+They walked on in silence until they came to the Castle’s outer
+enclosure, which screened them from the blast. Then the reverend
+gentleman said, “Now that we are alone, and not likely to suffer any
+more intrusion, tell me, my unhappy brother, what it is that disturbs
+thy rest? Be assured, my desire is to procure thee peace.”
+
+The spirit replied to the effect that, at the time of his decease, he
+was much troubled, because he owed several sums to work-people and
+others, fearing they wouldn’t be paid by his successor. Moreover, he
+related how he had walked about for years, hoping some honest body
+would speak to him; how the longer he was left unspoken to the more
+uneasy and troublesome he became; and when his relations brought the
+parsons to lay him, who were unqualified for that office, he was much
+exasperated, and he determined never to leave Kenegie.
+
+“Yet, it gave me some pleasure,” said the ghost, “to make those who
+came and read long curses, as if exorcising an evil spirit to “cut and
+run” and nevermore return, by only advancing a step towards them.
+Though spirits seldom speak until first addressed, I couldn’t help
+exclaiming, as I did, and wished to escape when you surprised me by
+entering the summer-house; but I am now satisfied to be in your power,
+trusting you will procure me rest.”
+
+“Be assured, my son,” replied the parson, “that I will see all thy
+debts paid.”
+
+“That will relieve me of much,” said the spirit, “yet there are other
+subjects that trouble me; but you must promise me never to divulge
+them, ere I make a clean breast of them.”
+
+“My profession obliges secrecy in such cases,” replied his adviser,
+“therefore speak on without reserve.”
+
+The poor ghost having unburthened himself, Mr. Polkinghorne gave him
+words of comfort, and concluded by saying, “think no more about your
+little faults and failings, for if, when in mortal life, you had more
+of what we call the devil in ye, you would have overcome your
+opponents, and much grief would have been spared to yourself and
+others.
+
+“Besides, my son,” continued he, “from your simple, honest, and
+confiding disposition, you were unable to cope with sly, mercenary
+hirelings.”
+
+Then the parson took the cord off, saying, “This is no longer required
+to protect ye from evil spirits, for they have all departed with the
+tempest they raised, and the sky is now serene.”
+
+As they ascended the hill the moon shone bright on the old fort’s inner
+enclosing wall, which was then almost intact. The upper enclosure is
+nearly oval in outline, and they entered it at its south-eastern end.
+Stopping a minute on the hill-top, Mr. Polkinghorne said to the ghost,
+“There is no cure for a troubled spirit equal to constant employment,
+and I shall allot you an easy task, which, with time and patience, will
+procure ye repose; but I must first make the whole of this enclosure
+secure against infernal spirits.”
+
+Mr. Polkinghorne then used a form of exorcism, which, as far as it
+could be understood by the old story-teller’s account, was something
+like the following:
+
+Having placed the ghost on his right hand side, he passed with him
+three times around the enclosed hill-top, going from east to west, or
+with the sun, and keeping close to the wall. At the first round, he
+merely counted the number of paces; at the next, he uttered, in some
+ancient eastern tongue, such exorcisms and adjurations as serve to
+expel infernal spirits; at the last circuit, he made, near the bounding
+wall, twelve mystic signs, at equal distances. He then passed through
+the middle of the ground to its north-western end, “cutting the air”
+with his whip, and tracing on the earth more magical figures. Being
+arrived at the end opposite the entrance, he drew a line with his whip
+stick, from a large stone in the wall, on one side, to another
+opposite, and told the spirit to remember them as bound-stones. The
+space thus marked off might be three or four “laces” of pretty even
+grass-covered ground, with a few furze bushes and large stones
+scattered over it.
+
+The reverend gentleman rested a while on the ruined wall, which rose
+some ten feet above a surrounding foss, and three or four from the
+inner ground.
+
+“Now, my son,” said he, turning towards the ghost, who stood near, “all
+within the Castle’s upper walls is as safe for ye as consecrated
+ground; and here is your task, which is merely to count the blades of
+grass on this small space, bounded by the wall and a straight line from
+stone to stone, that you can always renew or find.
+
+“You must reckon them nine times, to be sure that you have counted
+right; you needn’t set about it till I leave, there’s plenty of time
+before ye.
+
+“Whilst at your work, banish from your thoughts all remembrance of past
+griefs, as far as possible, by thinking of pleasant subjects. There is
+nothing better for this purpose than the recollection of such old world
+stories as delighted our innocent childhood, and please us in mature
+age.”
+
+The spirit looked disconcerted and said something—the old tinner didn’t
+know his words exactly,—to intimate that he thought the assigned task a
+vain one, as it produced nothing of lasting use. He would rather be
+employed in repairing the Castle walls, or some such job.
+
+“No, my dear son,” replied the parson, “it would never do for ye to be
+employed on anything that would be visible to human eyes; the unusual
+occurrence would draw hither such crowds of gazers as would greatly
+incommode ye. No more need ye trouble yourself on the score of its mere
+use, in your sense; for if restless mortals employed themselves solely
+in such works of utility as you mean, the greater part of them would
+find nothing to do, and be more miserable than ghosts unlaid.”
+
+The poor ghost assented to the greater part of what the parson said,
+and the reverend gentleman resumed his discourse, which was enough of
+itself to “put spirits to rest” one might think.
+
+“Believe me, gentle spirit,” said he, “the world is just as much a show
+as our old Christmas ‘guise-dance’ of St. George; for a great number
+pass their lives in doing battle with imaginary dragons; others in
+racing about on their hobby-horses, to the great annoyance of quiet
+folks. There are numerous doctors, too, both spiritual and physical,
+for ever vaunting of their ‘little bottles of elecampane,’ as sovereign
+cures for all ills but their own; whilst the motley crowd is bedizened
+in fantastic rags and tinsel, just like ‘guiseards.’ Indeed, except
+honest husbandmen, simple artisans, and a few others, the rest might
+just as well pass their time in spinning ropes of sand, counting blades
+of grass, or in any other ghostly employment, for all the good they do,
+unless it be to tranquilize their restless minds.”
+
+The ghost made no reply, but seemed “all down in the mouth,” which
+expression of sadness the parson remarked, and said, “Don’t ye be out
+of heart, brother, but have patience, and you will find that, with
+constant work, years will pass away like a summer’s day. Then you will
+wonder how your mortal crosses ever had the power to trouble ye. All
+remembrance of them will fade like a dream, and you will rest in peace.
+
+“When you have a mind to pause awhile—say after each time of
+counting,—you can go around the hill-top and enjoy the extensive
+prospect, as all within this higher rampart is a charmed circle for ye,
+where fiends dare not enter. There are other pleasant sights which you
+will often behold; for the small-people (fairies) still keep to the
+Castle-hill and hold their dances and fairs, of summer nights, within
+these ramparts. On May-day, in the morning, they are frequently seen
+around the spring, just below, or going up and down the steps which
+lead to it, by young men and maidens who come at early dawn to clean
+out the Castle-well, and to deck it with green boughs and blossoming
+May, as is their wont. These gay beings are the spirits of old
+inhabitants who dwelt—it may be thousands of years ago—in the
+‘Crellas,’ at Chysauster.
+
+“There is something more which will serve to divert ye; people from far
+and near often come here to enjoy the charming prospect; you may learn
+by their talk what is going on in the country round, if you care to
+hear anything about it. Perhaps some of the neighbours may speak of you
+and your family, and say things neither pleasant nor true; but let me
+beg of ye, however much you may be vexed to hear their slander, for
+goodness sake, don’t ye contradict them, nor show yourself; for your
+apparition, in its rich but antiquated garb, would frighten poor
+weak-minded mortals into fits.”
+
+The poor ghost seemed “dumbfoundered,” and said not a word: so the
+parson went on as if in his pulpit. At length he stood up and said,
+hastily, “One might mention more of what will make your abode pleasant,
+but it’s high time for you to become invisible and for me to leave ye.
+The cocks will soon be crowing; see how fast the light increases on
+Carn Marth, Carn Brea, and other noble hills that were giants’ dwelling
+places in days of yore, and stand out against the grey sky like
+sentinels over this favoured Western Land.”
+
+The parson, pointing to the eastern sky, told the spirit to put off his
+form. In a minute or so the apparition became indistinct, and faded
+gradually away, like a thin wreath of smoke dissolving in air.
+
+Mr. Polkinghorne said farewell, and, as he turned to leave the spirit
+to his task, he heard a hollow voice say, “Good friend, do thou
+remember me, and visit me again.”
+
+When the reverend gentleman entered the old “bowjey,” the joy that his
+horse showed at his approach was like recalling him from death to life.
+
+As Mr. Polkinghorne slowly wended his way homeward, he was grieved to
+see the wreck made by the preceding night’s tempest. In Nancledry,
+low-lying as it is, dwellings were unroofed, and trees, which had
+withstood the storms of centuries were all uprooted. On higher ground
+“stones were blown out of hedges,” arish mows laid low, and the corn
+whirled around fields.
+
+About sunrise, St. Ives folks, standing at their doors, were surprised
+to see their beloved parson, coming down the Stennack, looking so sad
+and weary, and that he didn’t give them “the time of day” (a greeting
+suitable to the time, as good morning, &c.,) with his accustomed
+cheerful tone and pleasant smile. Neither Mr. Polkinghorne nor his
+steed were again seen in the street for several days after their
+ghostly night’s work.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CORNISH CASTLES.
+
+
+It is not generally known to strangers that what are called Castles in
+Cornwall are little more than simple entrenchments, consisting of large
+and small stones built up about ten or twelve feet high and held
+together by their own weight, without any cement. These embankments are
+surrounded by a ditch, formed by excavating the soil which fills the
+ramparts. A well is always found within the Castle’s enclosure.
+
+Traditions, which have been handed down by old stationary folks, such
+as freeholding farmers—whose families have long dwelt near these
+primitive strongholds—say that they were constructed by the ancient
+inhabitants, as places of refuge where their cattle and other property
+might be protected from the “red-haired Danes,” who frequently marauded
+the country in days of yore. Near the outer entrenchment of Treen Dinas
+stood a barn, where there is now a dwelling called Caer Keis. This barn
+was inconveniently situated for farming purposes, and old proprietors
+of Treen held that it was used in old times for storing hay and corn,
+which might be wanted for cattle when they were placed in the Castle to
+be safe from northern pirates who were accustomed to land at
+Parcurno,—then free from sand.
+
+It is a matter of regret that such interesting examples of primitive
+fortifications, as Castle-an-Dinas and others, should have been almost
+destroyed of late years, when they have been resorted to as to
+quarries, and the stones removed for building huts and hedges.
+
+Some years ago, a bad example was shown by the proprietor of Trazza,
+who was lord of the land on which Castle-an-Dinas stands, by his having
+a good portion of the inner entrenchment demolished at its
+south-eastern end, and the stones taken to construct, on the brow of
+the hill, a nondescript object, which looks best at a distance.
+
+In looking at the few fragments of “dry walling” that remain, one can
+but admire the thoughtful way in which the stones were laid—perhaps
+thousands of years ago—so as to “break the joints” and bind each other.
+The Castle Well, near the summit of the hill, used to be regarded as
+one of the curiosities of this old fort. The water was reached by
+descending ten or a dozen steps when the spring was low.
+
+From the upper entrenchment may be surveyed one of the most extensive
+and varied prospects west of Carn Brea. The rugged brown hills on the
+northern side offer a striking contrast to the beautiful bay and rich
+land, cultivated almost to the water’s edge, on the other side.
+Eastward, the view is only bounded by hills which rise beyond St.
+Austell and stretch northward, Roughtor and Brownwhilly being in this
+range.
+
+Looking westward the hills of Sancreed and St. Just, hide the Land’s
+End; yet, with a clear atmosphere, Scilly Isles may be descryed, on the
+horizon’s verge, like clouds resting on the ocean.
+
+The fine tower of Buryan Church is a very conspicuous object, and it
+reminds one that near it, in Buryan parish, are the ancestral, but
+forsaken, homes of some who have made their mark in England’s history;
+and of others whose names live in romance and hearthside story, as
+Boscawen, Noy, Tresillian, Vivian, Le Velis, &c.
+
+The more immediate objects in the landscape are familiar to us all, yet
+the kind of bird’s-eye view obtained from this elevated site gives a
+novel appearance to the scene scarcely to be expected.
+
+One may find a pleasant walk from Penzance to Castle-an-Dinas, nearly
+all the way through fields, by taking the Churchway path from Gulval to
+Angarrack; thence across two or three small fields the heath-covered
+hill is reached, and one is soon on its summit.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HAUNTED LAWYER.
+
+
+A little while ago an aged native of Gulval spoke of another ghost that
+haunted Kenegie, but only for a short time. Whether it was the “spirit”
+of a Harris or an Arundel he couldn’t say, because it was so long past,
+but it was all in the same family; for a Harris, he believed, changed
+his name for that of Arundel; then, over a generation or two, the
+family resumed their former name. People round about always called them
+Harrises, and this one was spoken of as the proud squire of Kenegie. He
+always rode a high horse. If he met people in the narrow lanes (and
+there were but few broad ones in his time) they had to get out of his
+way, by leaping hedges sometimes, else he’d ride over them.
+
+They say that the only person who wouldn’t make way for him was an old
+Rogers of Treassowe. On Castle Downs there was a wide piece of ground
+left for horse-tracks where the road to St. Ives passed, so that when
+one path was too much worn another might be taken, on the turf. In some
+places the principal paths were divided by rocks or brakes of furze;
+and in a little way the branches united again, or crossed others, in a
+bewildering maze. ’Tis said that if Rogers, when on a heavy horse,
+could make out at a little distance, the track which would lead to that
+on which Harris rode, he would be sure to take it; if a deep one all
+the better; and so they would both ride up, “full butt,” against each
+other, like Æsop’s two goats crossing the brook on a plank, and either
+have a “scruff” or a slashing fight with their whips. Yet they were
+good friends, at times; hunted together over each other’s lands; and
+visited one another on ceremonial occasions.
+
+This burly gentleman-farmer of Treassowe, however, has nothing to do
+with the story about to be told; yet thoughts of him occur in
+connection with the proud Harris from his being so often spoken of as
+his opponent. He was, also, a fair sample of “Ludgvan Hurlers” of old,
+who were noted as sturdy “sticklers” for their rights, with a trifle
+more from those inclined to domineer, as well as for their devotion to
+the manly game which procured them their honourable nickname—still
+retained, though for many years past they had never strengthened their
+muscles and minds as they were wont to do in days of yore, by hurling
+their silver ball, for miles, forward and backward along Market Jew
+Green, then a common of great extent, or away inland “to the country.”
+The game on the Green was called Hurling to the Goal.
+
+Now, when Harris the proud was on his deathbed he sent a man to
+Penzance for a lawyer, because he wanted to make an addition to his
+will. “Take the fleetest horse in my stable,” said he to his servant,
+“ride for thy life,—for thy life; stop not for anything in thy road;
+tell him to take thy horse and hasten away if his own be unsaddled.”
+
+On a chest, near the squire’s bed, sat his son John, rocking himself to
+and fro, and crying bitterly. “What art thou crying for, my son?” asked
+his father. “Because you are going to die, father,” replied the boy.
+“Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?” And he went on crying more and
+more. “Stop crying, my son,” said his father, “thou wilt do very well,
+for I am going to give thee Trengwainton; and Castle Horneck, to look
+at; don’t cry any more, my son, for I’m very weak and want to sleep, my
+son.”
+
+The lawyer having arrived at the squire’s bedside, and writing
+materials being ready, asked what must be added to the will? The
+squire, when propped up with pillows, gasped out, “I wish, I wish,”
+several times, until he became exhausted, and fell back in bed. After
+resting awhile he made signs to be raised again, and then only repeated
+the same words, “I wish, I wish,” until the lawyer told him to stop a
+moment and then say what it was that he wanted to have written. “That
+my son John shall have Trengwainton,” gasped the dying man.
+
+The lawyer, who had also been the squire’s steward for a long time, was
+quite confounded. In a minute or two he said, “I don’t know what you
+mean; how can your son have Trengwainton? The place doesn’t belong to
+you, I can’t understand ’e at all.” The little blood in Harris’s body
+seemed to rush into his face and turn blue; then he became pale, and
+cried, as hard as he was able, “Thou fool of a lawyer not to know how,
+when”——unable to say any more he fell back in bed, more exhausted than
+before.
+
+Then he began twitching at the bedclothes, and kept on murmuring “I
+wish, I wish,” lower and lower, and slower and slower, until he
+breathed his last, with the words on his lips.
+
+The lawyer returned homeward, feeling very sad and much perplexed. He
+and the deceased had been constant friends from their boyhood. Of late
+years his connection with Harris was mainly as steward of his estate,
+and in that character we have to speak of him. The late squire had
+undertaken many improvements of his farm, then in progress, as well as
+alterations in his premises by his advice; and the steward took just as
+much interest in his friend’s family and estate as if they had been his
+own. He was, also, the only solicitor of note then in Penzance. People
+of that time did not run for legal advice to settle trifling matters in
+dispute; they were often a law unto themselves, rough and ready, as
+well as warm-hearted; though far less hypocritical then than now.
+
+The unsatisfied dead man was laid in the family vault, when the
+customary time for keeping people of his quality above ground had
+expired. On the night of his funeral, towards the morning, doleful
+sounds were heard proceeding from the late squire’s bedroom, with
+plaintive cries of “I wish, I wish,” followed by agonising moans and
+groans.
+
+Next day the steward came over to arrange some business that required
+his presence on the place; old greyheaded servants of the family soon
+told him of the ghostly sounds heard in the ancient mansion, only a few
+hours past. The strong-minded man of law ridiculed them, and said it
+was only their fearful fancies, followed by disturbing dreams, which
+had caused all their dread of their old master’s return. The old
+servants followed the lawyer to the outer gate, begging him to stay at
+the house over night. “No, no, I’ve other fish to fry,” replied he,
+“go’e to rest before you’re all tipsy, and let the squire come if he
+will or can.”
+
+The steward proceeded slowly down the hill, thinking of his deceased
+friend. As he passed a churchway stile, a little below the principal
+entrance gate, a gentleman came over and walked close beside him,
+keeping pace with his horse. Neither spoke. The steward didn’t even
+give the customary greeting of “Good night,” so usual here when people
+meet in country lanes. The strange gentleman’s broad brimmed hat and
+drooping plume so shaded his face that his features could not be
+distinctly seen; but his tall figure was attired in a dress precisely
+like that which had been usually worn by Harris, and which was of too
+grand a mode for anybody else in the immediate neighbourhood. The horse
+showed signs of great terror by rubbing his rider against the hedge,
+and by trying to run off at a gallop; yet, however the steed altered
+his paces, the stranger kept alongside, with such an easy motion as if
+he floated in air, until, passing the stream which flows to Ponsandane,
+when this strange companion disappeared,—there was no knowing whither.
+
+Having crossed the water, and the road ascending for a little way, the
+rider let his steed take its course; then it went off at a furious
+rate, and only ceased its race when near the watering-trough at the top
+of Market-jew Street, opposite the “Star” Inn. After slaking its
+thirst, it went down a lane, now built on, and called New Street, which
+led to a yard, stable, and garden, at the back of the lawyer’s house,
+on the eastern side of Chapel Street (formerly called Our Lady Street)
+and a little above the end of Vounder Ver.
+
+It is not known whether the lawyer surmised or not that the companion
+of his ride down Kenegie Hill was his late friend’s ghost, which it
+was: for he, like most of his profession, could keep his own counsel,
+especially in doubtful cases.
+
+Next day, however, when he was expected by the family at Kenegie to
+settle such business as could only be arranged with his help, he begged
+for delay, on the plea of illness, and took to his bed, which he did
+not quit for some days.
+
+Night was dreaded in the old mansion at Kenegie. Even the decline of
+day made its inmates shudder with apprehensive terror. The slamming of
+doors, rattling of furniture, and other disturbances commenced earlier
+and continued later into the morning than they did at first; and the
+spirit’s cries of “I wish, I wish,” seemed to be uttered in anger
+rather than in grief. During all the family’s trouble the steward was
+unable, or unwilling, to come near them. Yet, almost daily, one or
+other of Harris’s old servants came in to enquire after the lawyer’s
+health, and told his family how their late master’s ghost had been seen
+and heard before candle-lighting time in a court behind the house; and
+that it was intended, over a few nights, to try what “spirit-quellers,”
+as ghost-layers were called, could do in order to give the troubled
+spirit rest.
+
+The steward was still far from well, when one night, about a week after
+his last visit to Kenegie, and just after he heard an eight-day clock
+on his stair-landing strike two, whilst he was listening for the
+town-clock, five minutes slower than his own, he heard a loud knocking
+at his front door. Shortly afterwards his housekeeper came to his
+bedroom door, and asked, “Are ’e waking, master?” Having spoken to her,
+she said, “There’s an old clergyman, from over Hayle way, below; I’ve
+seen him here before; he must speak with you, he says: he has a message
+of the utmost importance to you.” The steward told her to strike a
+light and show the parson up at once, as he was an old acquaintance who
+didn’t stand on ceremony with him.
+
+The old dame sat on her three-legged stool, hammering away with flint
+and steel, in making vain endeavours to kindle the tinder, which wasn’t
+touched by a spark, for the box had overturned in her lap without her
+knowing it; her skirts being huddled on in a hurry she hardly knew
+where to find her knees to steady the tinder-box between them. There
+was a glimmer of light coming through the diamond-shaped lead lights
+from a ghostly-looking bit of a morning moon, when the venerable
+gentleman told her to take no more trouble; as he was well acquainted
+with the house and her master he could find the way to his room without
+a candle and alone; his business was too urgent for any farther delay.
+
+The reverend gentleman, on entering the lawyer’s bedroom, drew back the
+window curtains, and said, whilst shaking hands, “I hope to be excused
+for calling at this unseasonable hour on account of the message I
+bring; the importance of which, to you, will be best understood when I
+tell ye of this night’s occurrences.” Now, the lawyer was impatient to
+learn this urgent business, but it would seem as if the parson were in
+no hurry—such good men take things easy. For he went to the window,
+opened a casement, and looked out, as if to recollect his thoughts. It
+was too obscure then for him to enjoy the extensive prospect, as seen
+by day—only bounded by distant eastern hills. Returning to the lawyer’s
+bedside, the reverend gentleman seated himself and continued thus:—“I
+calculate, by the stars now rising, as well as by the altitude attained
+by others, that it is now two hours and forty-five minutes since I,
+with four other clergymen of our neighbourhood, by a request of the
+deceased squire’s family, assembled on the Bowling Green, at Kenegie,
+in order to give rest to the unquiet spirit which quitted Proud
+Harris’s mortal tenement a fortnight since. Having marked on the turf a
+circle, and placed on its circumference three lighted candles, to mark
+the points of an equilateral triangle, within which a ghost is as safe
+as in consecrated ground—the devil and his hounds are always on the
+watch for vagrant spirits, roaming from churchyards—we formed ourselves
+in line, facing south and behind the lights, in order of precedence, my
+station being at the right hand of all. Then a reverend gentleman, who,
+like myself, has much knowledge of planetary influence and other occult
+sciences, as well as great ability in laying obdurate spirits, spoke a
+form of citation. Not a dozen words of this solemn summons were uttered
+when Proud Harris’s ghost, in winding-sheet and shroud came before us,
+and, with a frowning countenance and angry gestures, abruptly said,
+‘Begone about your own business, if you have any, for you have none
+whatever here; and learn, vain mortals, that I will not leave this
+place for anything you can do or say, until it pleaseth me to do so.’”
+“Ah, I see,” said the steward, “it’s the same resolute spirit still
+that always animated my deceased friend, for he never liked those of
+your cloth; in fact he couldn’t abide to see men feathered all in black
+and white; he used to say, ‘They are like Market-jew crows.’” “Well,
+well, let that pass,” replied the reverend gentleman, “You have not yet
+heard the matter of importance to you. On my commencing a powerful form
+of conjuration the spirit approached me and said, ‘Dear old friend of
+my youth, for the sake of those many happy days that we have passed
+together in the hunting-field, do thou go from me, and at once, to that
+accursed lawyer and steward of mine; tell him that unless he comes
+here, and that shortly, to mind his business, I will go to him. Aye,
+you see that thin rim of the waning moon; if he be not here, attending
+to his duty to me and mine, ere that moon be renewed, I will appear
+before him when least expected, whether he be in his office, his
+bed-chamber, or elsewhere, alone.’ On my assenting to convey his
+message the ghost vanished, and I at once came hither with such speed
+as my three-score and six years permit.”
+
+The parson paused a moment, but, the lawyer remaining silent, he
+continued: “I advise you as a friend, go, as desired, before you are
+three days older, for by that time this moon’s diminished horns will
+have recommenced their growth. As I have now faithfully delivered the
+spirit’s message, I bid you adieu, hoping you will have grace to follow
+my advice.”
+
+“I intend going to Kenegie,” replied the lawyer, “before another night
+comes round. Stay and take breakfast; you must need rest after such
+trying work.”
+
+“No, I must be gone,” said the parson, “though I have neither eaten nor
+slept since my leaving Ruan yesterday morn.”
+
+“Then if you won’t stop, I wish ’e well,” said the steward, “hoping
+never more to see ye here with a message from the dead. Farewell.”
+
+After this unpleasant interruption to his night’s rest, the steward lay
+awake and turned out of bed before his accustomed time of rising, with
+the intention of going to Kenegie without delay. Yet, from feeling very
+much out of order, when partly dressed, he returned to bed and sent for
+a medical man.
+
+The doctor felt the lawyer’s hot forehead and rapidly-throbbing pulse,
+whilst the sick man told him that he could neither get tranquil sleep
+nor take his food with any appetite.
+
+“My good friend,” replied the doctor, “you are working yourself to
+death, in trying to grapple with your extensive practice. Now, you must
+not think of entering your office for a month at least. Go away to the
+country; when you are able, for the sake of getting rid of business
+cares; your clients must have patience until you get well. If they
+won’t, let them go to Old Nick for advice. His counsel will please the
+greater part of them much better than the advice of an honest
+attorney.”
+
+The patient then said, “I am most anxious first to go over and arrange
+some business in Kenegie which requires my presence there.”
+
+“All right,” replied the doctor, “you can do nothing better, when well
+enough, mind you, than ride over there daily; but don’t stay long in
+the house, and say but little about professional matters. After taking
+some light refreshment, ride away up to Castle-an-Dinas, or, at least,
+as far as the hamlet called Castle Gate, and ride easily forth and
+back, over the stretch of level road on that high ground. When there
+you will breathe the sweet air of the hills, mingled with ocean’s
+breezes, which will do you more good than any amount of drugs. You
+must, however, take a small dose at once, in order to procure tranquil
+sleep. Never mind your appetite, that will return when you are able to
+take daily rides over the hills, and you will be able to eat like a
+horse, as the saying is.”
+
+The doctor having sent for medicine, and seen his patient take the
+same, went downstairs, charged the household to keep still, and on no
+account to let their master be disturbed with business callers. “If he
+should sleep for 24 hours, let him,” said the doctor, “and I’ll call
+again shortly.”
+
+The steward said nothing of his having been accompanied by Harris’s
+ghost in his ride down Kenegie Hill, nor of the spirit’s message, well
+knowing that his medical friend had no faith in supernatural
+appearances; and the ailing man himself had but slight belief in such
+matters until the evidence of his own eyes, as well as the reverend
+gentleman’s words, convinced him, in spite of his reason.
+
+The “doctor’s stuff” had its desired effect. The steward slept soundly
+through the night, and until nearly noon next morning, when he took
+breakfast in bed, then more medicine, and slept again. About two
+o’clock the doctor called and asked the housekeeper how her master was.
+“I suppose,” said she, “that he’s going on as well as can be expected,
+for he slept well last night, ate a good breakfast for a sick man, and
+is sleeping again. A few minutes since I went into his room, and saw
+his eyes were shut, and didn’t speak to him, as you told me not to, but
+I talked a little to myself, and he didn’t ask me what I was grumbling
+about, as he mostly does if I speak a few words to, myself.
+
+“A precious nurse you are,” said the doctor, “can’t you keep your
+tongue still when in your master’s room?”
+
+The lawyer had the same tranquil rest on the following night; got up at
+his usual time, and soon after an early dinner, took horse for Kenegie.
+
+The steward arrived at the old mansion about three or four o’clock.
+Having stayed a few hours with the bereaved family, and said all he
+could to comfort them, he recollected that there were alterations, or
+repairs, going on down at the mill, which he ought to see. The
+lengthening shadows warned him that it was time for his departure, that
+he might see the mill on his way home. Having sent his horse down, by a
+servant, he took a pathway which made a short cut thither across some
+fields. This was always a favourite walk with him and the late squire,
+because it afforded delightful views over land and sea. When on the
+clear ground, and in sight of Rosemorran, he saw the sunbeams still
+shining through a few leafless trees on the hill, but the valley was
+all in shadow. On coming to a high-hedged and narrow lane, near the
+mill, the gentleman went on slowly, with eyes cast down, musing on
+times past. Glancing upwards, when his reverie ended, he beheld, at the
+distance of ten or a dozen paces, the late squire, looking as formerly,
+and slowly approaching him. The steward, though much terrified at
+first, noticed that the garb taken by the apparition was, from
+looped-up hat to silver spurs, exactly like that which Harris had
+usually worn when following his hounds. At a glance the steward saw the
+same bright and unsullied attire for which the late owner of Kenegie
+had been distinguished. There were the same untarnished gold-lace and
+buttons on his bright scarlet coat; and the boots, with their tops just
+touching, without hiding, the jewelled knee-buckles of his nether
+garment. Yet, for all this brightness of dress, the ghostly face, as
+seen by the terrified man on coming nearer, made his blood run cold.
+The eyes were like the unclosed eyes of the dead; and the other
+features were pale and motionless as those of a marble image lying on a
+tomb. The lawyer had heard, like everybody else here, that one should
+never turn back from a ghost, but speak, if only a single word, as a
+spirit is powerless to impart its wishes till spoken to; and if long
+delayed the person is in danger of receiving bodily harm, and will be
+haunted to death if he speak not before. The poor man forced himself,
+as it were, to advance with his eyes cast down, for he couldn’t bear to
+see the ghastly countenance. When near he could only murmur, “What
+shall I do for ’e?”
+
+“I am rejoiced that thou hast come to meet me here, and spoken in time,
+for on the morrow I should have gone to thee. The anger I felt at thy
+delay hath passed; why shouldst thou fear me, frail mortal that thou
+art, when, ere long, thou wilt be as I am, and then seek me with a
+greater desire to meet me than thou hast now to shun my company?
+Besides thou knowest I always liked thee for thy honesty, and thy
+regard to me and mine, as well as for thy doing justice to thy poorer
+clients—as far as unjust laws and judges would allow thee. Now, with
+regard to my son John,” continued the ghost, looking sorrowfully on his
+faithful steward, “Death, as thou knowest, cut short my efforts to
+explain how my wishes were to be accomplished touching Trengwainton.
+Thy eyes are cast on earth; dost thou attend to what I say?”
+
+“I do my best to,” replied the poor steward like one in a waking dream.
+
+“Well, as thou knowest, there is much money owing to me on the place;
+no interest has ever been paid, and more cash is wanted. Do thou supply
+more and more until the place be indebted to nearly its value. Our boy
+John is now about fourteen. Before he will be of age, foreclose the
+mortgage, as the place by that time will be burthened to nearly its
+full value. If the estate be offered for sale there will be no
+purchaser; everyone hereabouts has enough to do to keep the land he
+has. All landowners here are much embarrased to hold what they have.
+Yet if the place be worth anything more than its encumbrance, pay over
+the balance on putting my son in possession. The management of my
+family’s property will be entirely on thy hands for many years, and
+thou wilt still be my trusty steward. Now understand me clearly, of a
+Harris it must never with truth be said that he got his lands unfairly.
+Mark the little more I have to say, that I may depart for good, and no
+more have to revisit this miserable world. Look up now, that I may know
+thou attendest to my words, and learn that unless my wishes be
+accomplished none of my family, nor of thine, will be known in this
+part of the country for half the time they have flourished here, nor
+have an inch of land more than their graves occupy. Behold those aged
+trees which my forefathers planted. Ere they return to dust our ancient
+homes will know us no more, if my last wishes be disregarded.”
+
+Before the lawyer could reply—if he had anything to say—Harris’s ghost
+had vanished.
+
+The servant, who awaited the lawyer at the Mill, became uneasy when it
+was almost night and the gentleman had not arrived; knowing him to be
+unwell and that he was a man who would never “say die whilst there was
+a shot in the locker,” as the saying is (everybody liked the steward
+for his pluck and kindly disposition.) He rode slowly up the lane by
+which he expected the steward to arrive, and, at last found him sitting
+on a bank beside the road, seeming all bewildered and stupid, like a
+person recovering from a trance or just come out of a fit. The servant
+roused him up, as he said, but the steward didn’t speak, even when he
+mounted his horse, and rode slowly homeward, with the servant following
+to his own door, where the doctor was anxiously awaiting his patient’s
+return. We heard no more of the good lawyer, but hope he rode out no
+more until perfectly recovered.
+
+Harris’s ghost, satisfied with having told the lawyer how its wishes
+were to be carried out, has never more been seen nor heard in Kenegie,
+from that day to this.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HALLANTIDE: OR A ST. JUST FEAST FIFTY YEARS AGO.
+
+
+“The Saint’s Feast is kept upon the Dedication Day, by every
+householder of the parish, within his own dores, each entertaining such
+forrayne acquaintance as will not fayle, when their like turne cometh
+about, to requite them with the like kindness.”—Carew’s Survey of
+Cornwall.
+
+
+Many persons of Penzance and its neighbourhood, whose memories take
+them back fifty years or more, may recollect an aged man, usually
+called Dick Rastram, who for some weeks before Christmas, and after it,
+used to be heard calling around the market,—
+
+
+   “Moore’s almanacks new,
+    Some lies and some true.”
+
+
+The almanacks he sold were supplemented with advertisements of patent
+medicines and other special articles kept by his master.
+
+On the whole Dick must have been a good servant, or his master would
+never have had the patience to bear with his provoking ways for so many
+years as he did. Dick was very fond of arguing the point as to the best
+mode of doing any job he was set about, and the time wasted in settling
+the matter was more than would have sufficed to do the work many times
+over; but he would exert himself with double vigour when allowed to
+have his own way. Sometimes, however, the master becoming tired of his
+man’s pig-headedness, would say “do the work as thou art told to;
+whether right or wrong no blame will rest on thy shoulders.” Then Dick
+would keep a sharp look-out for a mistake, and if his master made any,
+by a “slip of the tongue,” he would be sure to execute it to the very
+letter.
+
+One morning this precious man-servant was sent to the bake-house in
+Back Lane, for a twopenny loaf of the proper age for mixing with other
+ingredients in making pills. In a few minutes he returned, placed the
+pence on the counter, and said “there’s no bread there stale enough;
+where must I go next?” Then he was told some other place, and as often
+returned without bread, asking each time where he was to go next? So he
+dawdled away great part of the forenoon, when everyone knew that if he
+had a mind he would find a suitable loaf in some shop best known to
+himself, in a few minutes. The last time he returned with the two-pence
+and asked, “Where must I go next?” his master, provoked beyond measure,
+said go to —, naming a place said to be very hot; and to soften the
+angry expression, added the word “stone” in a lower voice; but the man
+heard this cooling word, took up the pence, and went out to get the
+bread, it was supposed from some shop of his own choice. Night came,
+however, but no Dick; and the following day passed without his having
+been seen or heard of in Penzance.
+
+A little after the usual closing time Mr. Harvey was in his shop with a
+few of his neighbours, wondering what had become of his man, and
+getting rather uneasy at not having had any tidings of him, and was
+about to have his shop closed, when Dick entered, put a two-penny loaf
+on the counter, and said, “Here’s a loaf that’ll please ’e I ’spose.
+I’ve ben where you told me to go for ut. You will, of course, pay me
+for what it cost me in lodgings in Helston last night, and for meat and
+drink on the road. I went as cheap as I cud; ’tes only two and twenty
+pence; seeman to me you have kept the shop open very late, and all the
+lamps burnan, when every shop round the market es shut up except the
+two grocers’ that are always the last.”
+
+Dick then put up the shutters, turned down all the lamps except one
+near his master’s desk, and asked if there was anything more for him to
+do that night. “If there esn’t,” said he, “I’d like to go home and go
+to bed at once, that I may rise early in the mornan.”
+
+Dick’s master being one who always saw the humourous side of a
+matter—and who had a keen relish for it, couldn’t, for his life, keep a
+stern look when he replied, “go into the kitchen and get thy supper and
+don’t let me see thee any more to night.”
+
+Yet, with all the man’s deviltry, he was extremely proud of his
+master’s repute as a skilful chemist and a clever man; as well as of
+the old-established business, to which he regarded himself as a most
+important adjunct.
+
+The warehouses where Dick reigned supreme, as far as he could, were
+extensive and somewhat scattered. The shop was a large one for those
+times, with groceries on one side and drugs on the other. Grocers’
+kitchens were then the usual places in which their regular country
+customers left their baskets when their marketing was finished; and
+there, too, boiling water was kept that country-folks might make
+themselves tea, after which the warehouseman helped them take their
+marketing to the inn-yard, at which their horses were left
+(market-carts were but few then.) All were anxious to keep in with
+Dick, to have his assistance, for he was as “ugly” as sin with some who
+gadded about to new shops, that they might pick up things sold cheap as
+a draw for a short time.
+
+Amongst the old regular customers, to whom Dick paid much attention,
+was Mary Angwin, or Chygwin, the wife of a well-to-do miner in St. Just
+Churchtown, who also cultivated a few acres of land, in his spare time.
+A few weeks before Hallantide [3] Mary invited Dick to come out the
+Feasten Sunday, and he promised to come.
+
+On Feasten Eve, Mary and Jackey, her husband, were both in Penzance, to
+get meat and other things for the feast. They didn’t want to kill their
+pig for winter’s store before it was fat, and sell one side of it on
+the Thursday before the Feast, as many did that they might buy beef and
+other good things for the Tide. “Be sure you come early, in time to go
+to Church,” said Jackey, when his wife had reminded Dick of his promise
+to come. St. Just folks, and others in Feasten time, were proud to show
+a goodly number of visitors in Church. “And now, Dick,” said she, when
+ready to leave the shop, “if you will take one side of the basket, with
+me, Jackey will shoulder the sack of meat. The basket is heavy with
+Hallan apples, the largest I could get, and with other things; the old
+mare will groan and grunt at some rate, all the way home, as she always
+do, the creature, when there’s a few pounds more than usual on her
+back.”
+
+After Mary had jogged away, seated on a bow-pad, with the heavy basket
+on her knees and the sack across the beast, Jackey stayed awhile
+waiting for some comrades who were going to tramp it home as well as
+himself. “You can find our house, mate, without any trouble,” said he
+to his expected feaster, “’tes nearly the first you will come to on
+entering Churchtown by the Penzance road; and you will know et by the
+largest turf-rick you’ll see close to the end of et, and ’tes sure to
+be sanded all about, from the door to the turf-rick and pigs’ crow.
+I’ve ben along to Percurnow on purpose for a load; none else will
+please Mary, for the Feast, but the sand from that Cove; and I brought
+home ‘gard,’ (decomposed granite) from the Tinpit Hill, in St. Levan,
+too, that she may scour the life out of tembran things,—the dairy door
+and all, as well as the benches; she’s a capital wife, she es. Now good
+night, and be sure to come early.”
+
+By 10 o’clock Dick arrived, and was treated to a dram, first thing,
+whilst Mary laid before him a substantial breakfast. The only one there
+before, except those belonging to the house, was an old maid, a
+mantua-maker of Kelynack; she was a staid old dear, yet not out of
+hopes of getting married. Hearing that Dick Rostram was expected she
+had invited herself to come and help Mary cook the feasten dinner; and
+it was funny to see this dry old creature “setting her cap” at old Dick
+all the time he was there. Next came an elderly couple from Sancras;
+then two blooming damsels, sisters, from Morvah. And when all those
+expected were come, Mary said, “Jackey, my son,” (though speaking to
+her husband) “es time for thee to take our Feasters to Church, for I
+and Cousin Gracey want all the room to cook dinner. You’ll stop a spell
+in the public-house as usual, and all will be ready to place on the
+board by the time you come in.”
+
+Though late for service in Church they had one comfort, as Jackey said,
+“they would be out as soon as the rest.”
+
+About two o’clock the feasters came home and found the big crock lifted
+off the brandes (trivet) on to the hearth. In the large vessel were
+boiled a rump of beef, a couple of fowls, and a nice piece of streaky
+pork to eat with them; as well as turnips, carrots, and other
+vegetables, all in kipps (net-bags) to keep them separate and for
+convenience in taking up. The vegetables were placed to drain on bars
+called “kipp sticks,” placed across the crock; the beef was dished up
+on a round pewter platter; the fowls had melted butter and parsley—some
+of the butter poured on them, the rest served in a boat. A rabbit-pie
+was steaming on the chimney stool; and a baked figgy (plum) pudding was
+on the dresser, turned out of the baker on to another pewter platter,
+and powdered over with white sugar. On one end of the hearth, over a
+few embers, stood a little pot, the very model of the larger vessel but
+not more than a tenth of its size, containing choice red-apply
+potatoes, steaming under a cloth, all the water having been poured off.
+At the sight of this Dick clapped his hands and cried “what a dear
+little crock!”
+
+When the female guests came down, with their dresses pinned up, that
+they mightn’t be foust (soiled or rumpled) they found dinner served.
+Mary took from the dresser pewter flagons, which shone like silver and
+were only used on grand occasions, to serve the ale. If the feasters
+didn’t make a good dinner it was from no fault of their entertainers,
+for it was “cut and come again” till all declared they were “choke full
+and ready to burst.” Then they had a nip of brandy all round, to settle
+their stomachs. Jugs of hot toddy were next placed on the board, with a
+little tray of shag tobacco and long pipes. Crocks and pans put away,
+the fire was gathered to one end of the hearth; fresh turves put on;
+and the chimney-stool put back to its place on the other end of the
+roomy hearth, that those who liked best to smoke in the chimney corner
+might sit there. The men being made comfortable as their hearts could
+desire, Mary and her female friends went upstairs to have a cosy chat
+to themselves; and there they had a bottle of old sweet-drink (mead)
+which had been kept for the feast. Didn’t their tongues go, two or
+three together, talking over the births and marriages that had lately
+taken place or were likely soon to occur amongst their acquaintances;
+the new dresses seen in Church; and scores of other matters dear to
+female hearts.
+
+When weary of being without the men, down they came to have a look
+round the “hale” (hall?) Jackey asked if they,—the two blooming
+ones—would like to have a run down to the Cape? “No thank ’e, Jackey
+dear,” said the elder, “’tes too cold a place this time of the year,
+but well enow in summer. After we have warmed ourselves a bit we want
+to see the pretty things in your hale, brought home, from over sea, by
+your cousin, Tom Hattam.” “You shall, my dears, and take a glass of hot
+toddy to warm ’e all through. I spose your sweethearts will be here
+soon?” “No not yet, for hours,” said the elder again; “es time enow for
+them to come here when we want to be going home, and that won’t be yet
+awhile. But I shouldn’t wonder if Nanny’s Tom es here before long to
+know where he shall meet you and some other San Tusters to-morrow to go
+rabbit shooting. You must come over to Morvah, he said, for he can tell
+you where a hare’s likely to be found and rabbits in plenty. Her boy,
+Tom es roving mad sometimes to get married and be off over sea to a
+place where many of his comrades went some years ago, and are doing
+well there, so Tom says. What’s the place called Nancy, that thee art
+always dreaman about?” “Dodgeville,” replied the younger; “es near
+Mineral Point.”
+
+Jackey having set the Morvah girls a-talking about their sweethearts,
+and the subject of their discourse being of little interest to any but
+themselves, the Sancras man, taking Jackey’s two elder children, went
+to visit some relatives of his and theirs in another part of
+Churchtown. His wife was asleep on Mary’s bed, being tired after her
+walk from Trannack and a hearty meal. At last when the girls paused a
+moment they and the rest went to look at the pretty things in Mary’s
+hale.
+
+Whether Jackey Angwin’s best room be called a hale or a parlour, it was
+a very neat little place,—almost too bright and nice and full of
+nick-nacks for one’s eyes to rest on anything.
+
+The mantel-shelf was so crowded with china cattle, chiefly cows and
+sheep, with a shepherd and shepherdess under a tree, taking care of
+them, that they had scarcely room either to lie or to stand amidst
+crystals of quartz, or Cornish diamonds, and other choice specimens,
+and foreign shells. There were also two circus horses, red and white
+ones, rearing on their hind legs, on either end of the shelf, and ready
+for a spring down on the floor.
+
+Hanging on the walls over the mantel was that red-hot picture of
+Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples, which seamen so often bring home from
+some Levantine port to let their friends know something of the wonders
+they have seen. “Come here, Dick, and the rest of ’e, and tell us about
+this picture and other foreign things that Cousin Jack brought home on
+his return from his first voyage abroad.” Dick looked at the picture
+and said, “This is the same that one may see in almost every house in
+Capens Row, and in many on Sandy Bank. Sailors all tell a story about
+it and say that a long while ago, a vessel was becalmed for three days
+and two nights within sight of that burning mountain. About one
+o’clock, or earlier, on the third night, they heard a loud voice,
+coming from that mountain, say, ‘the hour es come, but the man esn’t
+come.’ Lookan to windward just after, the sailors saw a black cloud
+rising from out over the sea and coming straight towards them. When
+just over the main-tops they saw plainly that what they had taken for a
+cloud was a company of infernal spirits, carrying off among them a man
+they had known. He was a Barbary pirate whose vessel they had sunk with
+all on board not long before. The men heard dreadful cries as the
+infernal spirits bore the pirate away right to the mountain that had
+only ben smoakan for days before; but as the infernals approached and
+took the man down et blazed up and roared like thunder. Then a gale
+sprung up and brought the ship into port—thereabouts, where you see the
+red-lookan housen,” said Dick pointing to Naples.
+
+[This sounds much like an old kmonish legend, and it probably is one
+adapted from the ancient myth which tells of Etna and Vesuvius being
+the chimney-tops of Tartarus.]
+
+“Can that story be true?” asked Gracey, looking at the picture as if
+she expected to see the cloud of infernals. “I don’t know I’m sure,”
+Angwin replied, “for Jack told us the same; but sailors spin such queer
+yarns, and so besmeared with their tarbrush, that one can’t ever tell
+what’s in them of truth. Now when Jack brought us this picture (and
+other things we’ll see bem by) Granny was here. She put on her
+spectacles to have a good look, but couldn’t make out what it was. When
+Jack told her et was a burnan mountain she said ‘Hold thy tongue; I’ll
+never believe that; es a bad picture of a house a fire I spose.’ ‘Well,
+old dear,’ replied he, ‘you won’t credit me weth haven sen many things
+that you havn’t. You wan’t believe praps that when on the Red Sea
+shores I seed the axle-trees of Pharoah’s chariots stickan out of the
+sand weth the linch-pins still in them. The wheels and the other tember
+was rotten and washed away.’ ‘Perhaps I may believe that,’ said she.
+‘An old ship-mate of mine,’ continued Jack, ‘who had ben a long way
+inland told me he had sen Lot’s wife turned into rock-salt. ’Tes still
+standan in that dry climate, and he cracked off the little finger of
+her right hand. It’s grown again: fingers and toes shoot out, or sprout
+anew, during a flowing tide.’ ‘Why what is become of the finger?’ asked
+she. ‘That, at the bottom of the sea, now,’ replied he, ‘weth many
+other strange things, such as Eve’s apples, very fair to see but all
+full of ashes within jest like ‘colebrands’ (smutty ears of wheat.) His
+ship was sunk with a blow from a whale’s tail, and he wed a ben
+drowned, ef by good luck he hadn’t a got hold of a dolphan, which he
+mounted when sinkan, and the good fish, always friendly to sailors,
+bore him safe to shore.’ ‘Now I wan’t heer any more of thy stories,’
+said Granny, ‘for one can’t tell what to believe of them.’”
+
+When Jackey ceased talking the company passed on towards a large table,
+with turned-down leaves, which stood against the wall opposite the
+window. Resting on this table and supported by the wall was an oval
+mahogany tea tray of the old fashion, and above it pictures of the four
+Evangelists, seemingly painted on glass. The saints’ raiment was of as
+deep a dye as the lurid flames of Vesuvius or the purple waters of
+Naples Bay. In front of the tea tray was a pile of books, and at either
+end a large foreign shell, so turned as to show the delicate pink of
+its inner surface. “Put one of these to your ear, my dear,” said Dick
+to the younger Morvah damsel, “and you will hear waves surging on the
+shores from which they were brought, and that’s over the water which
+you expect soon to cross.” Nancy having placed a shell to her ear and
+listening, said, “I surely hear it murmuring as if in grief to be taken
+from its old home and companions. What do you hear, sister?” “Much the
+same, I think,” replied the other sister. “Oh, what a lot of things you
+townsmen know,” said Gracey; “I should dearly love to live in Penzance;
+one can hear and see so much more there than in the country.” “Come and
+live with me then, my dear,” said Dick; “I’ve a lot of pretty things to
+show ’e and we’re a suitable couple,—just of a height,” continued he,
+taking Gracey’s arm in his, whilst she looked down and simpered in a
+way she thought would seem modest.
+
+Leaving the table, all Mary’s guests came to a corner-cupboard or
+“buffet,” as it was usually called. About a third of its height was
+closed with doors; over which were three open shelves. On the lower
+shelf, or cupboard-bed, was a rare old china punch-bowl, turned on its
+mouth, with old china plates lining the sides, and around the bowl,
+basins and small cups, without handles, all of rare old India china. On
+the middle shelf was a china tea-set. On the upper one many curious old
+glasses, some of them coloured, with high twisted stems, and patterns
+cut on their inner surfaces. Whilst looking over these, Gracey spoke of
+her feet being cold, and the gallant Dick led her to the kitchen fire.
+When they had passed out Mary opened the cupboard doors and took out a
+variety of such trifles as sailors usually bring home from foreign
+parts; and these were, most of them, either from Quebec or South
+American ports, to which ships in the timber trade resort. Amongst the
+former were moccasons and pouches of curious patterns, worked by the
+squaws of Indian Lorrett, about ten miles from Quebec; strings of those
+rare seeds called Indian shot, the product of Canadian plants. (The
+larger ones, looking like bits of pear-shaped porcelain, and just as
+hard, are often strung for rosaries: although so hard that their sides,
+when dry, cannot be pierced with steel, they have a natural cavity from
+end to end, running lengthwise, through which a fine needle and thread
+may be passed.) Next a clear broad-mouthed bottle, full of smaller
+foreign products, was taken out and brought to the window, when Mary
+noticed that the day was darkening, and, looking up at the old
+eight-day clock, which stood beside the fireplace, was surprised to
+find it so late, and said she must be off to get tea, opened the door a
+little, then closed it, and came back and said to Jackey, “I be hanged
+ef old Gracey and Dick ain’t upon the chimney-stool sitting as close as
+they can get, head to head, courtan. Who but they! She’s ben tryan all
+she cud do in that way ever since Dick es here.”
+
+Mary then went to the dairy to make a cake. The window being darkened
+by many choice plants, chiefly roses, they brought the bottle of
+wonders up to the kitchen table and turned out its contents.
+
+One may remark, before going farther, that the clock was made by
+Matthew Wearne, of St. Erth, early in the last century. Many of them
+are still in this neighbourhood, keeping good time.
+
+Suspended from a beam, near the middle of the room, was a
+silvered-glass globe reflecting objects around. Against vacant places
+on the walls were placed the usual six chairs and two armed ones, all
+furnished with neat, patch-work covered cushions. The bottle being
+emptied on the table, there were found various small tropical shells
+and seeds, strung together like necklaces; also some of those
+bean-shaped seeds frequently picked up on our sands, and on all shores
+laved by the Gulf Stream. In the West Country these have no particular
+name that we know of, but they were often perforated, strung, and hung
+from children’s necks to make them cut their teeth easily; and were
+worn as amulets for preventing diseases. It is pretty well known that
+those seeds of tropical trees being found on many shores of Europe, and
+not being those of any known trees in the Old World, learned men
+concluded before the time of Columbus, that they must be produced in
+lands either in, or beyond, the Atlantic; consequently, they had
+something to do with the discovery of America.
+
+The bottle repacked and put away tea was ready and all the guests
+assembled.
+
+Besides the heavy cake just baked,—black with currants, and too rich
+with cream for any one to eat much of, there were risen cakes; and
+apple-cakes, baked on Saturday; with bread, cream, and honey.
+
+Tea being over, the old Sancras couple left. They wern’t much missed,
+for they were a dull old pair, who passed nearly all their time either
+eating, drinking, or sleeping. The old man had walked down to
+Nancherrow, ’tis true, but then he went to visit an old acquaintance,
+were he was sure to have more drink; yet he tasted every thing on the
+table at tea-time, finishing with bread and honey, as he said the cream
+was too “quaffing” (luscious) to eat with honey.
+
+In the meantime Jackey had placed on the embers a faggot of furze, and
+on it a few heathy turves, to keep in the flames and gradually kindle
+the whole. Then a high-backed settle was brought to the hearth from the
+stair-rail against which it usually stood. The settle-back could be
+turned down to rest on the ends, so as to form a table if wanted. Mary
+sat back by the table, feeling too warm, with all her moving about, to
+sit nearer the fire; and looked around with pride on her
+dresser-shelves, full of rare old earthenware (the queer faces in her
+old clome jugs grinned with joy in the warm firelight;) then on her
+bright brass warming-pan, candlesticks, pewter flagons, and other
+things on the chimney-piece, and she was not less pleased to see the
+white “valance,” called the chimney-cloth, which hung along the
+“cravel” (mantel-stone or tree.) Old housewives were just as careful to
+have clean chimney-cloths as caps. They kept everything about their
+fire-places as clean as if they venerated the hearth as an altar.
+
+Come to Mary’s house at any time, you would always find this room dry
+and comfortable. All sloppy work was done in a pretty large room at the
+back, under a lean-to roof all the length of the dwelling.
+
+At one end of this scullery, or back kitchen, a portion was screened
+off for a dairy. Over this, and projecting a few feet, was a “talfat”
+(loft) where some of the children’s beds were placed. At the other end,
+a few feet were taken up with a spence; near which was an outer door
+opening to a court, with the peeth, large stone-trough, fuel-ricks, &c.
+
+Shortly after the old Sancras “pigs’” departure, in came two sturdy
+young fellows,—one from the north of St. Just, the other from Morvah.
+
+“Will ’e have a cup of tea? We’ve only just finished” asked Mary. “They
+don’t care for the women’s drink,” Jackey answered for them; “make a
+jug of toddy.” “They had no business to come yet,” said that talking
+elder sister, “we shan’t go yet for a good while.” “But Tom and I must
+go early,” said Hannibal, that sister’s sweetheart; “Tom to be up early
+and after the rabbits. I must work the first core to bal or be spaled
+(fined.) Es hard that a worken man can’t have a day or two once a year,
+to hold the Feast, when those we work for have a feast every day, all
+the year round. Besides, we’ll all be here early to-morrow evening that
+we may dance altogether. Perhaps it’ll be the last time for many
+years.”
+
+“My dear Nanny,” said Tom to the younger sister, as she laid her head
+on his shoulder and wept, “what art a-cryan for? Thinkan about beean
+far away from father and mother, next year this time? Cheer up, my
+darling, for we shall soon have a comfortable home there and they will
+come to us, perhaps, before next Feast; who can tell? Older folks than
+they are going away to their children every day, and taking much longer
+voyages too. Come now, when over there thy Tom may hunt better game
+than any here, without so much as askan leave or licence, and you will
+make venison pasties instead of dry ‘fuggans’ or ‘hoggans.’”
+
+“Catch thy dears first,” said the teasing elder sister.
+
+“Well, Nelly,” replied he, “west a believe what Simon Mitchell wrote
+home? He’s only been there about two years and he said that he wouldn’t
+be home agen for the fee of Boscarn, and that workan men there may, and
+do, have turkeys on their tables oftener than we can get rabbits. Now
+I’ll tell thee, sister Nell,” continued he, rising and taking Nanny to
+the door, “ef I’d been in thy Honny’s place I’d jest say ef thee
+westn’t go thee may’st stay, and then we should hear another tune.”
+
+“Never mind her, Tom,” replied Hannibal, “es only that I may court her
+the more.”
+
+Soon after they had settled on a place to meet next morning with
+Jackey, the blooming damsels and their lovers left, with a promise to
+come again early to-morrow evening.
+
+Shortly after the young peoples’ departure Dick got out of his warm
+corner on the chimney-stool and said “Es time for me to be goan, for
+I’ve further to go than any of your other feasters.”
+
+“No, no,” said Mary, “stop over to-morrow and till servy day” (Feasten
+Wednesday) “if you will, and go with me and Grace to the fiddler, for I
+can shake my shoes in a three-handed reel yet and shall for years to
+come, I hope.”
+
+“I trust thee west,” said Jackey, “for my old grandmother danced of a
+Feasten Monday till she was eighty-two, and a better woman there never
+was. Now do ’e stop,” said he to the guest, “and keep a ‘Mazed Monday’
+for once. Master won’t mind et. Whilst I’m after the rabbits, only for
+a few hours, early in the morning, the boy will go with you to see the
+youngsters’ games. To be sure they arn’t kept up now like in old times
+when there was hurling and wrestling, and all the gentle folks of the
+parish came to see, or join in the sports; a hundred years ago there
+were many of their old family seats occupied by the owners (one may
+count five or six of them now, let as farm houses, at no great distance
+from the road leading through St. Just, from Sennen to Morvah,
+beginning with Brea and ending with Pendeen.) The prize-wrestling was
+left till Feasten Monday, the standards having been all made many weeks
+before hand. Though the weather was often bad and grass wet and
+slippery, the youngsters in their well barked canvas jackets, didn’t
+mind a trifle of mud, and the ladies encouraged their lovers’ or
+brothers’ manliness.
+
+“I’d like to stay and see anything like it now,” said Dick; “but our
+people have been expectan goods for a long time. Only yesterday the
+Furley came in and Captain Hosking es goan to have the cargo broken out
+to-morrow. So I must be home to stow our things in the warehouses; else
+I shall find everything in a ‘migle-cum-por’ (confusion or mess.) You
+see the weight of the business es upon my shoulders. How shud’na be,
+for I’ve ben weth our people all my life-time—, weth my present
+master’s father first, when I was no bigger than your boy Jackey; so I
+must love ’e and leave ’e, and you will be sure to come in and see me
+Madron Feasten Sunday won’t ’e Mary? You shall go to our grand Church
+and hear the organ. Lots of people go a purpose to hearn, and you’ll
+see grand folks and things sure nuf.”
+
+“Well, thank ’e,” said Mary, “I’d like to go very well, but don’t see
+how I can leave Jackey; he’d be like a fish out of water of a Sunday,
+home without me.”
+
+“Jackey must come too,” replied Dick, “and little Mary and John, ef you
+will.”
+
+“The four younger ones,” said Mary to her husband, “might be left with
+their grandmother, the same as to-day, ef she’ll be troubled weth them
+agen so soon, for I should dread to leave them here weth anybody but
+myself. They will be always playan weth the fire when they arn’t
+ploshan in the water, and our wood-corner is a dangerous one.”
+
+“Now I’ll tell ’e how you can manage et,” said Grace. “The Sunday I’ll
+come over early, to see that you are all to-rights, and the children
+shall go home weth me; then you can put out the fire, turn down the
+brandes on the bakan-ire, cross the fire-hook and prong, sweep up the
+hearthstone, put on it a basin of spring water, for the ‘Smale People
+(fairies) and good luck,’ like as the old folks ded, and some do still
+before leaving their houses shut up, then touch the cravel before
+crossing the drussel, lock the door, and away to Feast. I’ll come and
+see that you are all smart and tidy to go to Penzance Church and hear
+the organ. I’ll come over very early and titevate ’e off, for the
+credit of the parish, before you go to Penzance Feast to see grand
+people and things; and I’m sure you’ll be made very welcome weth
+Mr. Rostram.”
+
+“Oh cuss ’e,” cried Dick, “that esn’t my name; that’s a nickname some
+blackguards put upon me, years ago, and fools keep it up still. I’d as
+soon hear thunder.”
+
+“Oh laws,” sighed Gracey, “I ded’n know that, and have ben thinkan all
+day what a pretty name that es and how I shud like to be called by’n.”
+
+“Then take’n and welcome,” said Dick, going outside the door.
+
+“Stop a minute,” said Mary “for me to put on my bonnet and shawl;
+Jackey and I will go along wh’y to the North Road or farther.”
+
+They didn’t offer a parting dram, knowing that he had taken enough for
+his old crazy head to bear, nor try to detain him, lest Gracey might
+shoot more fools’ bolts. Among other talk, by the way, Dick remarked
+that the elder Morvah damsel seemed unwilling to leave home with the
+rest.
+
+“That’s only her way of teazing those best liked by her,” Mary replied,
+“ef Honney were less eager to go with Tom and Nancy then the other
+would urge him to go, for she likes her sister, and the two men have
+always been the same as twin brothers.”
+
+“And capital fellows they are,” said Jackey, “to get on in any land
+where their native tongue is known. Hannibal es as good a man for
+underground work as may be found; besides, he can do any rough
+carpenters’ work better than many who served a time to learn the trade,
+and can make a strong wall in the old fashion by laying the stones to
+bind each other, without mortar, like they were in our old castle
+walls, such as Choon; and Tom, besides beean a good miner es very handy
+with blacksmiths’ tools and so well acquainted with a fire-engine that
+he’s often trusted to work her, in place of the regular engineman.
+There’ll few be found in Yankey-land to beat them. And their intended
+wives can turn their hands to any kind of work fit for women.”
+
+“Well ef I’m never married in this world, I’ll never have old snuffy
+Gracey,” said Dick to himself. “How can one after seean such dear
+Morvah maidens?”
+
+“We’re on the great road now to Penzance,” said Jackey, “and I think,
+mate, that you’ll get home very well ef you don’t try to make any short
+cuts across the fields. The longest way round is often the shortest way
+home.”
+
+“Good night, and I wish ’e well,” said Dick. “You’r coman in to Madron
+Feast, and be sure you come early one and all of ’e.”
+
+After parting, Dick called back several times, “Be sure to come early
+Madron Feasten Sunday.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MILL STORIES.
+
+SUPPLEMENTARY TO HALLANTIDE.
+
+
+I remember being down in Uncle Oliver Pooley’s Mill, in Nancherrow
+Bottom, one afternoon about the time Dick Rostram went to St. Just
+feast. Two women were there awaiting their turn to serge their
+barley-meal. In making remarks about a new house that a neighbour of
+theirs had just built for himself, one of the women said to the other,
+“What do ’e think, cheeld-vean? They’ve got a planchan put down in the
+little room, t’other side of the ‘entry,’ and they cal’n a pare-lar,
+forsuth; why a es but a good hale and make the most of n. Aw, the pride
+of some folks who have jest got a sturt! Es enough to make one sick to
+think o’ them, cheeld-vean.” “Now hold thy clack: thee art sick with
+envy,” replied the one addressed in such endearing terms. “They have
+always minded their own business and ben careful enough to save the
+money to build a new house weth a planched parlour. Thee west like to
+have one thyself, I suppose. I shud, and hope I may one day, planched
+parlour and all. Then I’ll have a carpet for’n, to be comfortable in my
+old years. Now go and mind thy flour; es nearly all down. Thee west
+dearly like to be a witch,” continued the outspoken dame, “to put a
+spell of ill luck on thy neighbours and blast both man and beast, but
+thou artn’t crafty enow yet; but live in hopes that the devil will
+teach thee some day, for a es of women like thee that witches are
+made.”
+
+The woman thus reviled, then took her meal with no other sifting than
+what it had in the jigger, and went away without making any reply.
+
+Then the angry out-spoken one, turning towards An Polly, the old
+miller’s wife, said, “Ef that faggot hadn’t stopped her jaw I’d a
+chucked her, by asking her how the little pig was gettan on that her
+boys, weth their dog, chased into the peth t’other night, thinkan a
+belonged to somebody else. Have ’e heard the story, An Polly?”
+
+“No, nor I waant,” replied she, “for you are all alike in backbitan one
+another, and as great as inkle makers sometimes when you’ve got another
+woman to tear to pieces among ’e. I wish, for my part, that old Oliver
+could bear the mill-dust, and play the fiddle to set ’e all a dancing,
+while you’re waiting, like he used to, and like the mellar of Pendeen
+Mill do still, for you can’t be quiet a minute, and a es better to pass
+the time dansan than slanderan one t’other.”
+
+Lovey (Loveday) the daughter, came down from the mill-bed, as her
+mother went into the house. “Do tell me, An Jenny,” said she, “what a
+es about the pig.” “That woman,” replied An Jenny, “jest gone es as
+full of spite as an egg es full of meat. She didn’t know, or perhaps
+forgote, that those she sneered at were cousins to me; a good wey off
+to be sure they are, but blood es thicker than water, and when fourth
+cousins get well off they seem nearer than poor first cousins, or
+others. Well, I was goen to tell ’e how a neighbour’s pig can’t show es
+nose near her door, but a es sure to be scalped by havan a kettle full
+of boilan water thrown over am; and her ashes’ pile, close to her door,
+es always covered weth pieces of sour half-sooked barley fuggans, left
+to go sour and vinneyed; with fish and other things left to go stale
+and stinkan. Pigs have good noses, poor things, and when out to lanes
+will come and muzzle-up the ashes to get at any offal. One night last
+week a neighbour’s boys, whose pig had often ben ill-used,—sometimes
+burnt over head and ears weth a showl full of turfey fire, when she had
+no water boilan,—watched to find the way clear when she was gone out to
+‘coursey’ until et was time for her to get supper for Bill and the two
+boys when they come home from bal. The boys whipped into the crow where
+Bill’s little white pig had a few days before been put to feed agenst
+wenter, and they so smeered et with gudgeon gress [4] and soot that a
+looked jest like one of the new sort of black pigs. Soon after, when
+they saw light in Bill’s house, they turned his pig out and bolted the
+crow door. A few minutes after the boys who painted Bill’s pig heard’n
+screechan and seed’n tearan round the town-place like mad, till he got
+between his crow and the turf-rick and there stopt. P’raps you dont
+know what a trap Billy’s peeth es, and more dangerous than before a
+hedge was made close to one end ofn; the broad, flat stone in which the
+winze-‘millar’ do work es built into this new hedge, and the
+hook-handle on another broad stone weth the peeth between, only
+half-covered weth a few loose, broken pieces of old bal tember. After
+the poor pig had been there a few minutes Bill’s boys, as ugly as their
+mother, came home, and their snappish cur found the pig and gave chase
+to’n; it run’d slap up agen the hedge and tried to turn, but, bean
+nearly ef not quite blind, and the dog bitean es hinder parts, tha poor
+little thing in tryan to scramble over the peeth fell into’n. Now they
+were for life to get ropes, and a ladder to take up the pig lest they
+got into trouble; they were hours in bringen the pig to grass, and
+dedn’t find out tell next day that it was their own!
+
+“Whatever An Polly may say,” continued Jenny, after pausing a moment to
+take snuff, “I never say anything but the truth about anybody. I pity
+them sometimes, from my very heart, and when I go to meetan pray that
+the Lord may give them grace to turn from their wicked ways; and I
+can’t help pittyan Billy even now that I think what a wisht feast a had
+last year, and don’t suppose he’ll have any this.”
+
+“Stop a minute,” said Lovey, “I must turn off the water from the
+mill-wheel.”
+
+“Now tell us about Billy’s feast,” said Lovey, on seating herself, “and
+we won’t interrupt ’e.”
+
+“You know both of ’e and everybody else here-abouts,” said An Jenny,
+“than ef a San Juster don’t keep up the feast in some way jest as a can
+he’s looked down on and jeered at.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A POOR TINNER’S FEAST.
+
+
+Bill killed his pig, which wasn’t half fat,—not so good to kill as many
+running the lanes. He took one side to market and left the other
+hanging in his kitchen. Now Halan Market es the west (worst) in the
+year for sellan pork; so many Santusters’ poor lean trash are there
+that they keep down the price, and people who want good pork seldom
+come to that market. Bill made a few shillans, laid out a trifle in a
+bit of beef, and kept the rest to pay off a little of his long score at
+the shop in churchtown, that he might be trusted agen. In the Green
+Market he met a Zennor man who had been an old comrade of his. He
+invited him over for feasten Sunday. He didn’t wait to be asked twice
+before he promised to come early.
+
+Whilst Bill was away, Mary Ann began upon the side of pork, hanging up
+in the kitchen; cut off a sliver from the back, put the baker upon the
+brandes, and fried away. Before she was satisfied, there was a great
+hole made in the side. Then, when the boys came home from bal, they
+fried again; and, believe me, they weren’t satisfied before nearly half
+the side was cut off, except the bones. Then, when Bill came home, she
+had to cut into the leg to have a little for his supper. By Saturday
+night there was nothing left of the pig but thin flaps of belly-pieces,
+one shoulder, and pile of bones. She was puzzled to contrive a feasten
+dinner out of that for a hungry Zennor man, who would eat the bit of
+beef and look over his shoulder for more! At length she determined to
+make a pie of all the odds and ends she sould scrape off the bones, the
+thin bits of skin from the belly, and other scraps.
+
+Now, you know, one may make a pie of a’most anything and pascen off for
+what one will. If she could have got plenty of parsley she might have
+passed’n off for a veal-and-paasley pie, she thought; because Zennor
+folks never get any better veal than “staggering bob” (a calf killed
+before it can stand steady.) The pie was baked, bit of beef cooked, and
+plenty of petates boiled (whether there was cabbage or turnips I can’t
+say;) when two Zennor men arrived and were ready for dinner.
+
+“This es my cousin Mathey,” said the man invited, pushing the other
+forward; “he’s come for company to me, and he’s one of our best
+singers. Es late now for church, I spose, but he will sing to ’e after
+denner, for we’ve none better than Mathey for singan that pretty psalm
+about the precious ointment runnan down from Aaron’s beard to the
+skirts of his coat, or t’other pretty one about a timmersome bird.”
+Bill said nothing, for he knew that Zennor men think themselves welcome
+to feast or funeral, for the sake of their singing.
+
+They soon finished the bit of beef; then Mary Ann helped them to pie;
+and even these goats of Zennor men, whose diet when home es fish and
+potates every day of the week and conger-pie of a Sunday for a change,
+turned up their noses at the mess of “glit” she put on their plates;
+then they tried the pie-crust, and found that too dry and hard, though
+they arn’t particular, as they get nothing but conger-fat put in their
+cakes and pie-crust at home; that will make them eat short enuf ef
+somewhat nasty. They stopped to have a cup of tea, but that was hardly
+coloured, except with the scaled milk and brown sugar; and the cake she
+made with scroves (remains of lard which has been melted), the only fat
+left. How she could ever manage to bake anything so as to know when et
+was ready I can’t tell, I’m sure, for she hadn’t so much as a
+hour-glass to keep time.
+
+Well, the two feasters couldn’t be without seean what a bad plight Bill
+was in, and all through his wife’s bad management; they took pity upon
+am, and, when passan the Square on their way home, asked him into “The
+Kings Arms,” and treated am to a glass or two of beer.
+
+So much for Bills feast last year, and this they’ll have none at all.
+
+An Jenny took the meal, which the miller’s daughter had serged for her,
+and brought it to the door. On her coming into the light I noticed that
+her dress was different from that usually worn by working women.
+Instead of a bed-gown, skirt, and check apron, or a “towser,” she was
+attired in a long-waisted gown and kirtle over a quilted petticoat, all
+of some dark stuff. Her abundant grey hair was turned back over a pad,
+or cushion, which was crossed by her cap-border, also turned back on a
+broad ribbon around her head; and a small silk hat, fixed jauntily on
+one side, finished her head-dress. She also wore a necklace of curious,
+old-fashioned green and red flowered beads, coated with clear white
+glass, and large hooped-shaped earrings.
+
+Her figure was remarkably tall, slim, and upright, and her face what is
+usually called long-featured, with a high forehead, straight nose, and
+pointed chin.
+
+“Polly would like to set the mill-women a dancing,” said she; “and I
+han’t forgotten all my steps yet, as you shall see.” Holding out her
+dress she then showed off several dancing steps with much liveliness,
+and was preparing for others when the dame of the mill opened the door
+from her dwelling, and called out, “Come ’e along in, do, like a good
+boy, I’ve had a cake baked and tea made this ever so long.” The
+sprightly old damsel then took her bag of meal and went away.
+
+Young Oliver, being gone to buy corn of the neighbouring farmers, and
+having to await his return, I was glad to pass the time with An Polly.
+The dwelling-room, entered from the mill, was a long one, with a large
+open fireplace at the inner end; a small side window near it. All the
+room was either in strong light or deep shadow, and this old building
+of the mill and dwelling together, both within and without, afforded
+good subjects for an artist.
+
+“Well, I should think you liked Miss Jenefer (Genevere) and her stories
+better than tea; for I’ve called ’e ever so many times. What had she to
+say about Mary Ann’s boys chasean a pig into a peeth?”
+
+Having told An Polly what Jenefer said about it, and of Bill’s poor
+feast, “May the Lord forgive the old faggot!” said she, “I never can.
+Only to think she should make out that one of her parish wed ever be
+treated by a Zennor man in his own Churchtown, and on the Feasten
+Sunday too. No, Bill wed eat’s hat rather than suffer such a disgrace
+as that. Her whole story es made out of an old ‘bam’ told in other
+parishes about poor tinners tryan to keep up the feast as best they
+cud. Can ’e tell whose new house they were talkan about when she got
+into her ‘fegary’ weth the poor woman she abused so?”
+
+“I didn’t hear any name mentioned,” I replied; “they were talkan about
+a planched parlour when I entered the mill; yet, from what Jenny
+afterwards said, it’s one of her relations.”
+
+“Her relations,” returned An Polly, “she han’t got a near one in the
+world, nor has she ever had one since she was left an orphan when quite
+a child. Then the nearest she had were the two old ladies of Kellinack,
+who took her as their own; they were only her grandfather’s sisters;
+and then, when she was about thirteen, with those old ladies she must
+have heard scores of such stories. Where she could find any kindred
+near enow to be called relations when her great aunts died, I can’t
+tell. Yet if you believe her, all the old families of the parish are
+her kindred; most of them poor folks, whose forefathers owned lands in
+the parish; there are such sudden ups-and-downs here that some of the
+Ellises may have made a sturt and be building a house. By her account,
+and theirs as well, they are all from the same family as the owner of
+Brea. She says too that the Veals, now all very poor, once owned much
+lands in this parish and Sancras; so they must be her cousins, of
+course.
+
+Yet Mary Ann thought to curry favour weth the crazy old thing by
+speakan with scorn of such as the other would term upstarts, when none
+of her kindred, to get knittan or spinan done for her.
+
+Now, when Jenefer do have a tiff with anyone, she’ll rake up all the
+old defaming stories she ever heard, turn them upside down or inside
+out, till she can make them fit to her mind, and then fix them on any
+one disliked by her.
+
+That story of a woman scaldan her own painted pig, and her boys chasan
+of’n into a peeth was told about a spiteful woman before Mary Ann was
+born or thought of. ’Tes merely an old droll, such as used to be told
+of winters’ nights. When such stories were in vogue people regarded
+them as fables, by which none but fools would be deceived; and from
+them much worth rememberan was learnt. Now I’ll tell ’e the old droll,
+told in other parishes, of the poor tinner’s feast, that you may see
+the changes made by Miss Jenefer.
+
+“Yet they are no greater,” continued the old dame, after taking a pinch
+of snuff, “than were purposely made by old story-tellers, and looked
+for by their hearers, when the same drolls were often repeated of
+winters’ nights.”
+
+Having told An Polly that I would much like to hear more of the old
+ladies of Kellinack, as I’d often heard them spoken of, but never by
+any one who remembered them well. “Ef I once begin to talk about these
+old dears,” said she, “I shall never know where to stop; ask Uncle John
+Williams, the old man of Dowran, you know am very well, and he can tell
+more about them than anybody else. Uncle John, when a youngster, used
+to keep their garden in order, plant their beds of peppermint, sow
+summer savory; and often go with them to collect herbs for distillan
+and makean ointments.
+
+“They much liked to doctor their neighbours, and themselves too; though
+there was nothing in the world amiss with them. Yet they were very
+skilful, and made better  [5]skawdower ointment than one cud get
+anywhere else. That salve, of their makean, was better than any
+doctor’s stuff for curean a skin disease which was very common in their
+time, when people lived more on salt pork and fish than they do now,
+and had but little greens, or any other garden sass. Often enow then ef
+poor people hadn’t fish, it was
+
+
+   “Pease-porridge hot, pease-porridge cold,
+    Pease-porridge in the crock nine days old.”
+
+
+“They made an excellent eye-salve, too, with cellandine, that growed
+about on their old garden walls; and people came from miles away to get
+a bit of it for sore eyes.
+
+“The old dears left Miss Jenny a great oak chest full of grand old
+fashioned cloathes, more than she can ever wear out ef she shud live to
+be as old as Methuselah.
+
+“They are much too fine for common use, and only fit for one who may
+sit down all day long like
+
+
+   “The King up in his chamber, countan of his money,
+    Or the Queen in her parlour eatan bread and honey.”
+
+
+“Why didn’t ’e invite Miss Jenny to take a cup of tea too?” I asked.
+“She tea! she can’t abide’n,” replied An Polly; “that’s one of her
+whimsies, some people say; she’s very welcome, I’m sure.
+
+“Nearly all her diet is gerty-milk. She will trot away miles to get a
+few gallons of pillas, [6]—over along to Morvah, or Zennor, because few
+people grow et now in St. Just. She do manage et the same as olk folk
+always ded. Two or three quarts of the grain es damped, weth her, at a
+time; then put into a small tray; kept a purpose, till its beginning to
+‘cheeny’” (to show signs of being ready to sprout.) “The tray es put
+upon her chimney-stool, where et may have a little warmth. As soon as
+there’s the least sign of the pillas bean ready to throw out a shoot
+it’s put into a ‘baker’ on a slow fire, and stirred all the time till
+well dried and ‘scroched’ a little. Roastan of pillas es a very nice
+job, that but few can be trusted to do; yet it’s worth all the labour.
+The change made in the grain, for the better, wedn’t be believed by
+anybody not acquainted weth it.
+
+“It must be left to ‘cheeney’ only till the grains become sweet and
+‘plum’ (soft) enough to crush between one’s finger and thumb. When
+roasted and spread out on a cloth to cool Miss Jenny’s plan es to put a
+handful or two at a time into as pretty a little moorstone traff
+(trough) as ever eyes ded see and pound’n till crushed fine enow—the
+‘crusher’ es a handy ‘bowl’ (pebble) picked up from the sea-shoar.
+
+“You ought to see her beautiful little pillas-traff; et will only hold
+about a gallon; es as smooth as a basen inside and out; and es so light
+that one can move ’n about with ease. Miss Jenny had’n boft from
+Kellinack, where et had been used for hundreds of years for the same
+purpose. Old people used to take much the same plan weth their pillas;
+they are too lazy now, and buy oatmeal from shops, or thicken their
+milk with barley-flour; yet neither of them is half so good as the
+pillas-gerts that used to be grown by most everybody here who had a few
+acres of land. There was much other good food made with pillas, the
+gerts, mind ’e, always prepared as I’ve told ’e; et made a nicer baked
+puddan than flour or rice. Above all, a little ov’n was often used to
+help out malt, when good old housewives wanted to have their ale extra
+strong.
+
+“At length—and that was jest as far back as I can remember—the cussed
+excisemen interfered with old women puttan their pillas to ‘cheeney.’
+I’ve heard Miss Jenefer say that her Aunts and others detested them
+more than they ded the press-gang. Excisemen were all ‘foreigners’
+(strangers to the county) then, for no West Country man wed belong to
+such a crew. They wed come about, every now and then, mostly when the
+men were away to bal, and rummage every hole and corner in search of
+bay salt, [7] liquor, and other goods, brought from over sea by the
+poor men, at the risk of their lives; and ef they found ever so little
+pillas-gerts, et was seized and a fine threaten’d, for they caled’n
+malt.
+
+“Besides, I’m afraid that we shan’t have a little coarse salt brought
+here again, by the fisher-women, at a reasonable price for a long time;
+the excisemen have found out that there are trap-hatches in the floors
+of nearly all dwellans where the fisher folk live—over cellars. When
+the way was clear, the fisher-women drawed up salt with bags and lines.
+Now ‘all the fat es in the fire;’ a heedless harum-scarum fool of a
+woman hurred away to meetan without takan care to see that the
+hatch-boards were down snug upon the beams. Whilst she was out, the
+exciseman, going his rounds, entered the cellar and saw the
+contrivance. On puttan hes head up through the hatch, he saw that all
+the sand, with which the floor had been covered, was swept away and a
+good lot of salt left on the floor. On examinan other dwellans, over
+fish-cellars, he found trap-hatches in nearly all of them. There’s ben
+the devil of a row amongst them ever sence; all the other women are
+ready to kill that thoughtless fool; and—serve her right. I pray to
+goodness that they may soon find some other way to fool the plague of
+an exciseman, I do.
+
+“You know seine-owners are allowed what salt they require to cure their
+fish, duty free. They seldom use all their stock and know what es——”
+
+“Mother! Mother!” cried Lovey, “stop do, tellan about the excisemen;
+never fear but the Bay women will be a match for them yet. You are
+gettan all crankey because we have but little ‘fair-trade’ now; yet
+live in hopes that times will mend, and tell us the old droll that Miss
+Jenny twisted into her story of Bill’s feast.”
+
+Over a while An Polly became more tranquil and told us the following
+story, which she called “a mere bam of a Droll.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD DROLL ABOUT A POOR TINNER’S FEAST.
+
+
+What the miller’s wife said of the old “droll” about a tinner’s feast
+was to the following effect:—
+
+A poor tinner was determined to keep his parish feast as well as he
+could, that he mightn’t be looked down on, and sneered at by his
+comrades. He killed his pig before it was as fat as it should be; sold
+one side in Hallantide market; and left the other home to be put in the
+“kool” against winter. A piece of beef and other things were bought to
+keep a decent feast. The tinner whilst stopping at the Market Cross, in
+the Green Market, fell in with a Zennor man who had been an old
+comrade. The Santuster asked him into the public-house to take a pint,
+and they had pint upon pint, all at the tinner’s cost; the other never
+once offered to stand treat; yet the tinner was so glad to have met his
+old mate that he invited him over to feast, and the other said he’d
+come, with a half a word of asking.
+
+The tinner’s wife put all the pork left at home in salt, except the
+“leans,” and saved them to make a good pie the Feasten Sunday. She made
+the “hinges” (liver and light) and other things serve them till then.
+
+On Feasten Day the beef was boiled with such vegetables as were liked
+in broth; and dumplings made of great Hallan apples; a good “leans of
+pork pie” and “figgy” pudding baked. She had made a good cake on
+Feasten Eve; and that, when cold, had been placed upon a shelf over the
+window, just opposite the table.
+
+They waited a good bit after their usual dinner-time, and, no feaster
+having arrived, the tinner began to think he might have promised to
+come on the Monday (he didn’t remember clearly what passed between them
+in the public-house;) so his wife laid by the beef, the pie, and the
+pudding till next day, in case the feasters might then come, so as to
+be provided for them. They made their own dinner, and a very good one
+too, of broth and the apple dumplings.
+
+When she was going to take the table-cloth off, in came the Zennor man
+and his wife. The tinner thought then he must have asked his old mate
+to bring her. Next came in half-a-dozen or more children. “Thusey
+(these) arn’t all mine,” said the feaster; “some of ‘themey’ are her
+sisters cheldran” pointing to his wife; “but they cried to go to feast
+too, as their cousins were goan.”
+
+The tinner’s wife said nothing, and the children took the window-seat,
+without telling, that being their place at home.
+
+All the tinner’s children had gone away out to play with their
+companions. The feaster and his wife being seated on the form outside
+the table, the beef, pork-pie, and such vegetables as were then in use
+were placed on the board.
+
+“You needn’t cut away the beef for the cheldran,” said the Zennor man,
+“give them a basin of brath a piece.”
+
+“No, we waan’t have brath,” cried the youngsters, “for we’ll have flesh
+too.”
+
+In short, beef and pie were soon served out and devoured. The tinner’s
+wife had, happily, kept her pudding in the spence out of sight, when
+she found that her feasters would neither eat bread nor vegetables with
+their meat. On turnips, carrots, and cabbage being offered them, “No,
+no, thank ’e, all the same,” said they, “for we’ve plenty of ‘themey’
+home: we can eat the fat with the lean, and the whole will go down
+together, honey sweet.”
+
+There was nothing left on the table, in the way of meat, but the
+beef-bones, almost bare.
+
+The pie was all eaten, and the children were licking out the dish, as
+they did at home, when in came an old couple and seated themselves on a
+bench at the lower end of the board.
+
+“We arn’t come to feast,” said the old man, “for we wern’t asked, and
+we’ve had dennar hours ago; but granny couldn’t rest for thinkan about
+the cheldran, fearan they might run into shafts and other dangerous
+places over this way. After you have all finished your dennar, we’ll
+sing to ’e, for I and the old oman both belong to our Church choir.
+
+“You know, I spose, that Zennor people have always been famous singers,
+and et must be long ago when a meremaid left the sea, changed her
+shape, and came to Church, dressed like a lady, all to hear our
+singers. She ‘comed,’ Sunday after Sunday, and singed so sweet herself
+that she, at last, enticed away a young fellow called Mathey Trewella,
+son to the church’warn, and neither of them have ever ben sen
+sence—that es, upon land, for I waan’t tell ’e a word of a lie and know
+et. You’ve heard, I spose, that in rememberance of this meremaid, her
+form, as sen in the sea, or of another like her, was carved on the
+bench-end on which she sat and singed so sweet right opposite Trewella
+up in the singan-laft (gallery); and even our cheldran are born
+singers, as you shall hear bem by, you shall.”
+
+“We want more flesh, granfer, we do,” cried the young singers.
+
+“And seeman to me, I cud eat a mouthful of beef, too,” said granny; “ef
+you cud cut a little off themey bones. I like to pick the bones, for
+you know we say the nearer the bone the sweeter the flesh.”
+
+The tinner placed a pewter platter, with all that remained of the beef,
+before this dear old couple: then the old man took from his pocket a
+clasp knife and scraped the bones, when the youthful singers again
+cried, “We want more flesh, granny, we haan’t had half enough.”
+
+The old grandame, in her eagerness to clutch the scrapings, got her
+fingers cut, and slapped the old man’s face with her bloody hand. The
+tinner’s wife had a tender heart, poor woman; and, being grieved to
+hear the children crying, put a “baker” on the “brandes,” took from the
+bussa (earthen crock) a piece of nice streaky pork, and fried it for
+them.
+
+Just then it was that the younger Zennor woman, in looking about for
+something more, spied the feasten cake, on a shelf over the window.
+
+“Whatever ded ’e put that cake there, right in my sight for?” cried
+she, turning round to the tinner’s wife, and then said to her own
+husband, sitting beside her; “Hold my hands behind my back, do, that I
+mayn’t touch myself anywhere in sight till I’ve had a piece of that
+cake; for fear I mark the cheeld weth that cake. I’m in as bad a
+condition now as the poor oman who langed for treacle, and dipped the
+twopenny loaf she had in her hand, into a barl of tar, and dedn’t find
+out her mistake till she had eaten nearly all the bread,—her mind was
+so runan upon treacle, poor dear oman.”
+
+The cake was at once taken down and cut up. The feasters all, young and
+old, wanted a piece, and nothing of it was left—not even the “bruyans”
+(crumbs.) Then the youthful singers cried again because their bellies
+ached.
+
+“Don’t ’e cry, my dears,” said their granny, “the ‘quaffan’
+(fulsomeness) will pass away when on the road home; hush dears, we
+shan’t stop much longer.”
+
+When they had sat to eat, drink, and “squat” (stuff themselves) till
+they were ready to burst, they all straddled away as fast as they were
+able with the heavy loads they bore in their stomachs, and without so
+much as once asking the tinner to their own feast in return.
+
+“Now, any one with a grain of gumption may see,” said the old miller’s
+wife, “how Jenefer made up her story out of this old ‘bam,’ just like
+the actors in a guise-dance changing parts. The passon do say that our
+drolls and guise-dances are hundreds of years old, and well worth
+preserving.”
+
+It appeared, from what the old miller’s wife afterwards said that Miss
+Jenefer was crazy on the subject of her kindred, and that she had none
+so near as to be called relations. If any persons crossed her, when
+mounted on this hobby, she would go at them, “full tilt,” like she did
+at the poor woman who spoke scornfully of a “planched” parlour, or of
+its owners, whom the crazed old damsel claimed as her kinsfolk.
+
+Yet most people liked the old maid very well and humoured her whims, as
+far as they could remember them.
+
+Like a true Santuster she’ll never bear a “coresy” (a grudge, or
+ill-will) against anybody for long, but have it out and be friends.
+Besides she’s just as good a story-teller as the old blind droll teller
+and ballad-singer, Anthoney James, who takes a turn round the county
+every summer, and passes the winters in Plymouth, with other old
+pensioners. When living there he is often fetched to gentlemen’s houses
+where there is company who like to hear him tell his “Drake Droll,” and
+sing old ballads all about Sir Francis and privateering.
+
+The arrival of An Polly’s big happy-looking son put an end to her
+stories, for the time.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A MADRON FEAST OF FIFTY YEARS AGO.
+
+
+It may be remembered that Dick Rostram, on taking leave of Mary Angwin
+and her husband, on his return from St. Just feast, asked them to come
+to feast with him at Madrontide; and be sure and come early, that they
+might go to Church and hear the organ. Mary knew where he lived in Back
+Lane, as she had often noticed his little dwelling when going to Mr.
+Luke’s brewery for barm. But Dick saw nothing of them in the three
+weeks between the two Tides. Jackey and Mary had expended more money in
+providing for their feast than would have served them a month, in their
+usual frugal way of living; and Christmas being near, bringing with it
+bills to be paid, they lived very carefully, in the interval, buying
+the few groceries they wanted in Churchtown.
+
+Dick, too, was much occupied and busier than he needed to have been,
+owing to his conceit that unless he had a hand in almost every kind of
+work going on in the establishment to which he belonged it would be
+badly done. When the warehouses were arranged to his mind he would go
+into the shop, to see if he were wanted there; if there was nothing
+else to do he would take a bundle of Moore’s Almanacks, containing his
+master’s advertisements, and away out in the market, calling them. But
+this was more an excuse for talking with any one who came in his way
+than anything else. If Dick met nobody to chat with, he would talk to
+himself for hours together, practising crabbed questions and answers.
+
+Then, before the time of wholesale drug-millers, every druggist made
+his own preparations, and his apprentices had often something like real
+work, in using the pestle and mortar, if there were no other person to
+do it.
+
+Dick, from long practice, had great dexterity in using the pestle and
+thought the young men of the shop spoiled the drugs by their irregular
+action and feebleness of arm; and the youngsters encouraged a conceit
+which led to their own ease.
+
+Dick felt proud when pounding things that might kill or cure, and
+thought himself an important member of the medical profession. In
+working up resinous gums he would beat slowly, at first, that they
+might’n warm by the friction, repeating to himself the words “linger
+and live” to keep time. The sticky substances being pounded and mixed
+with dryer things, he’d sing a lively old ballad and keep time with the
+pestle. Getting louder as he proceeded, the chemist’s big bell-metal
+mortar would be heard ringing merrily all over the Market-place, as he
+hammered away and sung until the drugs were sufficiently worked.
+
+Dick’s mouth always kept in motion with the pestle, just like a
+fiddler’s with his bow. The master humoured his cranky ways when not
+too troublesome, and, in return, he always confirmed what his master
+said, though he knew nothing whatever about the matter; but that only
+made it the more generous of this old jewel of a servant, by showing
+his undoubting faith in his master’s words.
+
+Madron Feasten Eve was, as usual, a very busy time in shops, and the
+one to which Dick belonged dealing in groceries and other articles, as
+well as drugs, customers kept coming until very late, and, by the time
+he got home, had drunk a small bottle of porter, which was his custom
+of a Saturday night, and went to bed, it was past midnight. “But never
+mind,” said Dick, in closing an outside shutter to his bedroom window,
+“this blessed shutter will keep out the daylight, and I’ll have a good
+long snooze in the morning.” The ground making a rapid descent from
+Back-lane to Market-jew-street, Dick’s bedroom window was only a few
+feet above the road, and his bed near it.
+
+An hour or more before most working men in Penzance are accustomed to
+rise of a Sunday morning, Dick was disturbed by a knocking on his
+window-shutter. “Hallo, you stupid thing,” cried he, “hast a forgotten
+the day of the week? Go thee way’st to ‘milky,’ I don’t want to rise
+for hours yet.” He thought, or dreamt, that the noise was made by a
+girl going to milk the cows, kept in a shed near, and who was in the
+habit of rousing him on week days, by his request, as she passed if the
+shutters were closed.
+
+Whilst he was still muttering something about a fool of a woman, Mary
+stepped back from the window and said to Jackey, just behind, “Aw, what
+fools we were to hurry away so early; there’s nobody down yet any where
+in town that I can see but the bakers; we arn’t expected, I suppose.”
+“Fools, sure enough,” returned Jackey, “instead of hearing the organ we
+are come to hear Dick snoaring, but I don’t think he was awake. Knock
+again, and speak to’n; he’ll know your voice.” Over a few minutes she
+tapped on the shutter again. “Why I’ve told thee,” said Dick, “that I
+don’t want to rise yet; go along home.” “Why, hav’e forgotten that you
+asked me to feast?” said Mary, in a tremulous voice. “Asked ’e to
+feast, ded I, perhaps I ded,” replied Dick; “I’ve asked scores, I bla,
+merely for the sake of asking, and that they might have it to say they
+feel proud to tell their neighbours how they have been invited to
+Penzance to feast, but you ought to know ’tes manners to ask and
+manners to refuse.” “There now, think of that for a change,” said Mary
+to her husband, “lev us begone home again. The little cake I brought in
+will serve us for a stay-stomach till we get to New Bridge and have
+something more.” “We’ll do no such thing,” returned he; “I am’at
+without a few shillings in my pocket; lev us begone to the old
+public-house where we always put up and leave there this couple of
+rabbits that I’ve brought in for Dick.” “No, no, le’s begone before the
+people throng the streets. I’d rather be on the top of Dry Carn than in
+the best house in this town.” “Sa, sa,” said Jackey, “I’ve a good mind
+to try again mysel and make sure that he’s awake; he may be just like I
+am sometimes of a Sunday morning, after a drop too much of a Saturday
+night: the third time may be lucky.”
+
+Saying this he gave some thundering blows with his stick on the
+shutter, and bellowed out “Dick, art a wakean yet, my sonny? Get up and
+see who’s here, or, by golls, I’ll smash thy confounded shutter.” “Lord
+help me, as I’m a sinner,” cried Dick, “why that’s Jackey’s voice; I’ll
+be down in a jiffy, my son; where’s Mary? Open the court door and come
+in.” “We tried that door first and found’n barred,” replied Jackey.
+
+By the time the feasters reached the yard-door they heard Dick shouting
+“I’m coming, Mary,” whilst hurriedly washing face and hands.
+
+Dick unbarred the door, and welcomed them heartily.
+
+“I deserve a sound kolpan (beating with rope’s end) for laying a bed so
+late,” said he, “and forget it’s Feasten Sunday, and that you would be
+in early.” “Here, take these instead,” said Jackey, laying the rabbits
+across Dick’s shoulder; “hang them up and they will keep for days, as
+they were killed only yesterday.” “Take a dram and cake, first thing,”
+said the delighted host, putting a bottle of rum, some cake, and
+glasses on the table, to make them drink and eat whilst lighting his
+fire.
+
+Tea being made, and bread, butter, and cheese placed on the table, Dick
+took a jug and said “I’m going to the ‘Golden Lion’ (inn) for milk;
+it’s always taken up there for me; the landlady is a good woman as ever
+lived; she’s just such another as her sister out in your Churchtown.”
+
+When Dick’s back was turned, Mary put the cake she brought for him into
+his cupboard and told him nothing about it. Shortly he returned with
+milk and a large plate, heaping full of boiled ham. “The dear mistress
+cut this ham herself,” said he, “on my telling her that I’d feasters
+from St. Just. Now you must turn to and make a hearty breakfast.” “I’ve
+slept late, sure ’nuf, this morning,” said Dick, “though a woman, in
+going to milky, called me, as usual with her on week day mornings; but
+I slept soundly again till Jackey roused me out of bed. The bakers will
+have their oven hot shortly, and I must take our dinner there to be
+cooked; that bake-house is a blessing to people living near it. Making
+sure you’d be in, I got a pair of ducks and a piece of beef, and we’ll
+have a rabbit-pie too.”
+
+“Then keep the ducks or beef till another day,” said Mary, “we don’t
+want three dishes unless you expect more feasters.” “We’ll have them
+all three,” returned Dick, “and eat what we like best; I don’t expect
+anybody else.”
+
+An hour or so before noon the pie was made, ducks and beef, with
+potatoes to roast, were put on tins all ready for the oven, when Dick
+and his two feasters marched off to the bake-house, each one taking a
+dish.
+
+The feasters wondered to see so much to be cooked, and however the
+bakers would contrive to dress all the geese, ducks, and other things,
+as Mary remarked on their return. “Now arn’t they good fellows, to work
+so hard on a Sunday, that we poor folks may have a holiday then?” said
+Dick. “Nearly all the neighbours who haven’t the new-fashioned
+contrivances, called slabs, send their meat to the bakehouse, though
+they say of some bakers, but not of ours, that
+
+
+   ‘They cut the meat both ready and raw,
+    Skim the fat, and pinch the dough;’
+
+
+and one can’t blame them if they take a little, now and then, for
+working so hard of a Sunday.”
+
+“They well deserve it, poor fellows,” said Jackey, “I’d rather work to
+bal for my part.”
+
+Public ovens being heated with furze, bakers had a very laborious
+occupation; and, almost all their customers having ducks or geese at
+Madrontide, made it much harder at that particular season.
+
+The old bachelor, anxious to entertain his visitors handsomely, was “as
+busy as a hen with one chick,” and his restlessness made them
+uncomfortable. On coming in he placed on the table tobacco and new long
+pipes; then, thinking he ought to have a pudding, he proceeded to get
+the materials for making one, till Mary stopped him by saying he should
+do nothing of the sort, as what they had taken to the bakehouse would
+be a capital dinner without it.
+
+“Sit thee down, mate,” said Jackey, “and touch pipe a bit; lev Mary do
+the rest about dinner.”
+
+At last he sat down for a few minutes, and Jackey said, “This es a
+comfortable little place, large enough for one man and a cat; it’s like
+a town house on this side; looking downwards you see plenty of walls
+and roofs, with a glimpse of sky, and have the morning sun, when
+there’s any going; that’s as much as one can expect in town; and, on
+’tother side, it’s like being in the country with green fields all the
+way up from Leskenack, and trees growing on the hedge and overhanging
+the lane.”
+
+“Aye, I’m better off here by far,” replied the happy occupier of two
+small rooms, “than hundreds who live in other parts of the town where
+the old gardens and courts are built on with dwellings for poor people,
+who are glad to get under a roof anywhere near their work.”
+
+When Dick thought his dinner ready, he and his guests fetched it from
+the bakehouse, each bearing a dish.
+
+Vegetables had been boiled and ale fetched in the meanwhile. Having
+good appetites they enjoyed their dinner and praised the bakers.
+
+Whilst drinking their toddy, and the men smoking, in the afternoon,
+Dick asked, between puffs, if Mary knew how Conny Trevail’s pig was
+come? “Why I never heard there was anything amiss with n,” replied she,
+“and I saw long-legged Conny, as we call her, yesterday, gadding about
+from house to house, as usual, to hear and tell the news, her clothes
+all in ‘skethans’ (strips), and one would think she liked them so, for
+she’ll never sew up a ‘skate’ (rent) so long as the pieces hang
+together; and her stockings (never darned) have the holes dragged
+together, tell their tops won’t reach her garters. But what made you
+ask about her pig?” In reply Dick told the story which follows,
+somewhat abridged.
+
+“On the last Thursday Conny came into the druggist’s shop, in great
+‘stroath’ (fussy haste), her hair all hanging about her face, her
+bonnet tied down weth a ‘nackan’ (handkerchief) and cloak all on one
+shoulder.
+
+“Going to the master, she asked if he could give her anything to do her
+pig good. ‘What’s the matter weth n?’ asked he in return. ‘Es like a
+thing bewitched,’ said Conny, ‘a’ll neither live nor die, and the best
+mait I can give n es all muzzled out of the ‘traff’ weth n, and es gone
+to skin and bone. I knaw a was begrudged to me when I was in price for
+n. I was in two minds when I left home whether a was best to go to the
+‘pellar’ or come to you, but now I’m here I’ll try what you can do.’
+
+“‘You can have something that may bring the pig to an appetite,’ said
+the druggist, ‘ef you give it as I’ll direct ’e.’
+
+“Having put up some powders, he told Conny she must thoroughly clean
+the pig’s trough, wash it out, and have it sweet; then give the pig
+fresh food, and a little of the powders, two or three times a day. ‘The
+medicine comes to sixpence.’
+
+“‘Gracious me; es a lot of money,’ said she, ‘and are ’e sure a’ll do
+the pig good.’ ‘I can tell ’e as truly as if I’d been a conjuror,’
+answered the druggist, ‘that if you do as I’ve told ’e, by next
+Thursday this time your pig will either be better or worse, or much the
+same.’ ‘Aw, thank’e sar,’ said Conny, ‘I’ll pay the money with a good
+heart, now you’ve told me that.’
+
+“The druggist having taken the money went into the house. Now Dick had
+been at the mortar all the time, but pounding easily, that he might
+hear what passed, and get in a word if he found the chance.
+
+“Conny turned to leave the shop, but, seeing Dick, she came over to him
+with the drugs in her hand, and said, ‘Dost a think, you, that this
+‘trade’ ‘ll do any good at all? I wish I’d gone to the pellar, for his
+work es sure, ef a do charge three shellans before he’ll do anything to
+stop the witchcraft.’
+
+“‘Well, you heard what master said,’ replied Dick, ‘and I firmly
+believe him.’
+
+“‘Now I’ll tell thee what I’ll do before I’m a day older,’ said she,
+‘to serve out that strollop who begrudged me the pig, and ef her ill
+wishes have fallen upon am I’ll make her suffer torments. The conjuror
+can’t tell me any more than I know about that. I’ll bury the bottle of
+water before night ef I can; she shall come to me and beg, and pray,
+and promise never to ill-wish anything belongan to me agen, she shall.’
+Dick told her to make haste home, and let him know how the pig got on
+the next time she came to town.”
+
+“Aw the old fool,” said Jackey, when the story was ended. “But she is
+no worse than scores of others who put more faith in the conjuror than
+in a doctor. She’s too lazy to clean the pig’s trough, or mend her
+clothes, yet she’d go a score miles or more to consult the pellar.
+There are many that might be expected to know better than old Conny who
+will visit the pellar and pay him well to have what they call their
+protection renewed in a few months more. This is done when the sun is
+coming back and getting strong—the wise-man has more power then—about
+the end of March, so they believe; and soon after the time of visiting
+the pellar, old Tammy, his wife will ride round the West Country,
+bringing the ‘protection’ to such as are unable to go for it. Old
+bedlyers have it put into their pillows; others wear it on the breast.”
+
+An hour or so before sunset, Jackey becoming tired of being shut up in
+Dick’s bird-cage of a dwelling, and wishing to breathe sweet country
+air, said to his wife, “Es time for us to be jogging home along.”
+
+“You must have tea first,” said Dick, “then I’ll go part of road wh’y.”
+
+“Take your hat and pipe and come now,” replied Jackey; “we don’t want
+tea, and Mary had a cup after dinner; she can get home before we want
+any more.”
+
+They started—all three—and went down along joyfully; and so ended their
+Penzance feast.
+
+On taking leave of Dick, a mile or two from town, Mary told him to
+search his cupboard when he got home,—she never told him of the cake
+she’d put there for him. They were satisfied on the whole, yet glad to
+get home, and never wished to go again.
+
+
+
+Fifty years ago, and longer, Madron Feast was dying out. The principal
+people were strangers there, who cared nothing for the parish feast,
+and had no sympathy with the old inhabitants or their customs.
+
+There is no remembrance or tradition of Madrontide ever having been
+kept heartily, by “One and all,” like St. Just feast, nor of any
+holiday-games on their Feasten Monday, such as wrestling, hurling,
+throwing quoits, &c. The old game called “kook” was a trial of casting
+quoits the farthest and nearest to goal. This is all but forgotten. As
+for hurling, it is now unknown, in every place west of Hayle, except at
+St. Ives, and there only in the mild form of hurling to the goal. On
+the feast their silver ball is aired for a short time on Permester
+Sand.
+
+What is here known as a pellar’s “protection” is usually two or three
+inches of parchment inscribed with planetary and other signs or
+cabalistic words. It is a mystery how these inscriptions were first
+acquired, as they are not found in any books which were likely to have
+come into the hands of our wise-men; and the words are quite unlike
+charms for the cure of many ailments. These are grounded on Christian
+legends, but the Pellar’s “protections” have nothing Christian in their
+construction. They are probably of greater antiquity than the said
+charms.
+
+As an example, here is the only one I have met with which can be given
+in type. The others have all, more or less, signs and figures which
+would require woodcuts to show them.
+
+
+                        R   O   T   A   S
+                        O   P   E   R   A
+                        T   E   N   E   T
+                        A   R   E   P   O
+                        S   A   T   O   R
+
+
+This magic square may be read four ways the same; beginning at the top,
+it must be read from right to left as Sator, Arepo, &c. This is the
+case with some others of the Pellar’s talismans. Our wise-men (call
+them conjurors if you please, but they do not like the term) have no
+knowledge whence their formulæ were obtained, nor what the name of
+“pellar” means. Yet it is probably a corruption of the old Cornish word
+“pystryor” which means a conjuror or magician. The name of wizard is
+unknown here amongst old folk who have no book-learning.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ZENNOR HEARTHSIDE STORIES.
+
+
+                “And each, in turn, would some fond theme relate;
+                Not of perplexing plans to mend the State,
+                But seriously renew some oft-told tale,
+                Or ancient legend of some spectre pale,
+                Or wondrous deeds by their good fathers done,
+                And stories strange, long passed, denied by none.”
+
+                                                         John Williams.
+
+
+Being on the road to Zennor with a stranger to Cornwall, who wished to
+see all he could of the place and people, we had the good luck to fall
+in with a very intelligent old miner, returning to his home from Ding
+Dong. He at once entered into conversation with that ease and candour
+for which the true Cornish have ever been remarkable.
+
+Our destination for the night being Zennor churchtown, and his cottage
+not being far out of our road, we gladly accepted his invitation to
+accompany him home and rest awhile; the more so as we were soon
+sensible that our companionship was mutually agreeable.
+
+Our comrades’ constant flow of joke and story, told in the quaint way
+so peculiar to Droll-tellers of the West, made the time pass
+unobserved, until we found that night was closing around us as we sat
+by his fireside, when (wishing to retain some of the tinner’s peculiar
+words, old proverbs, and the novel points of some rare drolls) the
+stranger produced pencil and paper. The writing materials seemed to
+suggest
+
+
+   ‘A chield’s amang ye, taking notes,
+    And faith he’ll prent it,’
+
+
+as our very communicative friend ‘fought shy’ all at once. After we had
+assured him that nothing of what he told us should be published without
+his consent, he gave the reason for his sudden reticence; which, as he
+no longer objected to taking notes, I will give in his own language.
+
+My old friend began by saying, “The reason I felt a dislike to your
+writing down any of the foolish drolls I have been telling is because
+many have lately published stories pretended to be Cornish which would
+make strangers think us void of common sense, and that our lingo is
+such a gibberish as was never jabbered in this world nor any other.
+They should remember the old saying about foul birds dirting their own
+nests. True, I remember the time when many used more old Cornish words,
+and spoke broader than we do now; as, for example, in St. Just, where I
+was born and bred. In the ‘daddy,’ ‘mammy,’ and ‘porridge’ days we
+called the cape the caape; and the hall we called the hale. Then, over
+a while we got a good schoolmaster among us, and came to ‘father,’
+‘mother,’ and ‘broth.’ We learned to say the ‘cape’ and ‘hall,’ just
+like other folks. At last, what they called good times came, and, would
+ye believe it? many of the St. Tusters,—the ‘red-tailed droans,’—got so
+rich and proud that nothing would do but they must send their boys and
+girls away to boarding school. When they came back it was nothing but
+‘pa,’ ‘ma,’ and ‘soup,’ and ‘will you take a walk down to the keep?’
+The poor old ‘hale’ was then refined into ‘hele,’ with their confounded
+mincing, unless they called it a ‘parlour.’ A ‘parlour,’ forsooth. It
+was but the old hale, make the most of it. Besides, I was rather shy
+when the paper came in sight, because we have many manners and customs
+which appear singular to strangers, when they first come among us,
+although we, who are raised in the midst of them, think all our ways
+quite natural, and that it must be the same everywhere else. Faith,
+before a spell of bad times came, and sent me and a good many other
+Cousin Johneys off to the Lakes and Mineral Point for a time, where I
+believe many of us would have stopped and sent home for our families if
+it were not for the cursed kick-up the Yankies made about their
+darkies, and old Virginia’s shore. Well, before we crossed the
+herring-pool I was as bad as the old woman down in St. Ives, who was
+four score and had never been over the hill farther than the top of the
+Stennack, before Whitfield came one Sunday to preach on Trecroben, when
+all the town went to hear him. The old dame, among the rest, reached
+the top of the hill, and looking round, declared she never thought the
+world was half so large before, and supposed the hills she could see
+far away must be in France, or Spain, or perhaps some of the foreign
+countries she had read of in the Bible.
+
+“I found when I came back from Yankee-land that a lot of our Cousin
+Johneys who had learned to read and write a little had been telling
+what they called Cornish stories to enlighten strangers; but, the
+traitors, they have been telling such a lot of stuff as is only likely
+to turn their own country and comrades into ridicule. Those who try to
+make fun of their mates for the amusement of strangers, or for the sake
+of showing off their own fancied superiority, should have their
+windpipes slit, or their bread-bags ripped up, the dastardly crew.”
+
+When we were about to leave, our old friend said “My dears, if you must
+go to Zennor churchtown for the night, let me beg of ye don’t take the
+people you may meet with there for a fair sample of Cornish folks;
+that’s the only place in the County where the cow ate the bell-rope and
+no wonder the poor half-starved thing should have gone into the belfry
+and eaten the straw rope that’s fixed to their old crazy kettle, for
+their cattle are half-starved in winter and when they die off in spring
+they are sure to think they were bewitched, and off they go to the
+pellar to know who the old crone is that owes them a grudge? The church
+is well worth seeing, if they have not destroyed the curious old
+carved-work that used to be there. You need not be surprised if they
+have, as they but lately allowed one of their largest quoits
+(cromlechs) to be broken up and carried off.
+
+“In the next parish, where they live on fish and potatoes every day,
+with conger-pie for a change on a Sunday they arn’t much better.
+
+“Towednack people say that the devil would never let them raise their
+tower any higher—a good thing to have some one to put the fault on, if
+it’s only Old Nick; but, whatever he should get up a storm and blow the
+stones down for, if they only attempt to place pinnacles on their
+stumpy tower, it’s hard to say; yet such is the story Towednack folks
+will tell ye.
+
+“About St. Ives, too, the less said the better. I wouldn’t advise you
+to go there, unless you can bear the sight and smell of all that’s
+filthy, without having your stomach turned.
+
+“But, Lord, what can one expect of the people who whipped the hake
+round the market? When you come round to Lelant you will get among
+civilized people again, and it’s well worth going farther to see
+Trecroben hill and its giant’s castle, with the giant’s chair on Trink
+hill, and many other places, which you have no doubt heard of.” We
+passed a few days, however, very pleasantly amongst Zennor folk; and
+gleaned the following stories, &c., of this section from them.
+
+We reached Zennor churchtown about eight o’clock, and found very fair
+accommodation at the public-house; as good, indeed, as one might expect
+in such a retired district.
+
+By the kitchen fire, were seated four elderly men, who appeared to be
+well pleased with their ale and each others company. The chief talker
+of these four old cronies was the captain or manager of Zennor
+tin-stamps.
+
+He said much about the witches and tin-streamers who lived in Trewey or
+Trewey-bottom, long ago; and of Kerrow and other ancient hamlets, with
+the people who dwelt there in days of yore.
+
+During the evening, Cap’n Henny, as they called him, spoke of a retired
+seaman who had been much troubled by a shipmate’s ghost, until he
+plucked up courage and spoke to his old comrade’s spirit. One story
+brought up another, till it was near midnight, when the company left
+for their homes.
+
+The hostess said, that Jackey (her husband) was gone over to Trevidja
+to gulthise [8], if he should be home to-morrow, he would tell us some
+stories she believed to be true, because her husband knew the people
+the stories were told of; “but as for Uncle Henny’s,” said she, “they
+are all, or nearly all, about people who lived so long ago that one
+don’t know whether they’re true or no.”
+
+
+
+The schoolmaster referred to, Mr. John Davey, was well versed in
+various branches of mathematics, and took good care that his pupils
+should be thoroughly grounded in the most practically useful problems.
+Many young miners of St. Just acquired such a taste for geometry about
+this time that the boards, &c., near mine-workings were often found
+covered with diagrams from Euclid. They hit on the Chinese method of
+demonstrating the famous 47th problem, 1st book, by drawing the diagram
+to a scale, producing the squares of the three sides, dividing them
+into small squares by scale, thus proving that the sum of the squares
+of the two lesser sides was equal to the square of the larger. With
+many other problems of the same class, they took similar practical
+means of demonstration and were not slow to see their application. Mr.
+Davey and his pupils also took great pride in answering mathematical
+queries proposed in the ‘Ladies and Gentlemen’s Diary,’ and other
+magazines of this period. Nor did he neglect general literature for the
+more practical subjects, as an anecdote, which was told me by a pupil
+of Mr. Davey, will prove:—This young man was much addicted to spending
+his evenings in public-houses for the sake of having company and
+excitement more than from any love of drink.
+
+Being in Penzance Market, and seeing some curious old books,
+illustrated with rare engravings, and knowing that Mr. Davey was fond
+of such works, he bought two or three volumes for the sake of
+gratifying the old gentleman, not attempting to understand them
+himself. One was an odd volume of Shakespeare, containing some of the
+historical plays; another Spenser’s Faerie Queene; the other
+Goldsmith’s poems and plays. Mr. Davey pointed out the most beautiful
+passages in the plays of the royal Henrys, and explained the history of
+the time of these dramas, helping him at the same time to enjoy the
+beauties of Fairy-land and all its revelries. The young miner no longer
+wanted public-house amusements. Before the winter was over, with a
+small portion of the money he would have wasted, but for the delight he
+had in reading the old volumes over and over again, he bought complete
+editions of Shakespeare, Spenser, &c., and soon acquired a good
+acquaintance with many of the best English authors.
+
+A few years afterwards he received a hurt at the mine, which disabled
+him for hard work, when he opened a school in Buryan Churchtown, which
+procured him a comfortable maintenance, and his greatest pleasure
+seemed to be to speak of his old master with love and gratitude.
+
+No doubt much of the superior intelligence of St. Just men of the
+present time is owing to the training of the excellent old
+schoolmaster, who was altogether a remarkable man for the time and
+place. We want more such schoolmasters and fewer preachers in the West.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SEAMAN’S GHOST.
+
+
+James Botterell, one of the St. Just family of that name, after having
+served many years aboard a privateer when he was a young man, in
+Bonaparte’s time, settled in Zennor, about fifty years ago. Shortly
+after he left sea, he was much troubled with a drowned shipmate’s
+ghost. Towards the morning part of a stormy winter’s night, he was
+aroused by three loud raps on his chamber window; and, on raising his
+head, he saw standing by his bedside the apparition of one John Jones,
+who had been his favourite comrade—looking pale and sad, and,
+apparently, dripping wet. In a few minutes it disappeared with the
+misty light which surrounded it.
+
+Next day James tried to persuade himself that the vision might be
+merely a troubled dream, but the apparition continued to come on each
+succeeding night, stopping longer than at first. There was also much
+noise and disturbance in and around his dwelling, by day as well as by
+night.
+
+Over a week or so the ghost, often casting an angry look at the man,
+followed him about in broad daylight, so that James became weary of his
+life. His friends advised him to speak to the ghost and have
+confidence, as they had always been good friends; they told him that a
+spirit would never speak until spoken to; and they believed that his
+shipmate merely wanted him to do something that the ghost was unable to
+perform. Moreover, they warned him that there was danger to be
+apprehended when a spirit was angered by delay in speaking to it.
+
+At length James plucked up courage, and one day, being at work in a
+field, when his old mate’s ghost stood by him—as usual, looking sad and
+angry by turns—he spoke, and said, “Tell me, John Jones, what shall I
+do to give thee rest?” The spirit replied, “It is well thou hast
+spoken, for I should have been the death of thee if thou hadst much
+longer refused to speak! What grieved and vexed me most was to see that
+thou seemedst to fear thy old comrade, who always liked thee the best
+of all his shipmates.”
+
+“I no longer fear thee, Jack,” replied James; “and wish I could grasp
+that hand of thine as in times gone by.” Indeed, he now felt no more
+dread of his messmate’s ghost than if he were still a living man. The
+spirit, looking pleased, said, “Now I see thee art like thyself again,
+staunch and true to thy comrade in life and death. Listen and learn why
+I am come to seek thy aid. The other stormy night, a few minutes before
+I first appeared at thy bedside, I was on board a good ship in the Bay
+of Biscay, with a strong gale and a rolling sea. In clewing up a
+topsail, the ship gave a lurch: I lost my hold, fell overboard, and was
+drowned before anybody noticed my mishap. When sinking I thought of
+thee. Now much of my prize-money is in a chest, left in Plymouth at a
+public-house well-known to thee—the one we used most to frequent, when
+everything was in common between us. My son, I want thee to go thither;
+take my chest to another house; pay what I owe to various people in
+Plymouth, and keep what remains for thyself. I’ll meet thee there and
+direct thee how to act.”
+
+Jim having promised to do all that was required, Jack’s ghost looked
+happy, and a moment after said, “I wish thee well, mate, till we meet
+again,” and disappeared.
+
+Early next morning James took a strong young horse and rode away to
+Plymouth. It was after candlelighting of the second night when he
+arrived there, and put up at an inn—a short distance from the one where
+the chest was left.
+
+Whilst he lay awake, thinking how he should proceed on the morrow,
+Jones appeared by his bedside, and, as if knowing what passed in the
+man’s mind, said, “Don’t ’e think, my son, that the landlady will make
+any difficulty about taking away the chest, for she don’t know, d’ye
+see, that it contains valuables, nor that I shipped aboard an Indiaman
+and got drowned a few weeks ago. But she remembers how—not long
+since—we wore each other’s clothes and shared each other’s rhino, just
+as brothers should. Tell her I’m in town and will see her before I
+leave! To-morrow bring here the chest and I’ll direct ’e how to deal
+with my creditors; and now good night, mate.” Saying this he vanished.
+
+The landlady was very glad to see James, and more so to have the
+sailor’s chest taken out of her way; told him to give her love to
+Captain Jones (as she called him), and to say she hoped he wouldn’t
+fail to call before he left port. The chest being opened, there was
+nothing to be seen in it but the seaman’s best clothing; for all the
+money was concealed in secret drawers of the skibbet, and under a false
+bottom. The ghost accompanied James—though invisible to others—all the
+time, until the business was settled. Then it left him—without saying
+good bye, however.
+
+James went over to Dock. Whilst he was there admiring the shipping, on
+turning around he saw Jones close beside him. If he had been visible to
+other people they would have taken him for an able seaman in his prime,
+for he appeared rigged out in brand new sailor’s garb and looked hale
+and hearty as when alive. “I’ve just passed by the old inn,” said he,
+“showed myself as I now appear, and kissed my hand to our old hostess,
+who was at her work near an open window; but, before she could reach
+her door to welcome home the man she used to admire, lo! I’m here. So
+you see it’s convenient to be a ghost!”
+
+James didn’t think so, however; and they walked on in silence till they
+came near a fine ship ready to sail on a long voyage. Then the spirit
+stopped, and, looking sorrowfully in the man’s face said, “My dear Jim,
+I will now bid thee farewell. I’m off to sea again, for, with an
+occasional trip to the Green, I know no way of passing the time that
+better suits me. Thou wilt nevermore see me whilst thou art alive, but
+if thou thinkest of me at the hour of thy death we shall meet, as soon
+as the breath leaves thy body. My poor clay lies deep in the Bay of
+Biscay, and when thine is laid in Zennor churchyard we will rove the
+seas together. A truehearted tar has nothing to fear, and now my son
+adieu.” A moment after James saw him glide aboard the ship, and in the
+twinkling of an eye he vanished.
+
+James returned to the inn, feeling very wisht, and his sadness
+continued till he came in sight of Zennor Hills. Then he felt in pretty
+good heart; and well he might, for hadn’t he brought home a bundle of
+capital clothes that he found in his comrade’s chest and many more
+pounds in his pocket than when he left Zennor? But the horse was never
+fit for anything again, from having been ridden to and from Plymouth in
+less than a week.
+
+Sailors say that ships are often haunted with drowned seamen’s ghosts,
+and they believe that such vessels are seldom wrecked, for the friendly
+spirits give warning of approaching tempests, and tokens of other
+dangers to their craft.
+
+
+
+Cornish Sailors’ Isle of Avalon. — It is known to most persons who have
+mixed much with Cornish sailors that they often speak of the “Green,”
+which they frequently call Fiddler’s Green amongst themselves. They
+describe this place as an “Isle of the Blest,” in which honest Tars,
+after the toils of this life, are to enjoy unmixed bliss with their old
+comrades and favourite fair ones. In orchards of fruit, ever ripe, they
+are to be entertained with music, dancing, and everything else in which
+they delighted in their lifetime. The idea of this Fairy Land is
+probably derived from Celtic mythology, as well as that of
+
+
+   “The island valley of Avilion,
+    Where falls not hail, or rain, or snow;
+    Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
+    Deep-meadow’d, happy, fair with orchard lawns,
+    And bowery hollows crown’d with summer seas.”
+
+
+Thither King Arthur was wafted in a barge with three fair queens when
+his table, man by man,
+
+
+   “Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord.”
+
+
+Breton and Welsh sailors have similar notions.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD WOMAN’S GHOST.
+
+
+Not long since there lived at Trewey, in Zennor, a poor and aged woman,
+who much loved her neighbour’s little girl, and, when dying, bequeathed
+to her a shawl, which was all she had to leave of any value.
+
+The departed woman’s wish, however, was disregarded; and a few evenings
+after her funeral, the child would burst out in shrieks. On being asked
+what made her screech so, “Oh! there’s An Katty,” cried she, “with her
+face tied up in a white nackan and nothing on her but a sheet!” Thus
+the old woman’s ghost continued to haunt her; until one evening a
+strong man, of great faith, took the child and carried her out of
+doors, when, over a while, the little girl exclaimed, “Oh, there she es
+again.” Then the man saw the spirit too, and said to her, “In the name
+of goodness I command thee to tell me why thou art come back to trouble
+this cheeld?” The spirit answered, “Because the shawl isn’t given to
+the cheeld, I cannot rest.” Then the man said he would see her wish
+complied with, bade her depart in peace, and told her that if she
+hadn’t been “an old fool of a sperat, she would have scared the ones
+who kept the shawl and have left the cheeld alone!” By that, the ghost
+had vanished, without saying another word.
+
+The same night the shawl was given to the cheeld, and Trewey folks
+thought that all was then settled with the old woman; but, in the
+course of two or three evenings, the little girl, being out in the
+town-place with her playmates, was taken up over the furze-ricks by
+invisible means, and borne away out of sight in a minute. The other
+children ran home frightened.
+
+She often stayed out in neighbours’ houses for hours together, so her
+mother didn’t miss her till bedtime. Then, as the woman was going to
+look for her, in she came, with only one shoe on.
+
+Being questioned as to where she had been to lose her shoe, the child
+answered that she didn’t know—only that she was taken up over the
+“housen” and carried away as easy as if she had been rocked in a cradle
+to a Churchtown with lots of trees in it, and laid in the churchyard on
+a new grave; she saw nobody, but heard like singing around her;
+somebody kissed her; then she shivered with cold, and was again carried
+up over the trees and back to her own town-place. She believed that her
+shoe was loosened as she skimmed the tree-tops, but where it dropped
+she couldn’t tell.
+
+From what the child said, all Trewey people thought she had been taken
+to Ludgvan, where the old woman was buried; and it was put beyond doubt
+next day, when her missing shoe was found on the old woman’s grave.
+There it was left; for the old woman “might want something belonging to
+the child, to put her to rest,” and nobody would risk bringing her back
+again for the sake of a shoe.
+
+And she has “kept quiet” from that day to this.
+
+
+
+The stranger, by the way of applauding this story, or the droll-teller,
+exclaimed, “Hear, hear, and cheers!” “Iss, they’re all in rags and
+tatters,” said the landlady, who was laying the table, “es the
+confounded children’s work; they’re always pullan the heer (hair) out
+of the cheers, od drat tham.” When the gentleman explained that no
+allusion was made to her chairs, the jolly dame laughed heartily at her
+mistake, and speaking to the story-teller said, “Cap’n Henny, don’t ’e
+tell any more stories about sperats, lev es have the St. Ives mutton
+feast, or somethan cheerful.”
+
+Then the man who had told the two preceding drolls recited the
+following verses.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE MUTTON FEAST AT ST. IVES.
+
+
+An old tradition says that a flock of sheep were blown from Gwithian
+sands into St. Ives Bay, and that St. Ives fishermen caught them,
+believing them to be a new variety of fish, either with their nets, or
+with hook and line, and brought them ashore as their night’s catch.
+
+About eighty years ago, Mr. Fortescue Hitchins wrote the following
+verses on this tradition.
+
+
+    Sometime ago in days of yore,
+    On Cornwall’s northern sandy shore,
+    A borough town, as some folks say,
+    Stood on the margin of a bay;
+    And through all the country round
+    Its folks for wisdom were renowed.
+
+    East of this famous borough’s bay
+    A barren, sandy common lay,
+    Where the farmers naught could keep,
+    Except some flocks of half-starved sheep.
+
+    One dusky night the wind blew high,
+    Black, lowering clouds obscured the sky:
+    With furious sway the eastern blast
+    Swept all before it as it past;
+    Storm-driven stores of frighted sheep
+    Were hurried down the sandy steep;
+    Nor could they face the sweeping sway,
+    Which sent them headlong into sea.
+
+    Bad are the winds, as all must know,
+    That never good to any blow;
+    Since two or three, at dawn of day,
+    Wreck-hunters ranging round the bay,
+    With joy beheld the fleecy flock
+    Lie dead around on sand and rock.
+    They, with good Ammon, when they spied,
+    Opened their throats and “heava!” cried.
+    This well-known sound aroused them all,
+    And out they tumbled great and small:
+    Fish-bulkers, chimney-sweepers, sailors,
+    Parson, clerk, tinkers, and tailors,
+    Coopers, crabpot-makers, cobblers,
+    Hewers, hake-whippers, and hoblers,
+    Boat-menders, seiners, and warp-hawlers,
+    And all the gape-mouth heava bawlers.
+
+    With joy they see the mutton store,
+    And “heava” sound from shore to shore:
+    So counting honestly the sheep
+    A God-send from the stormy deep,
+    All hands turned-to, with wonderous pain,
+    To share the unexpected gain;
+    Brought home of mutton such a store
+    Which lasted them ten days or more;
+    And from each hide made shift to pull
+    Almost a pound-and-half of wool.
+
+    Now, mutton roasted, mutton boiled,
+    And mutton fried, and baked, and broiled,
+    Which, savoury, smoaking from a dish,
+    Had almost drowned the smell of fish.
+
+    Five days they watched the foaming tide,
+    Hoping more sheep might yet be spied.
+    And now and then their longing eyes
+    With joy salute the mutton prize;
+    And when, at length, a heavy sea
+    Has fairly thrown them in their way,
+    Surrounded like a flock of crows,
+    Which carrion want to fill their maws.
+
+    Now those who have to feed on fish
+    Ten minutes took to enjoy that dish;
+    An hour now to dinner linger,
+    To pick the bones and lick their fingers.
+
+    These thankful folks were heard to say—
+    “O blessed was that happy day
+    That brought such stormy sway to sweep
+    Into our Bay such flocks of sheep!
+    O might such storms, ten times a year,
+    Send such good store of such good cheer!
+    O that the storm would also bring
+    A few good ankers from the sling,
+    Buried by smugglers in the sea,
+    And throw them plump into our Bay!
+
+    Then we lazy lubbers all
+    Might lean our backs against the wall,
+    And thankfully enjoy the sun,—
+    That would be glorious lazy fun!”
+
+
+“Heava” is shouted from the high ground on which a watch is kept for
+pilchards as soon as the “huers” signal their approach. These signals
+are made to seiners in the boats, by the means of bushes, or
+wire-frames covered with white cloth.
+
+The cheering sound of “heava” no sooner reached St. Ives than it
+resounded from street to street, and soon reached the country.
+
+It has been said that this word “heava” was either a contraction of “we
+have them, or here they are;” but its origin is uncertain.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WITCH OF KERROW.
+
+
+About seventy years ago, Sir Rose Price often started a hare near
+Kerrow, in Zennor. His dogs would run it into the village, where it
+would always escape by entering a “bolt” (drain) that ran from a pool
+up under a house, not far from the pool. At last, one day the hunters
+loaded their guns to hinder it from escaping by that strange way.
+Having started the hare it took the usual course, when one of the
+guards shot at it, but didn’t kill it, for it went up town and entered
+the bolt as usual. Sir Rose lifted the latch and, followed by some
+others, entered the dwelling to ask leave to open the bolt, when lo!
+there, sitting on the hearthstone, they beheld an old woman of the
+house, much bleeding about her head and face, with her hair all hanging
+down. Beside her, on the chimney-stool, sat a monstrous big black cat,
+with his back up and eyes like coals of fire, showing his teeth as if
+ready to spring at the intruders, who turned tail and went away,
+without speaking a word, when they saw how they had hunted and shot a
+witch. And not one of these hunters ever prospered after! At least so
+runs the legend.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FAIRIES ON THE EASTERN GREEN.
+
+
+Returning somewhat late on the following evening, from a long ramble to
+see remarkable places in the neighbourhood, we found the manager of
+Zennor stamps and the other old cronies seated in their accustomed
+places by the fireside.
+
+Shortly after the landlord came in from his work. He was a sturdy
+fellow of fifty or thereaway, burnt as brown as a berry. Most of his
+time was passed at work on his farm; he had a good size one for that
+part of Zennor, and the public-house was left to his wife’s management.
+
+During the evening, after much coaxing, our host told the story which
+his wife had spoken of as a true one: telling how a company of
+smugglers, of his acquaintance, had been driven away from Market-jew
+Green by small-folks (fairies.)
+
+There is some hope that all the fairy-folk have not yet entirely
+forsaken this neighbourhood, as there are persons now living who have
+seen them dancing and holding their revels on the Eastern Green within
+the last fifty years. At that time, however, there were many acres of
+grass-grown sandy banks there; and a broad belt of soft green-sward,
+which skirted the carriage road, afforded a pleasant walk from
+Chyandour to Market-jew bridge.
+
+Great part of this green has now been swept away by the waves, and much
+of what the sea spared has been enclosed by the grasping owners of
+adjacent land, though their right to this ancient common is very
+questionable.
+
+The following fairy adventure was told to me a short time since by a
+grave elderly man who heard it related by the principal person
+concerned in it.
+
+Tom Warren, of Paul, was noted as one of the boldest smugglers round.
+On a summer’s night, about forty years ago, he and five other men
+landed a boat-load of smuggled goods at a short distance from Long
+Rock. The brandy, salt, &c., having been taken above high-water mark,
+two of the men departed for Market-jew, where their best customers
+lived, and one went over to Newtown to procure horses that the goods
+might be secured before daybreak.
+
+Tom and the other two, being very tired, lay down by a heap of goods,
+hoping to get a doze whilst their comrades were away. They were soon
+disturbed, however, by the shrill “tweeting” of “feapers” (slit quills
+or reeds, which give a shrill note when blown in.) Besides there was a
+constant tinkling, just like old women make by rattling pewter plates
+or brass pans to frighten their swarming bees home, or to make them
+settle.
+
+The men thought this noise might be from a company of young folks
+keeping up a dance on the Green till a very late hour. Tom went to see
+who they were and to send them home, for it wasn’t desirable for
+everybody to pry into the fair traders’ business. Having passed the
+beach, he mounted a high sand-bank to have a look round, as the music
+seemed very near him.
+
+At a little distance, in hollows, between sand-banks, he saw glimmering
+lights, and persons like gaily dressed dolls skipping about and
+whirling round. Going nearer, he beheld, perched on a pretty high bank
+in their midst, a score or so of little old-looking chaps; many of them
+blew in mouth-organs (Pan’s pipes); some beat cymbals or tambourines;
+whilst others played on jew’s-harps, or tweeted on May whistles and
+feapers.
+
+Tom noticed that the little men were rigged all in green, except their
+scarlet caps (small people are so fond of that coloured head-gear that
+they used to be nick-named “red-caps.”) But what struck him and tickled
+his fancy most was to see the little, old, grave-looking pipers with
+their long beards wagging.
+
+In moving their mouths over the reeds, stuck in their breasts, they
+looked more like buck goats than anything human, so Tom said; and that
+for the life of him he couldn’t forbear shouting—“Will ’e be shaved—
+will ’e be shaved old red-caps?”
+
+He hailed them twice, and was about to do so again when all the
+dancers, with scores and hundreds more than he noticed at first sprang
+up, ranged themselves in rank and file; armed themselves in an instant
+with bows and arrows, spears and slings; then faced about, looking like
+vengeance. The band being disposed alongside, played a quick march, and
+the troops of “spriggans” stamped on towards Tom, who saw them getting
+taller as they approached him. Their threatening looks were so
+frightful that he turned tail and ran down to his comrades, and roused
+them, saying, “Put to sea for your lives. There’s thousands of small
+people and bucca-boos ’most on our backs! They’ll soon surround us!”
+
+Tom made off to the boat, and his comrades followed close at his heels;
+but, on the way, a shower of pebbles fell on them, and “burned like
+coals ’o fire wherever they hit them.”
+
+The men pulled many fathoms from shore before they ventured to look up,
+though they knew themselves safe when on the sea, because none of the
+fairy tribe dare touch salt water.
+
+At length, casting a glance landward, they saw, ranged along the shore,
+a company of as ugly-looking creatures as they ever beheld, making
+threatening gestures and vain endeavours to sling stones at them.
+
+When a furlong or so from land, the men rested on their oars, and kept
+watching their assailants, till near daybreak; then horses being heard
+galloping along the road from Market-jew, the small people retreated to
+the sand-banks and the smugglers rowed to land. Tom again shouted to
+the retiring host, “We’ll shave ’e all, and cut your tails off, ef you
+ever show here any more.” But the fairies disdained to notice his
+impudence and presently disappeared.
+
+The other smugglers, who were now on the beach with plenty of help, on
+seeing their mates leaving the boat, inquired if the riding-officer had
+hove in sight. In such a case smugglers usually took to sea that they
+might not be known; they didn’t mind his seeing the goods, for the most
+valuable would be secured before the king’s men came to take them.
+
+After spileing an anker (tapping a keg) and treating all the neighbours
+who came to help or purchase, or both, Tom related how they had to run
+for their lives and take to sea in order to escape an army of
+small-people. Some could scarcely believe it, though others thought the
+story likely enow. All blamed Tom for mocking the fairies, and said bad
+luck would cross his path, ere long, for that night’s work. Aye, and
+their forebodings were verified before another summer came round.
+However, without further mishap for that night, the goods were quickly
+disposed of—the greater part in Market-jew, and the rest left at an old
+tin work, near the Marsh, till wanted.
+
+We have not heard of fairies having been seen on the Eastern Green
+since they were thus shamefully derided by Tom Warren.
+
+“They’re never was a better pare (company) of fair-traders than Tom and
+his mates,” continued the landlord, “and they found good customers in
+the old well-to-do farmers of Zennor, who dearly loved their toddy, the
+Lord rest them.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST THREATENED INVASION: COMMOTION AND FALSE ALARM IN THE WEST.
+
+
+The landlady had told her husband, when he came in from his work, that
+their stranger-guest much wished to hear our old drolls and songs; and
+to see the remarkable places round about. That was the chief reason why
+the master of the house was so desirous that the company might tell
+something, of native growth, which a stranger might deem noteworthy.
+
+Having told the fairy-tale, our host, addressing his wife, said “now
+Jenny, I’ve told that story to please thee, tell us how Betty Stags was
+served by a kindlier sort of spriggans (sprites).”
+
+“When I’ve cleaned up a bit, perhaps I may,” replied she, “and Uncle
+Honney (Hanibal) may sing us a song that while ef he will be so good.”
+
+“That I wed, weth all my heart,” said an old man belonging to the
+stamps, “ef we had one worth singan; but there’s none known, in these
+parts, good for anything. Such cheerful songs and rare old ballads as
+we used to sing, to lighten our labour, are all condemned now, and the
+singer cried down as ‘carnal-minded.’ In place of them we hear nothan
+but revival hymns, and I for one can’t make out any sense in them.”
+
+“You have worked in bals up along as far as Dolcoath, or farther,” said
+our host, “and I have surely heard ’e tell a song or an old ballad that
+you had heard up that way long ago.”
+
+“But the west es I can’t tell enough of’n to make out the rhymes,”
+replied the old man; “I only remember that when I was a youngster
+workan on the floors in Dolcoath, about the time that Boney was
+expected to invade, and that his troops wed be landed here in the West;
+et might be on Market-jew Green, or Gwenvor Sand, in Whitsand Bay, out
+westward. Boney had flat-bottomed boats made, to be sent with the
+transport ships, and in such boats his troops cud come ashore in
+shallow water.”
+
+“I only jest remember that time,” said another old man, “there was much
+alarm amongst the farmers; the ‘guides’ were called out, and the cattle
+branded on horns and hoofs, that they might be known to their owners,
+when all the stock belongan to a neighbourhood, should be herded
+together, and drivan away up along, as it was expected they wed, that
+the enemy should not come at them.”
+
+“Don’t ’e mind, too,” resumed Uncle Honney, “how notices were put upon
+Church doors, and other places, forbiddan any bonfires to be made at
+Midsummer, lest they might be mistaken for bickan-fires, [9] and give a
+false alarm, like Santusters ded, when they thoft the French had one
+night landed on Gwenvor Sand, where the Danes used to come ashore and
+pillage the country round. There were trusses of dry furze kept upon
+all the bickan-hills, ready for firan; it was the women in Santust
+’Chtown who raised the alarm and caused the bickans to blaze from
+Chapel Carn Brea to Plymouth; troops were dispatched from garrison, but
+they didn’t know where to take to, lost their way west of Falmouth, and
+were found down in Gweek, a week after ‘jousters’ and other market-folk
+had brought news of this false alarm to Falmouth. About that time it
+was when this song was often singed by tinners around Redruth.
+
+“I don’t remember how the words were broft into rhymes mind ’e. Et said
+how Englishmen had beaten the French over and over again; taken
+countries they once ruled over, had them still, and meant to keep them
+too. Ef Boney’s men landed upon Cornish shores, we wed beat them to
+bruss. Then it was said how the French were a ‘heap of poor pelyacks’
+[10] who, at home, had neither decent meat nor clothes; but were glad
+to catch quilkans, [11] bullhorns, [12] and padgy-paws; [13] and to
+stampy about in temberan shoes.
+
+“The burden, or running verse, that came in at every four lines was
+this:—
+
+
+   ‘They shall not eat of our good meat,
+    Our pelchers and petates.’”
+
+
+“There was an old Cornish Dialogue in verse, too,” said another old
+man, “which gave much the same account.”
+
+“I should dearly like,” said the visitor, “to get copies of that song
+and dialogue, or of as much as is known of them.”
+
+“That old piece Uncle Honney spoke of es forgotten among us,” replied
+our host, “but I know another, not so old, that’s often told for
+Christmas pastime, in place of a Guise-dance of St. George and the
+Turkish Knight; we’ll get’n up for ’e now, the same as we do at
+Christmastide; ef Jenny will be Mal Treloar, I’ll take the part of
+Sandry Kemp.”
+
+“That I will,” said our hostess, “and Uncle Honney can give me the word
+when I may forget et, jest as he do to youngsters actan a Christmas
+play; he’ll speak for the Cap’n, too, and say other bits requiran a
+third speaker.”
+
+The company having placed themselves as the landlady directed, gave the
+following Cornish Dialogue:
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MAL TRELOARE AND SANDRY KEMP KISS AND BECOME GOOD FRIENDS AGAIN:
+OR BACKBITING CRULL OUTWITTED.
+
+
+          ’Twas Kendle teenan, when jung Mal Treloare
+          Trudg’d hum from Bal, a bucken copper ore;
+          Her clathing hard and ruff, black was her eye,
+          Her face and arms like stuff from Cairn Kye.
+          Full butt she mit jung Sandry Kemp, who long
+          She had been token’d to, come from Ding Dong;
+          Hes jacket wet, his faace rud like his beard,
+          And through his squarded hat hes heer appeared.
+          She said, “Oh Kemp, I thoft of thee well leer,
+          Thees naw that daay we wor to Bougheehere,
+          That daay with ale and cakes, at three o’clock,
+          Thees stuff’d me so, I jist neen crack’d me dock:
+          Jue said to me, ‘Thee mayst depend thee life
+          I love thee, Mal, and thee shust be ma wife.’
+          And to ma semmen, tes good to lem ma naw
+          Whether the words were aal in jest or no.”
+
+Sandry.—Why, truly, Mal, I like a thing did zay
+          That I wud have thee next Chewiden daay.
+          But zence that time I like a thing ded hear
+          Thees went wi’ some one down, I naw where;
+          Now es that fitty, Mal? What dost think?
+
+Mal.—Od rat tha body, Sandry, who said so?
+          Now, faath and traath, I’ll naw afore I go;
+          Do lem ma naw the Gossenbary dog.
+
+Sandry.—Why, then, Crull said jue wor down to Wheal Bog
+          With he and Tabban, and ded play some tricks
+          By dabben clay at jungsters makan bricks;
+          Aand that from there jue went to Aafe-waye house,
+          Aand drink’t some lecker. Mal, now there’s down souse.
+          Aand jue to he, like a think ded zay,
+          Jue wed have he, and I mait go away.
+
+Mal.—I tell the lubber so! I to Wheal Bog!
+          I’ll scat hes chacks, the emprent, saucy dog.
+          Now hire me, Sandry Kemp, now down and full,
+          Ef thee arten hastes, the shust hire the whole.
+          Fust jue must naw, tes true as thee art theere,
+          Aant Blanch and I went to Golsinney feer.
+          Who overtookt us in the dusty road,
+          In common hum but Crull, the cloppen toad.
+          Zes he to Aant, “What cheer? Aant Blanch, what cheer?
+          Jue makes good coose, suppose jue ben to feer.”
+          “Why, hiss,” zes Aant, “ben there a pewer spur;
+          I wedn’t a gone ef nawed ed ben so fur.
+          I bawft a pair of shods for Sarah’s cheeld.”
+          By this time, lock! we cum jist to the field.
+          We went to clember up the temberen style,
+          (Haw keept his eye upon me all the while.)
+          Zes haw to Aant, “Then whos es thees braa maide?
+          Come tha wayst long, dasent be afraid.”
+          Then mov’d by my side, like a thing,
+          Aand pull’d my mantle, and jist touch’d my ching.
+          “How arry, jung woman?” zes haw. “How dost do?”
+          Zes I, “Jue saucy dog, what’s that to jue?
+          Keep off, jung lad, else thees have a slap.”
+          Then haw fooch’d some great big doat figs in me lap,
+          So I thoft, as haw had ben so kind,
+          Haw might go by Aant Blanch, ef haw had a mind.
+          Aand so haw ded, aand tookt Aant Blanch’s arm.
+          “Areah!” zes haw, “I dedn’t mane no harm.”
+          So then Aant Blanch and he ded talk and jest
+          Bout dabbing clay and bricks at Perran feast.
+
+Sandry.—Ahah then, Mal, ’twas there they dabbed the clay?
+
+Mal.—Plaase Faather, Kemp, tes true wot I do saay.
+          Aand hire me now, pla-sure, haw dedn’t budge
+          From Aanty’s arm tell jest this side Long Brudge.
+          Aand then zes he to Aant, “Shall we go in
+          To Aafe-way house, and have a dram of gin
+          Aand trickle mixt. Depend ol do es good,
+          Taake up the sweat and set to rights the blud.”
+          So Aant ded say, “Such things she dedn’t chuse,”
+          Aand squeeze my hand, aand loike a thing refuse.
+          So when we passed along by Wheal Bog moor,
+          Haw jumpt behind, and pok’t us in the door.
+          Haw caal’d for gin, aand brandy too, I think.
+          He clunk’d the brandy, we the gin ded drink.
+          So when haw wish’d good night as es the caase,
+          Haw kiss’t Aant Blanch, and jist neen touch’d my faace.
+          Now, Sandry Kemp, there’s nothing shure in this,
+          To my moinde, then, that thee shust taake amiss.
+
+Sandry.—No fath, then Mal, ef this es all, aand true,
+          I had a done the same ef I was jue.
+
+Mal.—Next time in any house I see or hear am,
+          I’ll down upon the plancheon, rat am, scat am,
+          Aand I will so poam am,—
+
+Sandry.—Our Kappen’s there, just by thickey bush.
+                    Hush! now Mally, hush!
+          Aand as hes here, so close upon the way
+          I wedent wish haw nawed what we ded zay,
+          Aand jett I dedent care, now fath and soul,
+          Ef so be our Kappen wor to hire the whole.
+          How arry Kappen? Where be going so fast?
+          Jure goin’ hum, suppose, juse in sich haste.
+
+Kappen.—Who’s that than? Sandry, arten thee ashamed
+          To coosy so again? Thee wust be blamed
+          Ef thees stay here all night to prate wi’ Mal!
+          When tes thy cour, thee wusten come to Bal.
+          Aand thee art a Cobbe, I tell thee so.
+          I’ll tell the owners ef thee dosent go.
+
+Sandry.—Why, harkee, Kappen, don’t skoal poor I,
+          Touch pipe a crum, jue’ll naw the reason why.
+          Coozen Mal aand I ben courtain bout afe a year.
+          Hould up tha head, Mal; don’t be ashamed, dost hire?
+          Aand Crull one day made grief ’tween I and she;
+          But he shall smart for it now, I swear by G——.
+          Haw told me lies, as round as any cup.
+          Now Mal and I have mit, we’ve made it up;
+          So, Kappen, that’s the way I stopt, I vow.
+
+Kappen.—Ahah! I dedent giss the caase jist now.
+          But what dost think of that last batch of ore?
+
+Sandry.—Why pewer and keenly gossen, Kappen sure;
+          I bleeve that day, ef Franky’s pair wornt drunk,
+          We shud had pewer stuff too from the sump.
+          But there, tes all good time, as people saay,
+          The flooken now, aint throw’d us far away;
+          So hope to have bra tummalls soon to grass.
+          How ded laast batch down to Jandower pass?
+
+Kappen.—Why, hang thy body, Sandry, speed, I saay,
+          Thees keep thy clacker going till tes day.
+          Go speak to Mally now, jue foolish toad,
+          I wish both well, I’ll keep my road.
+
+Sandry.—Good nightie, Kappen, then I wishee well.
+          Where artee, Mally? Dusten haw hire me, Mal?
+          Dusent go away, why jue must think of this,
+          Before we part, shure we must have a kiss.
+
+                She wiped her muzzle from the mundic stuff,
+                And he rubb’d his, a little stain’d with snuff.
+
+          Now then, there, good night Mal, there’s good night;
+          But, stop a crum.
+
+Mally.—Good night.
+
+Kappen.—Good night.
+
+
+
+    Kendle teenan, candle lighting.
+    Squarded hat, broken or cracked hat.
+    Lem ma knaw, let me know, tell me.
+    Wheal Bog, wheal, or, correctly spelt, huel, is old Cornish, and
+    signifies a mine or work.
+    Doat figs, broad figs.
+    A Cobbe, a simpleton, a bungler.
+    Bra tummalls, brave heaps, large piles of ore.
+
+
+The guest, for whose entertainment the old men had furbished up their
+memories, said, “that piece is a capital one, and it seems all the
+better from the way in which you have told it. Your dialect is pleasant
+to hear; it is softer and more musical than that of most other parts of
+England.
+
+“Many Cornish drolls remind me of Irish stories, which show similar
+traits of character. I have seen a piece by Tregellas, a St. Ann’s man,
+I suppose, as he says much about people in that parish and its
+neighbourhood.
+
+“There is one story of his which shows how prone Cornish people are to
+stretch a point or two, as you call it. I mean that story of a boy
+telling his mother there are scores and hundreds of cats caterwauling
+upon the roof; his mother reproves him for making such an unreasonable
+stretch, and sends him out to see how many are there; he returned, and,
+condescending to tell the truth at last, says that he could ‘only see
+grammar’s cat and ours.’
+
+“An Irish story, called ‘The Three Geese,’ shows the habit of
+augmenting the number of things, and of obstinacy in sticking to the
+words said.
+
+“I’ll tell the Irish story, if you’d like to hear it, as it’s told by
+my old friend Patrick Kennedy.”
+
+“We should all be delighted to hear et, I’m sure,” said the host.
+
+“Then let us have a good large jug of toddy—half-a-gallon or so—that
+all the company may drink together of the same, and make the story seem
+less dry,” said the Irish gentleman.
+
+A jorum of hot grog having been brought and served, all the company
+wished the guest health, happiness, and a long life; and “may your
+shadow never grow less,” added our host.
+
+Then the following Irish story was told in native style.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE GEESE.
+
+
+Oh, dear! O, dear! what headstrong crathers the womankind is! The more
+you want them to do any thing that’s right, the surer they are not to
+do it, unless the advice is given to a young girl by a gay deludher of
+a young man something above her station, or to a mistress of a family
+by some tay-dhrinking, gossiping, cabin-hunting, idle sthra that does
+nothing but go about pretending to knit a stocking, and she does knit
+it at the rate of four rounds in the day. It reminds me of the tailor
+and his wife that were not satisfied without bringing trouble into
+their cabin, when it pleased Providence not to be sending any. The poor
+man was sitting contentedly on his board stitching away (I’m sure I
+wish I knew how a tailor manages to keep his thraneens of legs the way
+he does for so long), and his wife that was cabin-hunting may be,
+bawled out, just as she was darkening the door, “Ah, you idle
+sthronshuch! there you are sitting at your aise, and a hundred geese
+trampling down our little oats; get up, you lazy drone, and drive them
+away.” “Musha, I think,” says he, “you’re more at leisure yourself; but
+rather than have a scolding match, here we go.” So getting up, he went
+out, and when he looked to the field, “Arrah, woman,” says he, “what’s
+on your eyes at all? I see but two geese.” “Two geese, inagh! purshuin’
+to the goose less than fifty there, any way.” “Fifty? I wish I was as
+sure of fifty guineas as that there is only two in it.” “Ah! goodness
+help poor creatures of women with their tyrants of husbands! I tell you
+up to your teeth, there is forty geese there destroying the oats, as
+sure as there is one.” “Well, well, two, or forty, or a hundred, I had
+better drive them off.”
+
+When dinner came she poured out the potatoes, and laid his noggin of
+milk and plate of butter out for him; but went and sat in the corner
+herself, and threw her apron over her head, and began to sob. “Arrah,
+Judy acushla,” says he, “what’s this for? come over and take your
+dinner, and let us be thankful, instead of flying in God’s face.”
+“N-n-n-no indeed, I w-w-w-will not. To say such a thing as that there
+was only two ge-ge-ge-geese there when I reckoned a whole score!” “Oh!
+to Halifax with them for geese: let them go and be shot, woman, and
+come over to the table.” “Indeed and I will not till you own to the
+truth.” Well not a bit did she eat; and when night came, she make a
+shake down for herself, and would not gratify the poor tailor by
+sleeping in her own good high-standing bed. Next morning she did not
+rise; but when her husband spoke kindly, and brought some breakfast to
+the bedside, she asked him to go for her mother and relations till
+she’d take leave of them before she’d die, as there was no use living
+any more, when all love was gone from him. “But, Judy dear, why do you
+go on in this way? what have I done?” “Don’t you say there was only two
+geese there, and at the very lowest there could not be less than a
+dozen. Can’t you acknowledge the truth, you obstinate pig of a man, and
+let us be at peace again?”
+
+Instead of making any answer, he walked over to her mother’s house, and
+brought her over, with two or three of her family; and they laid siege
+to the wife, but they might as well be preachin’ to a stone wall; and
+she almost persuaded them that her husband was to blame. “Now call
+him,” says she, “and I’ll insense you who is wrong. Darby, on the nick
+of your soul, and if you don’t intend to send me to my grave, speak the
+truth like a Christian, and don’t be heapin’ sins on your miserable
+head. I’ll leave you no back door, for I’ll only insist on three geese,
+though I’m sure there was six at the very least; wasn’t there three
+geese in the field when I called you out!” “Och, Judy asthore? never
+mind: let there be three-and-thirty if you like, but don’t let us be
+idlin’ and tormentin’ our people here. Get up in the name of goodness
+and eat a bit.” “But wasn’t there three geese there, I say, Darby?”
+“Ah, dickens a one but two if you go to that.” “Oh, Vuya, Vuya! isn’t
+this a purty story? Go home, go home, all of yez, and bid Tommy
+Mulligan prepare my coffin, and bring it over about sun-down, and just
+give me one night’s dacent waking: [14] I won’t ax the two, for I don’t
+wish to give so much trouble to the neighbours, and indeed I think I
+couldn’t stand the ungratitude and conthrāriness of them that ought to
+know better, and feel for a body; and after all that I done and slaved
+for him, and gave up Neddy Brophy for him, that was six inches taller,
+and a carpenter besides.”
+
+Well, thinking it might give her a fright, they went and brought a
+coffin that was ready made at the time, and some fresh shavings in the
+bottom; and the women of the town, that gathered as soon as the coffin
+came, ordered out the men till they’d wash the corpse.
+
+She said nothing till the men were outside; but then she gave tongue,
+and asked how dare they think that she wanted washing! It might do well
+enough for a real dead body, but she was thankful it hadn’t come to
+that with her yet, and if she chose to die it was no concern of theirs;
+and if any one attempted to lay a drop of water on her skin, she’d lay
+the marks of her ten nails on their face. Well, she was got some way
+into the coffin, and a clean cap and frill put round her face; and, as
+she was not pale enough, a little girl shook some flour on her cheeks.
+Before the men and boys were let in, she asked for a looking glass, and
+when she saw what a fright she looked with the flour, she got a towel
+and rubbed every bit of it off again.
+
+She bid her husband be called in, and gave her sister and mother
+charge, in his hearing, to be kind and attentive to the poor angashore
+after she was gone: at any rate till he’d get a new wife, which she
+supposed would not be very far off; for though he was unkind and
+conthrāry, thank goodness she knew her duty, and she supposed he could
+not help his nature, and it was better as it was, before they’d grow
+old, and she might get peevish and lose her temper, and they might
+become a gazabo to the neighbours by fightin’ and scoldin’. “I’ll
+engage now, after all is said and done, he won’t give way an inch, nor
+acknowledge the three geese.” Well, the moment the geese were
+mentioned, he put on his hat without a word, and walked out.
+
+So evenin’ came, and the candles were lighted, and the tobacco and
+pipes were all laid out, and the poor dead woman had to listen to a
+good deal of discourse not at all to her liking; and the talk went on
+in this way. “Musha, neighbour, doesn’t the corpse look mighty well?
+When did she die, poor woman? What ailed her, did you hear?” “Indeed I
+believe it was Gusopathy, as Tom K. the schoolmaster called it just
+now; something with ‘goose’ in it any way: you know the way the skin
+does be in a sudden cold, with little white risings on it, they call it
+a goose’s skin. May be she had it very bad, and her husband could not
+bear it, and so she died of grief.” “Poor man, he’ll feel her loss for
+a week or two, she was a careful woman.” “Ah, but hadn’t she a bitter
+tongue of her own?” “Troth I think Darby will bear her loss with
+Christian patience. He is a young man for his years; he doesn’t look
+forty, he’ll be getting his choice of wives. I think poor Judy was
+careful and laid by a few guineas; won’t the new wife feel comfortable,
+and may be soon put wind under the money!” “To my notion, Judy was in
+too great a hurry to die. From her looks there, she might bury two
+tailors yet, and may be get a big bodagh of a farmer for her third
+husband. Well, it can’t be helped, but I would not like to be warming a
+bed for the best woman in the townland if I was Judy. She is at peace
+at last, poor woman; and mighty hard she found it to keep the peace
+with her neighbours while she was alive. Who is that you said used to
+be walking with Darby of odd Sunday evenings before his marriage? If
+ghosts are allowed to take the air on Sunday evenings, poor Judy’s will
+have something to fret her in a few weeks.”
+
+Well, all this time, the poor dead woman’s blood was rushing like mad
+through her veins; and something was swelling in her throat as if she
+was going to be choked, but still the divel was so strong in her that
+she never opened her eyes nor her mouth. The poor broken-hearted
+husband came up after some time, and leaning over her face he
+whispered, “Judy, acushla, isn’t it time to be done with this foolery?
+Say but one reasonable word, and I’ll send all these people about their
+business.” “Ah, you little-good-for crather, you havn’t the spirit of a
+man, or you would never bear all they have been saying of your poor
+neglected wife these two hours past. Are the three geese there?” “Not a
+goose but two if you were to be waked for a twelvemonth;” and off he
+went and sat in a dark part of the room till daylight.
+
+He made another offer next morning, just as the led was puttin’ on the
+coffin, and the men were goin’ to hoise it on their shoulders; but not
+a foot she’d move unless he’d give in to the three geese.
+
+So they came to the churchyard, and the coffin was let down in the
+grave, and just as they were preparing to fill all up, poor Darby went
+down, and stooping to where he had left some auger holes in the lid, he
+begged of her even after the holy show she made of himself and herself,
+to give up the point, and come home. “Is the three geese there?” was
+all he could get out of her, and this time his patience got so
+thread-bare, and he was so bothered by want of sleep, and torment of
+mind, that he got beside himself, and jumped up, and began to shovel
+the clay like mad, down on the coffin.
+
+The first rattle it made, however, had like to frighten the life out of
+the buried woman, and she shouted out, “Oh, let me up! I’m not dead at
+all: let there be only two geese, Darby asthore, if you like.” “Oh, be
+this and be that,” said Darby, “it is too late: people have come far
+and near to the funeral, and we can’t let them lose their day for
+nothing: so for the credit of the family, don’t stir,” and down went
+the clay in showers, for the tailor had lost his senses. Of course the
+by-standers would not let the poor woman be buried against her own
+will; so they seized on Darby and his shovel, and when his short
+madness was checked, he fell in a slump on the sod. When poor Judy was
+brought to life, the first sight she beheld was her husband lyin’
+without a kick in him, and a wag of a neighbour proposed to her to let
+Darby be put down in her place, and not give so many people a
+disappointment after coming far and near. The dead woman, by way of
+thanks, gave him a slap across the face that he felt for two days; and
+not minding the figure she cut in her grave-clothes, fell on poor
+Darby, and roared and bawled for him to come to life, and she’d never
+say a conthrāry word to him again while she lived. So, some way or
+other they brought the tailor round; but how her and him could bear to
+look each other in the face for a while, I don’t know. May be as there
+was a good deal of love under all the crossness, they found a way to
+get into their old habits again, and whenever she felt a tart answer
+coming to her tongue, she thought of the rattling of the clay on the
+coffin, and of the three geese that were only two after all; and if
+they didn’t live happy——but that’s the end they put to lying fairy
+stories, and as this one is so true and moral, it can afford to do
+without a tail.
+
+
+
+When the applause and remarks occasioned by this story had somewhat
+subsided, our hostess spoke a few words in her husband’s ear; she might
+have meant to whisper, but the guest asked what she said about trouble.
+“That she and the rest,” replied our host, “wed beg and pray for ’e to
+tell them another story, but they were afraid to trouble ’e.”
+
+“It will give me much pleasure,” said the Irish gentleman, “to tell
+another, of quite a different sort,” and he presently told the
+following story of a brave Irish boy’s luck.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE EARL OF STAIRS’ SON.
+
+
+The father was called the Earl of Stairs, because his little house was
+just on the side of Black Stairs, looking towards Puck’s Bridge. One
+eave rested on the side of the rock, and the walls were good strong
+stone walls (there is no scarcity of stones in them parts), and the
+roof was as snug as scraws and heath could make it. The Earl enclosed
+as much land off the common as he could till; so there was no scarcity
+of oaten bread, or potatoes, or eggs, or goats’ milk; and small thanks
+to him for keeping up a good fire, for the turf bog was within a hen’s
+race of his castle. Both he and his wife were of old respectable
+families; and so, as they had the good drop of blood, and some larning,
+and were mighty genteel in their manners, they were called Lady Stairs
+and the Earl of Stairs. One day, an ignorant omadhaun of a mountaineer
+came in on some business, and he sat down, and kept looking at a bunch
+of keys that was hanging from a table-drawer, and says he, after a long
+pause, “Ma’am,” says he, “do you sell kays here?”
+
+Well, when the little boy was about fifteen years old, and knew more
+nor any school-master within ten miles of him, he was so eager after
+the learning, that he set out over the mountain, and through Carlow,
+and Kilkenny, and whatever lies at the back of them, till he came to
+Munster. He got into a capital school there, and learned all them
+branches I mentioned while ago, ay, and grammar along with them; I
+forgot the grammar. A Mr. Blundell teached in that school about twenty
+years ago, but I don’t know the name of the young Earl’s master who
+lived long before that time. He paid nothing for his knowledge, but
+helped the master now and then; and the farmers’ children going to the
+school were glad to take him home at night, as he was so ready to share
+his knowledge with them. No wonder he should find it so easy to pick up
+learning in Munster, where they say the little boys minding the cows
+converses with one another in Latin.
+
+At last and at long, he returned home, a fine genteel young man; and
+did not his poor mother cry with joy, when she heard him talking to the
+priest the next Sunday, after Mass, and conversing with him in Latin,
+and French, and Portugee.
+
+Well, there was nothing to hinder him now from being a priest himself,
+if he chose, as the old people had some guineas laid up in the thatch
+in an old stocking; but though he was pious enough in his own way, he
+said he had no vocation; and that any one becoming a priest without a
+vocation, would be only endangering his own soul and the souls of his
+flock. Every week he used to get an invitation to some great farmers’
+house for tay and hot cake, and wherever the priest had a station, he
+was sure to be there. The girls had an eye on him, but though he was
+polite enough, he paid no particular attention to any one; and then
+they began to find out that his parents were below their own rank in
+life, and that his geese were all swans in his own eyes, and that the
+concait of some people was astonishing. He used to ramble about the
+rocks with a book in his hands; and though he was ready enough to help
+the Earl at his work, the deuce a hand would the old fool let him lay
+to a single thing.
+
+At last as they were sitting round the fire on a winter’s night, the
+young fellow up and told the old couple, that he was tired of doing
+nothing and having nothing to do, and that he would set out on his
+travels, and that he hoped he would have something pleasant to write
+home about before long.
+
+The poor old people were sad enough at this; but after doing all they
+could to persuade him to stay at home, and marry, and take a farm, or
+open a shop in Newtownbarry (it was only Bunclody then), or
+Enniscorthy, or New Ross, he still held out, and one fine day he set
+forward to Dublin, and took ship there, and tale or tidings were not
+heard from him for two years, except one letter that he sent them from
+Paris about five months after he set sail; and in this letter he said
+he was well off teaching English to a merchant’s children.
+
+A last one fine summer afternoon, a fine looking gentleman with a
+foreign appearance, and speaking English in a queer style, and
+travelling in a post-chaise, stopped at the inn at the cross of
+Rathduff, and put up there till next day; but said he wanted a guide to
+show him the way to the Earl of Stairs’ castle. The people knew the
+nickname well enough, and after he got some refreshment, a boy was sent
+to show him the way. When they came nigh the cabin which was on the
+open common, and near the ending of a lane that came up straight
+through the enclosed fields, they heard a great grunting and squeeling,
+and there they saw two stout two-year old pigs with their noses to the
+half-door, shrovellin’ at it with all their might, and only for the
+rings in their snouts they’d have it down in less than no time; and the
+squeelin’ they kept up all the time was enough to vex a saint. A
+puckawn [15] and eleven meenshogues [16] were surnadin’ along the ridge
+of the roof, and cantherin’ round the bawn, and givin’ a puck now and
+then to the musicianers at the door to quicken the tune a bit. Well,
+the gorsoon got through the goats and gave a welt or two to the pigs,
+and got them out of the way, and then he bawled out, “Earl of Stairs,
+are you within if you please, sir? Here’s a gentleman from foreign
+parts come to see you.” So with that the Earl came and opened the
+half-door, and requested the gentleman to walk in. There was as fine a
+dish of white eyes on their little table as you could wish to see, and
+a couple of noggins of boiled goats’ milk by the side of it, and a
+plate of butter, and the moment the gentleman entered, they pressed him
+to sit down and join them; and Lady Stairs filled out a mug of milk,
+and laid a knife and a pat of butter for the stranger.
+
+He thought to explain his business at once, but they would not hear a
+word till he would first eat and drink. So he hung his hat on a peg,
+and taking the knife in his hand, he cut one of the potatoes in two,
+and watched to see how the master and mistress managed theirs. And he
+was so polite that he laid down his knife, and began to peel off the
+potato skins with his fingers. Well, he did not relish that way of
+going to work much, so he took up the knife again and dispatched a
+couple of potatoes, and took a pull at the milk which I’m sure was good
+enough for a queen. Well, the table was small, and the mistress
+thinking that the potatoes were not much to their visitor’s taste, took
+down a wooden bowl, filled with good home-made cakes; and laying it on
+her lap, as the little table was crowded, she buttered a good slice,
+and asked him to try it if he pleased. He done his best to seem to
+relish every thing, and the Earl holding a lighted dipped rush in one
+hand, pressed him to make a hearty supper.
+
+When the cloth was off the table, the Earl wiped his hands on a wisp of
+straw in the corner: you will know by and by, why I mention this straw,
+and the other things. When he was done with it he threw it into the
+blaze, and it was burnt. Now, don’t forget the dish held on the lady’s
+lap, nor the rush in the Earl’s hand, nor the straw.
+
+At last says the Frenchman in broken English, as soon as they would let
+him speak, “Madame, the mistress of the house, havn’t you a son that
+left you about two years ago?” The poor woman got into such a tremble,
+that some of the cakes fell out of the bowl, and the father opened his
+eyes and his mouth, but couldn’t say a word. “Oh sir, dear,” says the
+mother, “have you seen our poor boy!” “Yes,” says he, “I have seen him,
+and he is alive and well, and well to do, and likely to be better.”
+“And when is he coming home, and why didn’t he write, and how does he
+look, and why didn’t he come with you?”
+
+“As I can’t speak the English very easily, you may better let me tell
+my story in my own way,” says the Frenchman, for a Frenchman he was: “I
+am the head man of business to a merchant in Paris; and about a year
+and half ago, a young genteel looking Irishman was engaged by my
+employer to teach his children English. There was something so mild and
+engaging about the young fellow, that the children and the elder people
+got very much attached to him, and the young lady their eldest daughter
+began to like him better than the others. Your son, for so he was,
+never took any airs on himself, and the young lady seeing that he paid
+no particular attention to her, began to mope and be dismal, and at
+last took to her bed, and was sick in earnest. The mother, by some
+means, found out what ailed her, and let her husband know; but he was
+very angry, and indeed herself was not much better, but still the girl
+was ailing without making any complaint. The young teacher made a great
+many mistakes in the lessons from the first day he missed the young
+lady from her place; and some of the servants remarked him several
+nights in the street at late hours, and looking up at the light of one
+of the windows. At last, fearing that they would lose their daughter
+altogether, the mother began to question the young Irishman about his
+family at home. He made no boast, except that he was descended from
+good old Irish families on both sides; and that the lands belonging to
+his forefathers were taken from them, because they would not renounce
+their religion nor their king; and he mentioned that his own father and
+mother were still called in jest, Earl and Lady Stairs.
+
+“Well they had no great occasion to ask him what he thought of their
+daughter, for one of her young brothers happening to call one day at
+his lodging, and stepping in on tiptoe, and peeping over his shoulder,
+he found him sobbing and kissing a little picture which he had made of
+his sister, unknown to any body.
+
+“So the old gentleman at last gave his consent, on condition that a
+person he’d send over to Ireland, to his father’s place, would be able
+to give a satisfactory account of the state of things here. I think he
+expected that by getting time, and leaving the lady to herself, she
+might change her mind; especially as there is no end to the balls and
+entertainments going on, and as all the young gentlemen of their
+acquaintance are invited to the house, night after night. Miss Mary is
+a very lively, rattling young damsel, with dark sparkling eyes; and we
+all wondered how she was so taken with your son, who is very quiet in
+his manner, and used to say so little. My master hopes from the
+briskness of her character, that she will get tired of his quietness;
+but I am sure he will be mistaken; and now a good deal depends on the
+news I am to send home in a day or two.”
+
+“Oh dear,” says the poor mother, “what will you be able to say about
+such humble people as we, to make your employer think well of the
+match?”
+
+“At all events,” says the stranger, “I can say of you, that before you
+knew anything of my business, you shared the best you had with me, and
+what more could you do if you were a real lady? Now if you have any way
+for me to sleep, I’ll let my guide go back and bring up my
+dressing-case from the inn; and we will take to-morrow to go to the top
+of this mountain here, and walk about, and settle how every thing is to
+be; and next day I’ll write home.”
+
+Well, then, he pulled out a letter from their son; and, between
+laughing and crying, they read, how at first he wrote after getting
+into business, and then when the trouble came, he did not wish to send
+any letter till he would have something pleasant to say. He put in
+everything to make them cheerful; and now and then something about the
+young lady would slip out, and her mother’s kindness, and the love he
+had for the little brothers, and what a charitable good young lady she
+was, etc. So when the evening got late, Mounseer was put to rest in a
+snug little room where their son had his bed long ago, and well he
+might sleep too, for there was a feather pallet, with a nice dry mat
+under it; and the fresh air of the mountain got in through chinks and
+crannies, and did not let the place feel too close; and the sheets were
+clean and well aired, and the quilt had all the beautifulest flowers in
+the world cut out on it in the neatest patterns.
+
+Lady Stairs going in and out took notice that he spent a good deal of
+time about his razhurs and other dressing implements; but if he passed
+any time on his kness, it was a mighty short one entirety. Next morning
+they contrived to give the Frenchman a decent breakfast of tay, and
+white bread, and butter, though them things didn’t often get so high up
+in the mountains; and they say that the French don’t use tay at
+breakfast; and after that he walked in his thin boots along with the
+Earl, to the very top of Blackstairs. I’m sure they had a delightful
+view from it, over the castles and demesnes of Mr. Colclough, Mr.
+Blacker, Mr. Carew, and all their plantations, and the woods of
+Kilaughrim, and Tombrick, and the Slaney flowing along, and the towns
+of Enniscorthy and New Ross looking so small, and all the snug farmers’
+houses down in the county Carlow, with the green paddocks around them,
+and the bogs here and there, and the dry stone fences to the fields,
+and the town of Carlow, and the fine broad Barrow flowing off towards
+Graigue and New Ross. If they turned around to the sunrise, they could
+enjoy the view of Mount Leinster, and the Wicklow hills, and Ferns, and
+Corrig Rua, and the far-off sea beyond all.
+
+Well, that evening he pulled out his letter paper, and his pen, and
+ink-horn; and began a letter to the merchant in Paris, and this is the
+way a part of it was wrote.
+
+
+    “Most respected sir,
+
+    “I write these few lines to you, hoping they shall find you in
+    health as it leaves me at present, thanks, etc., etc., and the
+    mistress, and Miss Mary, and the young Irish gentleman, and the
+    other children. This country is very different from France; land is
+    so cheap and plenty that they cut away a great deal of every field
+    to make a big dyke, and they build up a great big ditch with the
+    clay and stones they take out. The people are cheerful, and
+    hospitable, and obliging; but they are too fond of staying in their
+    chapels, and saying long prayers. Our young gentleman was rather
+    modest in speaking of his father’s rank and possessions. I can
+    hardly make a guess at the extent of the demesne that spreads round
+    his mansion for miles and miles, without hedge or ditch, and the
+    sheep and cattle that graze on it are beyond counting. When I drew
+    nigh to the castle, up an avenue half a mile long, it was in the
+    evening, and the Earl and his Lady were at their supper. There were
+    two musicianers stationed before the hall-door, and they played
+    during the whole time, such music as you never heard in your life
+    at any entertainment, no nor the King of France himself. Twelve
+    halberd-men were drawn up in front by way of royal guard; so
+    venerable as they looked, and such beards as they had! and while
+    they were on duty they would not return a salute, nor answer a
+    question to the King nor the Lord Lieutenant himself. Though the
+    Earl and his Lady were at their supper in state, they showed me the
+    greatest respect, when they heard from where I came. Will I ever
+    forget the splendour of that supper! The side table could not be
+    valued by the owner at less than fifty thousand pounds; and I am
+    sure that the Earl would not part with the chief candlestick that
+    gave light to the feast for ten thousand any way.
+
+    “After supper, the nobleman dried his hands on a towel with gold
+    fringes, at least they looked very like gold; and so little regard
+    had he for it that when he was done he thrune it into the fire.
+    Moreover, he need not go out of his own demesne for firing for a
+    hundred years to come; and by the end of that time, I’m sure you
+    would hardly miss the trees that would be cut down. Such is the
+    wonderful splendour of every thing here that I can hardly believe
+    my own account of it; and I’m sure the young Earl when he came to
+    Paris, and ever since, pretended to be poor, that he might find
+    some good young lady who would marry him for his own sake, and not
+    for his rank nor his riches.
+
+    “I will take a look at Dublin, and the Wicklow and the Welsh
+    mountains on my return; and I hope to see my young mistress with
+    the ring on her hand when I get home.
+
+    “I am, etc., etc.”
+
+
+Well, the clever Frenchman was asked to the priest’s house to take tea
+that evening, and two or three of the gentlemen-farmers met him there.
+He was very glad to get in company with the priest, as he spoke French
+well, having studied at a place abroad called Louvain, and he told him
+the sort of letter he was sending home. The clergyman wondered at it,
+you may be sure, but he said that the young lady would be thankful for
+the invention; and that her mother was won over already; and that the
+father only wished to make the thing look well in the eyes of their
+acquaintance; and so the letter would satisfy everybody; and from all
+he could hear of the young man from his old neighbours, his young
+mistress would never meet a better husband; for he had good manners and
+a good appearance, and was a good scholar, and what few young Paris
+gentlemen were, he was a good Christian into the bargain.
+
+Well to make my long story short, the Earl of Stairs soon made an
+addition of two rooms to his castle, a parlour and a bed-room, and the
+next year, there was joy and merriment in his house, for his son and
+his beautiful black-eyed bride came home; and they brought only a boy
+and a girl to wait on them; and the servants were harder to please than
+their master and mistress; and the merry young lady ran about among the
+heath and rocks, and her serious young husband and she were as fond as
+fond could be of one another; and she laughed till the tears ran down
+her cheeks at the notion of the halberd-men, and the musicianers, and
+the demesne, and the side table, and the candlestick, and the towel
+with the gold fringes; and she was as serious and devout at the little
+chapel as the poorest person there. They came to spend a part of every
+summer at Blackstairs during the life of the old people; and if they
+didn’t live happy, THAT WE MAY!”
+
+
+
+“These stories,” continued the guest, “are pretty fair examples of such
+as are still related at Irish hearths.”
+
+“We once had stories told here,” said the host, “which were full of
+action and adventures, but they are forgotten now. Instead of such old
+tales, we have now mere quibbles on words, or modern anecdotes, with
+but little in them worth remembering. As Henny Quick said, years ago,—
+
+
+   “Our Cornish drolls are dead, each one.
+    The fairies from their haunts have gone;
+    There’s scarce a witch in all the land,
+    The world has grown so learn’d and grand.”
+
+
+“Henny wrote many short pieces,” continued our host, “had them printed,
+and he sold them, with his mother’s help; yet what Henny called his
+copies of verses were on very doleful subjects when there was any new
+matter in them.
+
+“There was also a rhymster in Sancras, called Billy Foss, who would
+talk for ever so long in doggerel verse, but the greater part of it was
+very abusive; this es what he said of Boslow:—
+
+
+   “As I traversed Boslow
+    I saw an old cow,
+    A hog, and a flock of starved sheep;
+    Likewise an old mare,
+    Whose bones were so bare
+    They made her old master to weep:
+
+    A few acres of ground
+    As bare as a pound,
+    An old house just ready to fall;
+    Beside, there was no meat
+    For the people to eat,
+    And that was the worst thing of all:
+
+    No grass for the flocks,
+    But a carn of dry rocks,
+    Which afforded a horrible sight;
+    If you chance go that way,
+    You must do so by day,
+    For you’d smash out your brains in the night.
+
+    No crock, pan, nor kettle;
+    No goods, much nor little,
+    Was there to be found in the house;
+    No tables nor chairs,
+    No bedding upstairs—
+    Not so much as to cover a mouse.”
+
+
+“There are rhymes enough in that,” said the guest, “and whether there’s
+any reason you may best know.”
+
+About this time the Cap’n of the tin-stamps and other old men rose and
+came to wish us good night, saying, “we must love ’e and leave ’e my
+dears, for we haave to get to work early; the time es gone quickly, es
+past our landlord’s hour for closean; ef you are goan away to-morrow we
+wish ’e well, and hope you may come to ‘Sennor’ agen soon.”
+
+We were glad to get sleep too, having had a long ramble in the morning,
+and expecting a tiresome walk back to Penzance before the next night.
+
+In Zennor church we noticed, on a bench-end, the curious carving of a
+mermaid, which has probably given rise to a legend [17] well known in
+the neighbourhood.
+
+The following epitaph on a mural tablet, in the same church, is also
+somewhat remarkable:—
+
+
+                      Here rest the Mortal part of
+                     John Quick, of Wicka, Yeoman.
+            He was hospitable, sociable, peaceable, humble,
+                     honest, and devout in manner.
+                        HE EXCELLED HIS EQUALS.
+                     In piety he was their example.
+                      He met death with composure.
+                       Sept. 12th, 1784, aged 74.
+
+                  “The Memory of the Just is Blessed.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FROM PENZANCE TO CARN GALVA: NOTEWORTHY OBJECTS BY THE WAY.
+
+
+The past is slipping from our hold, as shadowy as dreams,
+The dim, mysterious, lifeless past,—how faint, unreal it seems.
+But here and there we come across some waif upon the shore,
+Thrown landward by the waves of time, for man to ponder o’er.—J. B.
+
+
+
+Having the day before us, we take our course to Madron, and only pause
+when near the village to turn round and admire the splendid landscape.
+
+
+
+
+MADRON.
+
+Madron Church is interesting to the archæologist: the east end is said
+to be that of the original early English Church of about 1260. Among
+the objects worthy of notice in the interior, are the font, sedile, and
+piscina, and also several mural monuments.
+
+On one old tomb may be seen the following matter-of-fact inscription:—
+
+
+   “Belgium me birth, Braitaine me breeding gave,
+    Cornwalle a wife, ten children, and a grave.”
+
+
+Observe also the inscription on the brass of John Clies, in which the
+place now called Penzance is spelt Penzour; and the north-west end
+window, recently presented to this Church by the Rev. M. N. Peters, the
+Vicar. There are many quaint inscriptions on the old tombs, besides
+that to George Daniel.
+
+At Landithy farm house, near at hand, note the ancient doorway, which
+formed a portal to the preceptory of the Knights’ Templars; a
+considerable portion of the college of these warrior monks, with some
+of the rooms adorned with curious portraits, supposed to be those of
+the early kings and queens of England, was standing until a few years
+ago, when the interesting old building was taken down and a farm-house
+erected on its site.
+
+From the old portal of Landithy college, we pass up the road north of
+the Church; at the corner of the Union garden, take the path across the
+fields; at the bottom of the lane leading out of the third field, turn
+down through the moors on the right, and a path over soft grass and
+camomile brings us to a stile, which takes us into the moor where are
+St. Madron’s Well and Chapel.
+
+
+
+
+MADRON WELL.
+
+To find the Holy Well, on entering the lower enclosure, pass down
+across the moor at a right angle to the hedge, and a minute’s walk will
+bring us to the noted spring, which is not seen until very near, as it
+has no wall above the surface, nor any mark by which it can be
+distinguished at a distance. Much has been written of the remarkable
+cures effected by these holy waters, and the intercession of good St.
+Madron. This was when Madron Well was so famous that the maimed, halt,
+and lame made pilgrimages from distant parts of the country to the
+heathy moor.
+
+The water is still resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May by
+some few women of the neighbourhood, who bring children to be cured of
+skin diseases by being bathed in the Well water. And its old repute as
+a divining fount has not yet quite died out, though young folks come
+here now to drop pins or pebbles into the spring, more for fun and the
+pleasure of each other’s company, than through any belief that the
+falling together, or separation of pins or pebbles, will tell how the
+course of love will run between the parties indicated by the objects
+dropped into the spring; or that the number of bubbles which rise in
+the water, on stamping near the well, mark the number of years, in
+answer to any question of time; but there was not such want of faith in
+the virtues of this water half a century ago.
+
+A few weeks before the Excursion, we took a ramble through Boswarva,
+Bosullow, and some other ancient hamlets on the higher side of Madron,
+to see if we could glean anything from the old inhabitants about the
+rites formerly practised at the Crick-stone, Madron Well, and
+elsewhere.
+
+An elderly dame, who had lived the best part of her time near Lanyon,
+gave us the following account of the doings at the Well about fifty
+years ago. “At that time, when she lived in Lenine, scores of women
+from Morvah, Zennor, Towednack, and other places, brought their
+children to Madron Well to be cured of the shingles, wildfires,
+tetters, and various skin diseases, as well as to fortify them against
+witchcraft and other mysterious ailments.
+
+“An old dame, called An (aunt) Katty, who then mostly lived about in
+the Bosullows, or some place near, and who did little but
+knitting-work, picked up a good living in the spring of the year, by
+attending at the Well, to direct the high country folks how they were
+to proceed in using the waters.
+
+“First she had the child stripped as naked as it was born; then the
+creature was plunged or popped three times through the water against
+the sun; next, the child was passed quickly nine times round the
+spring, going from east to west, or with the sun; then the babe was
+dressed, rolled up in something warm, and laid to sleep near the water;
+if the child slept and plenty of bubbles rose in the water, it was a
+good sign.”
+
+We enquired if a prayer, charm, or anything was spoken during the
+operations? “Why, no, to be sure,” the dame replied, “there mustn’t be
+a word spoken all the time they are near the water, or it will spoil
+the spell; and a piece rented off from some part of the clothes worn by
+the child or any other person using the Well, must be left near the
+water for good luck, ever so small a bit will do; this is mostly placed
+out of sight, alongside of the stream, which runs from the Well.
+
+“Whilst one party went through the rites at the spring, all the others
+remained over the stile, in the higher enclosure, or by the hedge, till
+they came up from the water, because if a word were spoken by anyone
+near the well, during the dipping, they had to come again. The old
+woman, An Katty, was never paid in money, but balls of yarn, or
+anything else she wanted, were dropped on the road, outside the
+Well-moors, for her. This old dame also got good pickings by
+instructing the young girls how to try for sweethearts at the Well.
+
+“Scores of maidens” (the dame’s words) “used, in the summer evenings,
+to come down to the Well, from ever so far, to drop into it pins,
+gravel, or any small thing that would sink. The names of the persons
+were not spoken when the objects, which represented them, were dropped
+into the water; they were only thought of, and as they remained
+together or separated, such would be the fate of the couple. It was
+only when the spring was working (rising strongly) that it was of any
+use to try the spells; it was always unlucky to speak when near the
+Well at such times.”
+
+Such is the substance of what the dame told us. She never heard that
+any saint had anything to do with the water, except from somebody who
+told her there was something in a book about it; nor had she or anybody
+else heard the water called St. Madron’s Well, except by the new
+gentry, who go about giving new names to the places, and think they
+know more about them than the people who have lived here ever since the
+world was created.
+
+We enquired if the people ever went to the old chapel to perform any
+ceremony? Not that she ever heard of; Morvah folks, and others of the
+Northern parishes who mostly resort to the spring pay no regard to any
+saint or to any body else, except some old woman who may come down with
+them to show how everything used to be done. We were also informed that
+there is a spring in some moor in Zennor, not far from Bosporthenes,
+which is said to be as good as Madron Well, and that children are often
+taken thither and treated in the same way.
+
+The silent proceedings were altogether new to us, because we had often
+gone to other Wishing Wells with parties of young folks who always kept
+noise and fun enough; yet the old dame regarded the proceedings as a
+very solemn matter.
+
+In answer to the questions of “What was the reason for going round the
+Well nine times? leaving the bits of rags? following the sun?” &c.; it
+was always the same reply, “Such were the old customs, and everybody
+knew it was unlucky to go, or to do anything, against the course of the
+sun; no woman, who knew anything, would place pans of milk in the
+dairy, so as to have to unream them against the sun.”
+
+
+
+
+MADRON CHAPEL.
+
+By following down the brooklet from the Well, in a minute’s space we
+came to the Chapel. In the southern wall may be noticed an opening for
+letting the water from the Well-brook flow into a baptistry in the
+South-western corner of the Chapel. Entering by a door-way, on the
+northern side of the Chapel, we see that this simple font appears to
+have been arched over, after the manner of the bee-hive huts, by one
+row of stones projecting over the other. The table-slab of the altar
+(which still remains at the east end) has a square pit, worked in the
+centre to mark the place on which an image, or the monstrance, was
+probably placed. There is a step to mark the division between the
+little nave and the sacrarium, and remains of the stone seats which
+were carried all round against the walls. A rare and beautiful little
+plant, the Cornish Money-wort, may be found among stones beside the
+Well-brook.
+
+
+
+
+LANYON QUOIT.
+
+We return to the highway, and continuing on the Morvah road, pass a
+broken cross, which once served to direct the pilgrim to the Holy Well
+and shrine, or to the Templar’s roof. A little farther on, a church-way
+path through fields makes a short cut across the hill; from the road at
+the foot of this hill, on the Lanyon side, one gets the most striking,
+though not the first view of the Quoit. From this low ground, the mass
+of rock (more than eighteen feet long and nine abroad) is seen looming
+against the sky like a gigantic tripod. When near it, we find that its
+height from the ground is only from five to six feet; yet Dr. Borlase
+says, that in his time it was high enough for a man to sit under it on
+horseback.
+
+In 1816, the cap-stone of the cromlech was thrown down by a violent
+storm, and a large piece of one supporting stone broken off. In 1824,
+after the Logan Rock was replaced, the powerful machinery brought into
+the country for that purpose, was used for raising the Quoit; and,
+preparatory to replacing it, the other two uprights were sunk several
+feet. One may speculate on the means first employed to raise the
+ponderous mass, which has been beaten by the storms of more than twice
+ten hundred years. Few can view “this lonely monument of times that
+were” without joining in the prayer of the following beautiful lines:—
+
+
+    * * * “Let no rude hand remove,
+    Or spoil thee; for the spot is consecrate
+    To thee, and thou to it; and as the heart
+    Aching with thoughts of human littleness
+    Asks, without hope of knowing, whose the strength
+    That poised thee here.”
+
+
+It does not seem likely to be soon decided whether these weird-looking
+monuments on our silent hills were giants’ altars, kist veans, or the
+tombs of giants who have left the marks of their footsteps on all our
+granite cairns and hills. Our mythic giants may not be altogether
+fabulous, and it seems beyond dispute that gigantic remains have been
+found under cromlechs when first denuded of the barrows with which
+many, perhaps all, were formerly covered.
+
+Another idea, in connection with them, may be suggested by what we have
+farther to state. A Cornish gentleman, [18] who resided many years in
+various parts of India, and to whom we are grateful for much exact and
+curious information on various antiquarian subjects, informs us that he
+has, in many remote parts of India (where the most ancient and simple
+forms of Hindooism prevail), seen huge monuments of unhewn stone so
+like some of our cromlechs in their construction, that they always
+reminded him of our giants’ quoits, and his distant home on the Cornish
+hills. He says that in the granite districts, they were precisely
+similar in plan to our cromlechs; and in the slate districts the slabs
+were thinner and the construction more regular.
+
+In all, an opening was left on one side. Between the supporting stones
+and within the recesses of these rude structures sacred lamps were
+always kept burning. The priesthood, who attended these sacred fires,
+were so much opposed to Christians coming near their sacred places,
+that the gentleman referred to had no means of ascertaining whether
+these Hindoo cromlechs were regarded as altars, tombs, or shrines. They
+might have been all three combined, as it has been usual, in all times,
+for the sacredotal hierarchy of all gloomy creeds to make the most of
+the bones of the dead to impress the minds of the living with awe for
+the unearthly mystery with which they ever aim to invest priestly
+functions. At last, by the gloomy creeds and rites of these mysterious
+religions, they make a personification of death their deity.
+
+We must leave it for our learned antiquaries to decide whether this
+huge Quoit was a giant’s tomb, or anything else which was ever applied
+to any mortal use, except to make us feel that the ancient Cornish who
+could raise such ponderous masses, high enough for a man to sit under
+on horseback, were no despicable race.
+
+
+
+
+LANYON TOWN PLACE AND HOUSE.
+
+As we proceed on the Morvah road toward Lanyon, the rugged top of Carn
+Galva is seen rising over the northern hills. The first sight of this
+huge carn, piled up against the sky, suggests the thought that the good
+old giant who lived there in ancient times could not have selected a
+better place for his stronghold. We now approach the town-place of
+Lanyon, Lanion, or rather Lanine, for every one here calls the place by
+the latter name, as well as the family, who probably took their name
+from this, their ancient home. If you enquire of any person hereabouts
+for Lanyon, they will wonder where you came from, and it is not at all
+easy for a stranger to get any information out of our good folk by
+abrupt questioning, which they detest. The best way is to tell them
+frankly what you want. Then, they will do their utmost to gratify your
+wishes. So now we are here, we shall always speak of the place as
+Lanine, and tell a yarn to get two in return.
+
+Many fanciful meanings have been given for the name of Lanyon or
+Lenine; yet there appears to be little doubt that the name is a
+contraction of Lanython, which is composed of Lan, an enclosure, and
+Ython, or Eithin, furze (the adjective comes after the noun in
+Cornish); or the name may be simply the plural form of Lan. This word
+Lan (often contracted into la) enters into the construction of many
+names of ancient places, as Landithy, Lamoran, Lamorna, &c. In Wales
+and Brittany, names are equally common, which are formed of Llan or
+lan, followed by some qualifying word; and as some of the oldest
+settlements or enclosures were the first places in which Churches were
+erected, the word Lan came to be regarded as designating the Church. In
+Lamorna and other similar words the n is dropped, from a natural
+disposition to avoid the exertion which the pronunciation of certain
+combinations of consonants entails on the speaker. The strongly-built
+dwelling-house of Lenine shows that Madron masons of the last century
+were good craftsmen. Note the sturdy strength of the broad
+chimney-stacks, which seem determined to put a hard face on all the
+fierce blasts they encounter in this unsheltered place. The sturdy
+expression of this simple building harmonises well with the bleak
+character of surrounding scenery.
+
+
+
+THE CRICK-STONE.
+
+Another noteworthy object, on this site of ancient enclosures, is the
+remarkable group of three stones called by antiquaries the men-an-tol,
+and by country folk the crick-stone, from the old custom (not yet
+extinct) of “craming” (crawling on all fours) round the centre stone,
+and of creeping through the hole in the same (when the person was thin
+enough) for the cure of lumbago, sciatic, and other “cricks” and pains
+in the back.
+
+This mysterious monument is situated in a croft to the right of the
+Morvah road, about half-a-mile in a northerly direction from Lenine
+town-place. Our antiquaries are as much at variance with respect to the
+purpose for which this remarkable group was erected as they are about
+the real purpose of the cromlech. Some hold that it is a sepulchral
+monument, as well as the Men Scryfa (written stone) farther on, because
+there is a tradition that in Gendhal, or Gednhal moor, a little below,
+there was once a battle so great that the moor “ran with blood.” Others
+suppose it to have been used for some druidical ceremonies similar to
+those not long since practised there; and by a great number it is
+conjectured that this mysterious monument served for the computation of
+time. Among those who think that the object of its erection was
+probably astronomical is Professor Max Müller. This gentleman, in the
+Quarterly Review for August, 1867, after stating that the three stones
+are in a line bearing nearly east and west, says:—
+
+“This men-an-tol may be an old dial, erected originally to fix the
+proper time for the celebration of the autumnal equinox, and, though it
+may have been applied to other purposes likewise, such as the curing of
+children by dragging them several times through the hole, still its
+original intention may have been astronomical.”
+
+In another place, after speaking of the Mên-heers, or long stones
+(which, being mostly found in pairs bearing nearly east and west, he
+thinks served the same purpose), he continues:—
+
+“If their astronomical character could once be firmly established, it
+might even be possible, at least approximately, to fix the time of
+their erection. If we suppose that the shadow of the stones on each
+side of the men-an-tol was intended to fall through the hole on the day
+of the autumnal equinox, then, if there is any slight deviation at
+present, and that deviation in the direction demanded by the precession
+of the equinoctial, points of difference might be calculated, and
+translated into years, and we should thus be enabled to fix, at least
+with a margin of a century or two, the time when that time piece was
+first set up on the high plains of Cornwall.”
+
+In concluding his notice of the Holed-stone of Lanine, he says:—
+
+“A mere shepherd, though he had never heard the name of astronomy,
+might have erected such a stone for his own convenience, in order to
+know the time when he might safely bring his flocks out, or take them
+back to their safer stables. But this would in no way diminish the
+interest of the men-an-tol. It would still remain one of the few relics
+of the childhood of our race; one of the witnesses of the earliest
+workings of the human mind in its struggle against, and in its alliance
+with, the powers of nature; one of the vestiges in the first
+civilization of the British Isles.”
+
+Less than half-a-mile over the downs, in a northerly direction, brings
+us to the
+
+
+
+MEN SCRYFA (WRITTEN STONE.)
+
+The safest plan for a stranger to take, in order to find this
+interesting monument, is to return to, and proceed on, the Morvah road
+until nearly opposite Bosullow, where a path will be found, on the
+right hand, leading to this ancient inscribed pillar, which is one of
+the most important monuments in the west country, if not in the
+kingdom. One side of the stone will be found inscribed with the words
+Rialobran-Cunoval Fil, signifying that Rialobran, the son of Cunoval,
+was here buried. The tradition of the country folks says that a king
+slain in the battle of Gendhal moor, was buried here with all his arms
+and treasures; and that the king stood nine feet high, which was found
+to be the length of this pillar monument, when about half a century ago
+an old curmudgeon of the neighbourhood upset the tombstone of
+Rialobran, the son of Cunoval, in searching for the crock of gold,
+which he, in common with many others, believed to be buried there. It
+is not known whether he found any treasures by his digging, but he
+caused the stone to fall face downward, in which position it remained,
+little heeded, until 1862, when it was replaced by the Antiquarian
+Society over the warrior’s grave.
+
+A large tract of ground covered with furze and heath, surrounding this
+monument, used to be called “Goon-men-scryfa” (inscribed stone downs.)
+
+
+
+
+THE FOUR PARISHES.
+
+At a short distance to the northward of Men-scryfa, there is a large
+flat stone, with a cross cut on it, to show that the four parishes of
+Madron, Gulval, Morvah, and Zennor meet there. There is a tradition
+that some Saxon kings dined on this stone in days of yore.
+
+According to another tradition, when Prince Arthur and four British
+kings were on their way to drive the Danes from Penwith, they rested on
+this rock.
+
+Then, on their way down along towards the Land’s End, Prince Arthur and
+the four kings collected the native Cornish, who fought the Danes, and
+under guidance of the royal personages, conquered them, in the battle
+of Vellan-drucchar (wheel-mill) moor; where the Danes were nearly all
+killed, and so great was the slaughter, that “the mill was worked with
+blood,” so old folk said.
+
+From Goon-men-scryfa, the bold and curious pile of Carn Galva (goats’
+carn) is a very striking object in the view, standing out as it does
+near the sea, and six hundred feet or more above the sea level.
+
+From Men-scryfa, we take a northerly course, over the downs, to Carn
+Galva.
+
+One can’t fail to pass a pleasant time, should the weather be fine,
+among the rocks and glades of Carn Galva. Above all, if we ramble
+hither through the ferns, heath, and furze, in the whortleberry season,
+we may pick the rich fruit, roll in the shade, or bask in the sun, on
+the beautiful green patches of turf, as soft as velvet, to be found
+everywhere; or one may ramble in and out, and all around, playing
+hide-and-seek, through the crellas between the carns, whence the good
+old Giant of the Carn often sallied forth to protect his Morvah and
+Zennor people and their cattle against the incursions of the giants of
+other carns and hills. Those of Trink and Trecrobben were the most
+troublesome, because they lived near in castles strong and high.
+
+Now they say that when the Trecrobben giant once got the cattle, or
+tin, into his stronghold, he would defy all other giants in the
+country. By the traditions, still preserved in Morvah and its
+neighbourhood,
+
+
+
+
+THE GIANT OF CARN GALVA
+
+was more playful than warlike. Though the old works of the giant now
+stand desolate, we may still see, or get up and rock ourselves upon,
+the logan-stone which this dear old giant placed on the most westerly
+carn of the range, that he might log himself to sleep when he saw the
+sun dip into the waves and sea-birds fly to their homes in the cleeves.
+Near the giant’s rocking-seat, one may still see a pile of cubical
+rocks, which are almost as regular and shapely now as when the giant
+used to amuse himself in building them up, and kicking them down again,
+for exercise or play, when alone and he had nothing else to do. People
+of the northern hills have always had a loving regard for the memory of
+this giant, because he appears to have passed all his life at the carn
+in single blessedness, merely to protect his beloved people of Morvah
+and Zennor from the depredations of the less honest Titans who then
+dwelt on Lelant hills. Carn Galva giant never killed but one of the
+Morvah people in his life, and that happened all through loving play.
+
+The giant was very fond of a fine young fellow, of Choone, who used to
+take a turn over to the Carn, every now and then, just to see how the
+old giant was getting on, to cheer him up a bit, play a game of bob, or
+anything else to help him pass his lonely time away. One afternoon the
+giant was so well pleased with the good play they had together, that
+when the young fellow of Choone threw down his quoit to go away home,
+the giant, in a good-natured way, tapped his playfellow on the head
+with the tips of his fingers. At the same time he said, “Be sure to
+come again to-morrow, my son, and we will have a capital game of bob.”
+Before the word “bob” was well out of the giant’s mouth, the young man
+dropped at his feet. The giant’s fingers had gone right through his
+playmate’s skull. When, at last, the giant became sensible of the
+damage he had done to the young man’s brain-pan, he did his best to put
+the inside workings of his mate’s head to rights and plugged up his
+finger-holes, but all to no purpose; for the young man was stone dead
+and cold, long before he ceased doctoring his head.
+
+When the poor giant found it was all over with his playmate, he took
+the body in his arms, and, sitting down on a large square rock at the
+foot of the carn, he rocked himself to and fro; pressing the lifeless
+body to his bosom, he wailed and moaned over him, bellowing and crying
+louder than the booming billows breaking on the rocks in Permoina.
+
+“Oh, my son, my son, why didn’t they make the shell of thy noddle
+stronger? A es as plum (soft) as a pie-crust, dough-baked, and made too
+thin by the half! How shall I ever pass my time without thee to play
+bob and mop-and-heede? (hide-and-seek.)”
+
+The Giant of Carn Galva never rejoiced any more, but, in seven years or
+so, he pined away and died of a broken heart.
+
+So Zennor people say, and that one may judge of the size of their giant
+very well, as he placed his logan-rock at such a height that, when
+seated on it, to rock himself, he could rest his feet comfortably on
+the green turf below.
+
+Some say that he gathered together the heap of square blocks, near his
+favourite resting-place, that he might have them at hand to defend his
+people against the giants of Trecrobben and Trink, with whom he fought
+many a hard battle. Yet when they were all on good terms they would
+pass weeks on a stretch in playing together, and the quoits which
+served them to play bob, as well as the rocks they hurled at each other
+when vexed, may still be seen scattered all over this hilly region.
+
+Surely a grateful remembrance of this respectable giant will ever be
+preserved by the descendants of those he protected in the northern
+hills.
+
+We have often heard the high country folks relate this legend of their
+giant in a much more circumstantial manner than we can attempt, because
+we do not, like the good Morvah folk, give implicit credence to all the
+traditions of Carn Galva. Yet this romantic region makes us feel that
+
+
+   “Surely there is a hidden power that reigns
+    Mid the lone majesty of untamed nature,
+    Controlling sober reason.”
+
+
+
+
+DING-DONG, WHEAL MALKIN, AND PUSSER HOSKING’S MOILS.
+
+On our return from Carn Galva we may visit Ding-Dong. The works of
+Ding-Dong both “at grass” and under ground, are very near our road to
+Carn Galva, and much of the former visible nearly all the way from
+Men-scryfa. It is one of the most ancient and extensive mines in the
+County. There are traditions (if not more trustworthy records) that
+part of this old bal, called by a somewhat similar name (Din-an-doyng,
+if I remember rightly), and other ancient workings known as Wheal
+Malkin, which are now united to Ding-Dong, were wrought by the Jews in
+the time of King John.
+
+Little more than half a century ago, Wheal Malkin portion of this rich
+old mine was solely in the hands of four or five adventurers. All of
+them, but one, held large shares in Ding-Dong. They wished the two
+speculations to be united, as they might, it was thought, be thus
+worked to greater advantage. But Mr. Hosking, of Lanyon, the only one
+of the owners of Wheal Malkin who had no share in Ding-Dong, being
+averse to this arrangement, his co-adventurers proposed that he should
+either sell his share, or buy theirs. Mr. Hosking became the purchaser
+of the whole of Wheal Malkin. Some say that a device, sometimes
+resorted to in similar transactions, was put in practice by a working
+miner, to induce him to close with the dear bargain. However that may
+have been, it is well known that he continued to work this property
+more to benefit the public than himself.
+
+This worthy gentleman was generally known as Captain Hosking, from
+having been for many years captain of the Mount’s Bay Yeomanry Cavalry,
+or the Guides, as they were often styled, but his most popular
+designation in the part we are now rambling over was the Pusser
+(purser) Hosking; and this latter title seems likely to be long
+preserved, as well as some remembrance of the “Pusser’s” moils, in one
+of our odd every-day sayings.
+
+After Mr. Hosking built the sturdy-looking house we still see in
+Lenine, he resided there for some years, and held the farm in hand. For
+the purpose of taking his tin to smelting house, the captain kept a
+great number of mules (here called moils) on the extensive
+furze-grounds of Lanyon. Some of the tinners, in passing over the
+downs, to and from their work, often tried to get a ride on the
+“Pusser’s moils” and others, for fun’s sake or out of pure wantonness,
+took great pleasure in tormenting these sedate-looking animals; but the
+Pusser’s moils, to show how they disapproved of practical joking, often
+imprinted the marks of their hoofs and teeth on their tormentors; and,
+at last, they, one and all, took to give chase to every person who
+ventured on their ground, except, indeed, the boys who brought them out
+straw or hay, now and then, in winter, and their well-known driver, Mr.
+Hosking’s Ralfey, who was as fond of the moils, and they of him, as if
+they had been brothers.
+
+If one only pointed a finger, in derision, at these testy animals, and
+called them by their names, in a tone which they didn’t like, when they
+were filing along the lanes with sacks of tin on their backs, they
+would at once leave their ranks and show fight in spite of all Ralfey
+could do to soothe them. From these mulish traits of inordinate
+self-esteem and combativeness in Mr. Hosking’s cattle originated the
+common saying, often applied to a teasy person, “He’s like Pusser
+Hosking’s moils—waant bear jestan.”
+
+Near Ding-Dong there are some ancient barrows, and the remains of what
+is supposed to have been a Druidic circle called the Nine Maidens.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE PENZANCE OF OUR GRANDFATHERS.
+
+THE OLD MARKET-HOUSE AND ITS SURROUNDINGS—BATTLE OF ARCHITECTURAL
+STYLES—THE SELF-TAUGHT ARCHITECT OF THE LAND’S END—BUSTLE OF A MARKET
+DAY—MADAM TREZILLIAN’S HEAD-DRESS—THE ANCIENT FISH-WOMEN OF
+PENZANCE—NEW MANSIONS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD—THE SCHOOLDAYS AND HOME OF
+PELLEW—THE WESTERN APPROACH TO PENZANCE (ALVERTON LANE)—PARSON SPRY,
+THE CURATE OF SENNEN AND ST. LEVAN, HALF-A-CENTURY AGO, AND HIS WOODEN
+HORSE AND DOG “SPORT”—“SPORT’S” BEHAVIOUR AT CHURCH AND IN
+CHURCHYARD—THE REV. JAMES BEVAN—COUNTRY CLERKS AND COUNTRY CHOIRS—OLD
+CHRISTMAS CAROLS—ANCIENT MODE OF CONDUCTING FUNERALS—FORMER MEANS OF
+INFORMATION AMONG THE PEOPLE—ASTROLOGERS OF THE WEST—CONJURORS AND
+THEIR SPELLS—OLD JUSTICE JONES AND CHEAP LABOUR—THE VINGOES OF
+TREVILLE—THE JUSTICE’S PUNISHMENT—PELLEW AND HIS CORNISH CREW—THE
+ANCIENT GAMES OF HURLING AND WRESTLING—OLD METHODS OF CONVEYANCE—RIDING
+PILLION—POPULAR SONGS OF THE TIME, MALBROOK, AND SENTIMENTAL
+DITTIES—GREEN LANES AND FOOTPATHS—PACK-SADDLES, OX-BUTTS, AND THE FIRST
+CARRIAGE—GOING TO TOWN ON MARKET-DAY—PENZANCE IN THE EARLY PART OF THIS
+CENTURY, &c.—Written September, 1867.
+
+
+                            Dim, dream-like forms! Your shadowy train
+                            Around me gathers once again,
+                            The same as in life’s morning hour,
+                              Before my troubled gaze you pass’d:
+                            Oh! this time shall I have the power—
+                            Shall I essay to hold you fast?
+
+                                —Goethe’s Faust, Filmore’s Translation.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MARKET-HOUSE, AND ITS SURROUNDINGS.
+
+The completion of Penzance Public Buildings forms an epoch in the
+history of the place, and an elderly person cannot help contrasting the
+present appearance of the town with what it was three score years, or a
+century, ago; as we know it to have been from well-remembered vestiges
+of the old time, and from the accounts of our grandparents, who, if
+they revisited the glimpses of the gaslight in our town at the present
+time would be much surprised, and not over well pleased, at all the
+changes which have taken place during the last hundred years, many of
+which are alterations without improvement, nay often wanton destruction
+of what can never be restored, however regretted. Who that remembers
+the picturesque and interesting old market-house, with the
+corresponding buildings surrounding or near it, such as the house in
+which Sir Humphry Davy was born, the cosy nook under the balcony of the
+‘Star’ Inn, where often of an evening he held his youthful comrades
+spellbound by the wonderful stories that his poetical imagination
+inspired, can help regretting removal and loss? I can’t understand, nor
+can many others, what was the inducement to remove the old balcony from
+this inn, and other houses throughout the town. They were no
+obstruction to the footpath, and the very aspect of these appropriate,
+cosy-looking entrances to the old inns infused a feeling of comfort and
+seclusion that one misses very much in the glaring lantern-like modern
+hotels. Besides, as an interesting memorial of our most illustrious
+townsman, it is ten thousand pities it should have been destroyed. The
+picturesque scene is gone, never to be restored, which was formed by
+the projecting balcony, with its rustic pillars and casemented lights,
+combined with the high gables, mullioned and labled windows, with the
+penthouse-like projections of the old market-house. It is much to be
+regretted that, when the old building was taken down, its site should
+have been occupied by any structure more massive than an elegant
+monument to Sir Humphry Davy—suppose it had been a fountain, of an
+antique Gothic pattern, surmounted by the statue of Sir Humphry, with
+niches in the basement for memorials of other celebrities connected
+with the town, or its vicinity, as Pellew, Davies Gilbert, &c., &c. The
+first mistake was to build on the site at all; the second to adopt the
+Italian style for a building to be erected in such a confined space. It
+must be apparent to anyone who has studied the matter that the Gothic
+or old English style, with its acute gables, pinnacles, pendants,
+balconies, oriels, and other projecting appendages for use or ornament,
+which that style admits, is felt to be more suitable to a confined
+space, because any imitation of the classical styles is very
+unsatisfactory, unless it has sufficient breadth and massiveness to
+produce the impression of grandeur, as well as just proportion, which
+cannot be appreciated, however just it may be, unless there is
+sufficient space around to allow the spectator the choice of a station
+from which the whole facade of the building may be taken into the view.
+In the old English, on the contrary, one does not look for breadth,
+massiveness, and correspondence in the various portions of the
+structure, but rather to that lightness and variety which is even more
+interesting when seen only in such broken portions, and from such
+points of sight as would spoil the effect of the regular styles.
+Besides, perhaps from being accustomed to meet with the picturesque old
+style in ancient walled towns, where the streets are always narrow, it
+never seems out of place in a confined space, if the surrounding
+buildings are of a simple or corresponding style, or at least are not
+such as to produce a violent contrast.
+
+Any small building, designed after classical examples, looks naked and
+poor, and particularly mean, unless the building-materials are of the
+best description and finish, and is quite unsuitable for the houses of
+a narrow street, which must necessarily be small and irregular, where
+the frontages range only from about 20 to 40 feet, and where the
+adjoining houses belong to different proprietors, who delight to
+display their independence of each other and common sense, by each one
+building on his 20 or 30 feet frontage according to his own caprice,
+and desire to show off his own originality of conception.
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF ARCHITECTURAL STYLES.
+
+If our beautiful old English style (which is the most suitable for the
+climate and everything else) cannot be again restored, the next best is
+the Venetian, which may be defined as the Saracenic (or what the French
+call the Grec-Arab) engrafted on the Italian. The Venetian, like our
+old English (or domestic Gothic, if you will), admits of great
+irregularity, and of great variety in the ornamentation. French
+architects have shown their appreciation of the peculiar suitableness
+of this variety for irregular and comparatively narrow streets, from
+their having adopted it in many of the old narrow streets abutting on
+the Seine, as may have been noted by some of our townsmen, who have
+recently visited the Exhibition and the gay capital generally.
+
+
+
+
+THE SELF-TAUGHT ARCHITECT OF THE LAND’S END.
+
+As pretty fair examples of the adaptability of the old English to all
+the exigencies of modern comfort and refinement, and to prove that one
+may do whatever one likes with this pliable style, we have the Abbey,
+the Marine Retreat, some small cottages in Back Lane, also two or three
+pairs of semi-detached cottages near the Catholic Church. There are
+also some caricatures and abominable shams about, which throw discredit
+on the style. As interesting looking, therefore pleasing, villa
+residences we have Pendrea and Trewidden. Farther afield, there is an
+excellent example of picturesque simplicity and variety in the
+parsonage-house near Halsetown. This house is well worth the study of
+builders for its convenient arrangement on a square plan, for the
+variety of pleasing forms in the doorways, windows, and
+well-proportioned chimney-stacks and gables, as well as the ornamental
+slate-work with which some of its gables are dressed, as being more
+durable than ordinary barge-boards, which soon decay, whereas the slate
+is everlasting. Nothing can form more picturesque groupings than this
+parsonage, and its church of corresponding style. As another example to
+show how our old English seems at home and at its ease everywhere,
+observe how well the addition made to the “First and Last,” becomes its
+site. This portion of the ancient inn at Sennen, and the cottages in
+Back Lane, Penzance, were designed by a self-taught architect, born and
+bred in Sennen, Mr. Charles Hutchens, who resided many years at
+Torpoint, constructed many buildings in Devonport, in the Three Towns
+generally, and in other parts of the country, of which any architect
+might be proud. The nephew of this gentleman, Mr. Thomas Hutchens, of
+Sennen, is now Mr. Gilbert Scott’s right-hand man; and, like his
+master, his whole heart and soul is devoted to Gothic architecture.
+
+In the opinion of many persons of taste, the quaint old market
+house—low, irregular, and devoid of all pretentions to ornament—when
+surrounded by houses of as simple a mode, was a more pleasing object
+than the present insipid, silly-looking structure, which, when first
+seen from Market-jew-street, looks like a heavy wall to support a
+portico and dome to which there is no body of building. A grand
+entrance, to which one cannot see the means of access, and which
+apparently leads to nothing. This end is the more faulty, because the
+most pretentious.
+
+The old French chateau style, with its steep pitched roofs, turrets,
+galleries, balconies, &c., (of which we have a fair example in the
+Queen’s Hotel) is far better adapted for a private residence in our wet
+and windy climate than the naked, cold-looking Italian, with its flat,
+low-pitched roof, ashamed to be seen, and such other appurtenances as
+are only suitable for a temple, or other large public building, in a
+sunny clime.
+
+
+
+
+THE BUSTLE OF A MARKET DAY.
+
+We cannot think of the old market-house without remembering the
+animated scene around it of a market day. On the higher side, at the
+corn-market steps, opposite the ‘Golden Lion,’ the jolly farmers and
+their buxom wives would be seen arriving, seated each on two or more
+sacks of grain, with a basket of butter and eggs on the dame’s arm, and
+probably a basket of poultry on that of her lord. The crowing,
+squalling, laughing, and scolding, showed a sound heart and lungs, and
+that the old folks were neither ashamed nor afraid to be seen to do
+their own work; and the appetizing steam which ascended through the
+open kitchen window of the cosy hostel, at the foot of the stairs, told
+them, as the screeching, hard-labouring, roasting-jack, as plainly as
+jack could speak, that plenty of good substantial fare would soon be
+ready for their equally substantial appetites. There is no mistake
+about it; there was less nonsense about people then than now. At that
+time the ladies of squires, merchants, and farmers, did their own
+marketing, aye and often such dames as Mesdames Noye, Trezillian,
+Ustick, Pender, in the west country, and others of equal rank in town,
+would ride to mill on sacks of corn and bolt the meal themselves. The
+sturdy butchers—to be seen in the meat market then—were mostly
+occupiers of land near the town, and cultivated many of the farms of
+Madron. The crooks with which the transverse bars (between the stalls
+and overhead in all parts of the house) were armed, sometimes caught in
+the ladies’ towering head-dresses.
+
+
+
+
+MADAM TREZILLIAN’S HEAD-DRESS.
+
+There is a story told of a gay Madam Trezillian, of Raftra, who outdid
+all other ladies in the west country in the breadth of her hoops and
+the height of her tete, as the tower of cushions, ribbons, lace, and
+hair was called with which the heads of the dames were surmounted.
+Against one St. Levan feast a barber was had out from Penzance to dress
+the lady’s head-piece in the most approved mode of the town. It must be
+understood that when the heads of these ancient belles were put en
+grande toilette they were not taken down at night, often for weeks
+together.
+
+That these monstrous head-pieces might not be deranged, the bedsteads
+were made a foot or two longer than the ordinary affair of the present
+day. During the feasten week, having company to entertain all the time,
+madam’s tete of course was not disturbed, nor for a week or two after,
+when she was engaged in visiting, until she felt such a head-ache that
+she was obliged to send for Dr. Maddron, from St. Just, that he might
+see what ailed her noddle. Still the precious mass of wool, pomatum,
+&c., remained undisturbed on the outside, when the doctor arrived, and
+insisted on having it taken down and opened. Then they say that he
+found a nest of mice had been littered in the greasy pads which raised
+the lady’s hair, besides any quantity of fly-blows in their different
+stages of growth. No doubt, the old mother mouse came every night to
+nurse her interesting tender brood of young ones. Madam’s head was in
+such a state that she was obliged to have it shaved. The hair was
+carefully saved and made up into a false head-dress (one could hardly
+call it a wig) against Madron-tide, when she came to pass the feast
+with Squire Daniel at Alverton. The feasten eve, in walking through the
+market house with Madam Daniel, the bows of her towering tete caught on
+the crooks. Still, on she walked the whole length of the market, when
+she discovered her loss by the uproar of laughter with which the lady’s
+bald pate and her suspended head-dress were greeted by the butchers and
+their boys, and by their wives as well.
+
+
+
+
+THE ANCIENT FISH-WOMEN OF PENZANCE.
+
+One can’t take leave of the old market without some notice of the
+handsome fisherwomen, in their picturesque old costume of short scarlet
+cloaks and broad felt hats, which well became their coal-black eyes and
+hair, and heightened the oriental cast of their countenances. Then
+their tongues, loud and musical, hailing every one who passed the
+street:—“Wount ’e buy some nice fresh fish to-day, my dear?” “Cheeld
+vean; why you shall have en for nothan; do come here!” As well as their
+chaffing and slack jaw at each other and all the world besides. Above
+all, the shoemakers, who kept their stalls near by, came in for a good
+share of their gibes. People had a heart to laugh then, and were all
+the better friends even for a little rough talk, before so much
+organised hypocrisy, whining cant, and morbid feeling became the
+fashion, which seems, if possible, to be increasing in intensity and
+stupidity in Penzance.
+
+The buildings surrounding the Market Place, Green-Market, and many
+other parts of the town, were mongrelized about the time of the
+erection of the new structure by taking the mullions out of the windows
+of many houses, lowering the pitch of their roofs, erecting useless
+unmeaning parapets, covering walls of dressed granite and ornamental
+slate work with plaster and other shams, until the surrounding
+buildings were changed into worse-looking objects if possible than the
+centre piece. A specimen of the true appreciation of just proportion
+which seems to have been intuitive with old masons may yet be seen in
+the dressed chimney-stacks, with embattled mouldings, belonging to an
+old house at the north-western corner of the market-place. In the
+premises, more examples of the old style will be found. When this old
+house was first built, it was said to have been the grandest mansion in
+Buriton, as a good part of what is now included with old Penzance was
+then named,—all around the Market Place.
+
+
+
+
+THE SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOME OF PELLEW.
+
+Near the Alverton entrance to Fox’s gardens is an old thatched cottage
+[19] which ought to have been regarded with much interest, as it was
+the home of Pellew (Admiral Lord Exmouth) during his boyish days. Here
+he lived with his aged grandmother, Madam Woodhouse, until he left to
+commence his career of usefulness and glory that added much to the
+renown of the British nation. I have heard many anecdotes of the hero’s
+boyish days from an old lady of the West Country (the daughter of a
+gentleman farmer of Sennen) who, when a girl in her teens, was sent to
+Penzance to reside with her uncle and aunt, that she might attend a
+better school than was to be found in the West Country.
+
+At that time boys and girls often went to the same school until they
+were much older than it would be considered decorous for them to remain
+together in these thin-skinned, fastidious times.
+
+Young Pellew went to the same school as the girl from the Land’s End,
+who, being two or three years older than the boy, called for him at his
+grandmother’s house; but the country girl always had a hard task to get
+him to school, and often, in spite of all she could do, and threats of
+the old lady’s cane, young Pellew would take off to the Quay, whither
+the girl had to follow, as, if she was known to have let him escape,
+she would get a sound thrashing from her own aunt, who was a great
+friend of the boy’s grandmother and paid the same attention to the boy
+Edward Pellew as to her own children. As soon as the boy reached the
+pier he would spring into the first boat he found afloat, cast off the
+painter, and away to sea, without staying to notice if there were oars
+in the boat or not.
+
+His companion and guardian in petticoats would remain on the Battery
+rocks, or pier, with her knitting or needle-work, that she might signal
+to Pellew when it was time for him to come in, to return home to
+dinner.
+
+Often the fishermen and sailors at the Quay, who all loved the daring
+boy and kept a watch over him, would go out in another boat and help
+him to come ashore in time to save his bacon. Sometimes one or both of
+the old ladies would find out the truants, come to the Quay after them,
+and beat them both home to Alverton lane, where Pellew would take
+refuge with old Mr. Boase, who always took the boy’s part, as well as
+that of his niece (the west country girl) in spite of all the old
+ladies and the schoolmaster might say.
+
+To make amends for the beatings the Sennen girl got for letting Edward
+Pellew escape from school (which she liked to do very well herself now
+and then) and for doing his sums for him (whilst he occupied himself in
+making boats and ship’s gearing under the desk), he would often drive
+her uncle’s cows from the Weeths (the ground that is now Mr. Bolitho’s
+lawn) down to Alverton to water, or bring them home to their yard in
+Alverton lane—the site of which was near where our worthy Mayor’s (Mr.
+Francis Boase) garden now stands—to be milked of an evening.
+
+As he was soon taught to be a famous boxer by his friends the sailors
+of the Quay, who would always have him with them if they could, he
+wanted to put his science in practice by thrashing any boy double his
+size, if they happened to offend his protectress, who, when fourscore
+years of age, has often shown me a lot of trifles Pellew sent home to
+his grandmother for his old school-mate; among other things a variety
+of perforated foreign coins, such as sailors like to suspend from their
+watch chains, a pair of ladies’ silver shoe-buckles, &c.
+
+When Pellew went to sea the old lady, his grandmother, used often to
+say, “If I could but live to see my Teddy made a captain I would die
+contented.” The old lady lived long enough to see him knighted, and I
+think made an Admiral, before she died.
+
+How Sir Edward Pellew would have none, or few, but Cornish men for his
+crew; how the Mount’s Bay and St. Just men would volunteer for him,
+when the press gang (who wanted men, and the devil a man could they get
+for other ships but his) were beaten out of Mousehole by the women, led
+on by Ann St. Doyd (Ann’s right name was Pentreath), armed with a
+red-hot poker, is well known. As every incident of his life, after he
+went to sea, became matter of history, we cannot claim any more of it
+as belonging exclusively to Penzance.
+
+
+
+
+THE WESTERN APPROACH TO PENZANCE (ALVERTON LANE.)
+
+From the house in which Admiral Lord Exmouth passed his boyish days
+there was a pleasant footpath, long after that time, through the fields
+to Alverton, separated from the lane by a high hedge and shady trees;
+and the lane itself, from the Ellises’ Mansion (or the site of the
+Western hotel) to the seat of the Daniels, in Alverton (or probably the
+Jenkin’s at that time), was like a bower all the way, with the
+overhanging trees, except a good strip of green extending from Mr. F.
+Boase’s house down almost to the pathway leading to Alverton well. On
+this green the fair was formerly held. It has but recently been removed
+to a field. All the highroads at this time were pleasant green lanes.
+There was no such thing as a cart West of Penzance. Here and there an
+ox-butt might be found. We will return to the green lanes, and those
+who jogged along them on bow-pad or pillion, when we come to take a
+retrospective view of the country.
+
+
+
+
+PARSON SPRY, THE CURATE OF SENNEN AND ST. LEVAN, HALF A CENTURY AGO,
+AND HIS WOODEN HORSE AND DOG “SPORT.”
+
+Before leaving this part of the town, let us cast a glance at the three
+or four little cottage-like dwellings just opposite the lane leading to
+the Well fields, on the higher side of the entrance to The Hollies.
+These cottages were regarded as very genteel residences, half a century
+ago, before the North Parade and some score of other terraces, which
+now form the most pleasant portions of the town, were ever born or
+thought of. Then, the cottage nearest to The Hollies’ gate was the
+residence of the Rev. William Spry, many years curate of Sennen and St.
+Levan. The reverend gentleman was one of those eccentric, or
+independent, characters who pay no regard either to conventional modes
+or to the opinion of those who have no need to trouble themselves about
+their harmless whims. His dapper little figure, dressed up in the most
+anti-clerical, not to say ridiculous, of costumes, must still be well
+remembered by many in town and country. Notwithstanding his eccentric
+vagaries, he was always a welcome guest, for the sake of his
+never-failing good humour, quick repartee, and the droll stories of
+which he was generally the hero. His most extravagant freaks were
+mostly harmless, and always amusing, at least to the spectators (yet
+with all the care taken to qualify his characteristics, we may have to
+make some exceptions when the parson mounts his wooden horse.)
+
+When in the reading-room, public library, or any other place of resort
+for gentlemen of the town, the parson was always the centre of
+attraction and fun. One day, in the library, Mr. Spry was, as usual,
+relating some of his amusing drolls, when an elderly gent, Gen. Tench
+(who very much liked to hear himself talk), finding that he could not
+have the chance to get in a word edgeways even, interrupted the parson
+by saying “Come, Mr. Spry, as you appear to know a great deal about
+everything, be pleased to explain the difference between a major canon
+and a minor canon?” “Pho! pho!” replied Mr. Spry, in his lisping
+accent, “what a general! not to know the difference between a major
+cannon and a minor cannon. Why a major cannon is a great gun, and a
+minor cannon is a thun (son) of a cun (gun), to be thure (sure.)” The
+general wheeled on his heels, and went away without firing any more of
+his guns at the parson for that day.
+
+The reverend gentleman, finding the hire of a horse to take him to the
+scene of his clerical duties more than he could well afford out of his
+slender income, took it into his head to have a velocipede, hoping,
+with the assistance of the machine, to be able to ride out to the
+Land’s End at his ease, hills excepted, when he would have to drag his
+horse. He first exercised his wooden horse, by way of breaking it in,
+on the descent from St. Just lane’s end to Alverton. He was very proud
+of his horse, when he found it would run down the hill with so much
+speed. The next market day, early in the morning, the parson stationed
+himself, mounted on his horse, on the top of Tul-tuf hill, to challenge
+anybody coming from, or going to the market, to try a race, always down
+the hill be it understood. Plenty of the farmers desired no better fun
+than to try a race with the parson on his wooden horse; but their own
+nags, not knowing what to make of the parson’s queer beast, going like
+the wind on three legs, in their fears and doubts about the nature of
+the thing threw their riders in the ditch, and sprung over the hedges,
+that they might not be overtaken by what they must have thought a most
+unnatural-looking affair. So the parson won the wager, and boasted long
+and loud that his horse was the best in the West; but in the last race
+that Thursday morn, the three-legged Bucephalus attained such velocity
+in descending the hill near Alverton that it became quite unmanageable
+and fairly ran away with its gallant rider as fast as its wheels could
+spin. When it came to Alverton water (there was no bridge over the
+water which then worked the old factory) several market women were on
+their nags, in the midst of the pooled-up water, to let their horses
+drink and breathe awhile.
+
+Whilst their heavy baskets of butter and eggs rested carelessly on
+their knees to give rest to their weary arms whilst having a chat, in
+dashed the parson, on his horse, in the very midst of them. He tumbled
+over in the water, with the machine between his legs. All the women
+were thrown off their horses, which galloped away—some home, some like
+mad into the town to their accustomed yards and stables, others ran
+they didn’t know where; but fancy what a wreck was there, with the
+broken eggs, barm-jars, butter, and baskets on the road, or floating
+down the stream! The women were so exasperated that they half-killed
+the parson between them. In the heat of their passion they pelted him
+with butter and eggs, then rolled him in the mud, until luckily some
+gentlemen came to the rescue of the parson and his steed.
+
+The next Sunday the reverend gentleman being unable to attend to his
+duties at the Land’s End, his parishioners, as well as most of the
+people of the West, who had congregated at St. Levan church and along
+the roads, hoping to see the parson racing his horse, were much
+disappointed. The fame of his Thursday’s adventure had spread far and
+near, so that such a gathering was never seen before in the church
+except at the feasten tide. Against the following Sunday the parson had
+sufficiently recovered his broken skin and his courage to be off early
+in the morning, for fear of disappointing his congregation again. The
+people waited long about the cliff and Rospletha hill, looking out in
+vain; at last, fearing some accident had happened, from seeing neither
+sight nor sign of their pastor, a good number of them proceeded along
+the road towards Penzance, two miles or more, when they saw the
+parson’s well-known dog, Sport, coming towards them. Sport testified
+his joy at seeing some of his friends, and ran back, yelping and
+barking, and looking behind him to beg the people to follow him fast.
+In a few minutes, on turning the corner of Cotneywilley, they found the
+parson and his horse in a deep pool of mud at the bottom of the hill,
+or rather the runaway steed was deep in the muddy hole. The rider had
+contrived to scramble out and shake himself just as they arrived. Old
+Mr. Ellis, of Trendrennen, being among the people who came to the
+relief of their forlorn pastor, he was helped along to that old
+gentleman’s house, which the parson usually made his resting-place.
+
+Mr. Spry never trusted his wooden horse to make such long journeys any
+more, and people of the two western parishes, who liked their parson
+very much, because he was very sociable, never wearied them with
+tiresome platitudes, nor bothered them with what some call deep (that
+is inexplicable) dogmas and notions, were very indulgent, and never
+complained whether he came early or late, or stayed away for weeks
+together on account of bad weather.
+
+
+
+
+“SPORT’S” BEHAVIOUR AT CHURCH AND IN CHURCHYARD.
+
+The doings of the parson’s handsome black dog Sport added much to the
+interest of the Sunday’s performances. Sport seemed to think that some
+dogs belonging to his master’s parishes had not so much right to enjoy
+church privileges as himself. To others—larger dogs than himself—he was
+more indulgent, and even condescended to wag his tail at them, but woe
+to any audacious dog of a smaller size, or a shorter tail, that
+presumed to venture into the more respectable or parson’s portion of
+the church East of the rud locks (rood loft.) Sport would then show the
+rustic dogs the colour of his teeth and drive them into the belfry,
+where the other country dogs would follow to see fair play, or perhaps
+to give the town-bred puppy a bite by the sly, if they saw their own
+comrade likely to get the worst of the game.
+
+One Sunday, a dog belonging to a farmer who sat near the chancel,
+seemed inclined to come nearer the parson’s ground than he liked. Both
+dogs then said as plain as looks could express, “Come then, to decide
+which shall look the biggest; let’s try our right, down in the belfry,
+by a quiet bit of a fight.” Off walked the two dogs, began and
+continued their fight without making much noise, until the parson was
+in the midst of reading the second lesson. Then Sport gave some
+dreadful yells, which so much alarmed his master, that he stopped
+reading, bundled up his surplice under his arm, ran in all haste down
+to the belfry, drove out the country dog, and shut in his own by way of
+penance among the shovels, brooms, pickaxes, bell-ropes, planks, and
+other lumber. When the parson returned to the reading-desk, he leaned
+over towards the old clerk, and asked “Where was I, Josey?” meaning the
+verse of the lesson at which he left off. Uncle Josey, the clerk, being
+rather deaf, like most deaf people spoke rather loud—loud enough to be
+heard all over the church—when he intended only to whisper “Where war
+’e? What do ’e mean, master? Why down in the belfry, parting the dogs
+to be sure!” Sport took it in high dudgeon, to be imprisoned like a
+felon. When he found barking and howling of no use towards procuring
+his release from durance vile, he contrived to entangle himself in the
+bell-rope (left dangling up and down) by getting his head into the
+running noose, made by the sexton for his foot, to assist in tolling
+the great bell, which Sport set a ringing and soon rung himself out.
+
+Another day, whilst the parson was reading the burial service over the
+defunct, his dog Sport behaved himself in a very unseemly manner, for
+such a solemn occasion, by kicking up a dust among the dry-bones,
+howling at the mourners, catching their dresses in his mouth, and
+renting off yards of the deepest affliction or crape from the young
+widow, and other such like pranks. The parson, reading, with one eye on
+the book, the other on his dog, at the end of every portion where the
+clerk had to respond Amen, called “Sport!” and Sport replied with a
+bark. At the conclusion, in the same breath with the words, “Ashes to
+ashes, dust to dust, I commit this body to the ground,” the parson
+called out louder than ever “Sport! Sport! Come here;” turning quickly
+round at the same time as if to catch the dog and bury him.
+
+There is much more told by good folks of the two most western parishes
+about the freaks of this reverend gentleman who had the cure of their
+souls half a century ago; but enough has been related to give some idea
+of the greater simplicity of those times, when there certainly was not
+the same sourness, and disposition to magnify faults and failings into
+mortal sins, as there is now by the rampant religionists, who display
+their ferocious virtue principally by circulating slander, under the
+guise of pity for those who do not choose to adopt their morbid
+notions, whining cant, and grimace.
+
+A short time after the velocipede adventure, Mr. Spry removed hence to
+Morwelham, and soon became as well known on the Tamar as here, for his
+eccentric freaks.
+
+
+
+
+THE REV. JAMES BEVAN.
+
+A little more than sixty years ago, the Rev. James Bevan, of
+Glamorganshire, died at St. Levan. This gentleman lived amongst his
+parishioners, and served as curate in the two western parishes, nearly
+half a century. Old folks of the West always speak with great respect
+of this venerable clergyman and his family, who were regarded by the
+people with as much affection as if they had been their near relatives.
+A handsome tablet has recently been erected to the memory of this
+gentleman in St. Levan church, as also one to Miss Thomazine Dennis.
+This lady was born at Sawah, and noted for her literary and scientific
+acquirements, which were the more notable in one brought up in that
+remote part of the world. We hope these memorials, and many other
+objects of interest in the remarkable old church, will long remain
+undisturbed in spite of the contemplated destruction of one of the most
+interesting monuments of ecclesiastical architecture to be found in the
+county, and which is hallowed by traditions dear to the people who
+properly belong to the place.
+
+
+
+
+COUNTRY CLERKS AND COUNTRY CHOIRS.
+
+In conjunction with the good parsons, we have a pleasing remembrance of
+the respectable, unaffected old clerks, to be found in most of the
+country churches half a century ago. In general, the clerks were small
+farmers sufficiently well educated to be able to read the Bible and
+church service fluently (occasionally passing over hard words); but,
+from their having no other books to read in country schools than the
+universal spelling-book, psalter, and Bible, they were incapable of
+understanding any work of general literature (as a great part of our
+agricultural population are now, in fact.)
+
+
+
+
+OLD CHRISTMAS CAROLS.
+
+Our clerks were mostly the leaders of the choir, if such a term may be
+applied to the four or five old men who droned out the psalms from the
+singing-loft, where every Sunday one or two psalms from the old version
+were sung in parts, much after the manner of the old three-man’s-songs.
+One might often hear the old clerk in Sennen give out the lines
+beginning with, “My saule is like a timmersone bur-r-d-e, &c.” Then,
+after he had made the pitch-pipe produce a shrieking squeak, the three
+or four old souls, accompanied by their bass-viol, would quaver on,
+making such shrill and startling sounds as would set your hair on end
+and shake your teeth loose. Down in St. Levan, Uncle Josey, the clerk,
+would always have his own way about the singing, in spite of the parson
+and everybody else. His favourite psalm was all about “the precious
+ointment running from Aaron’s beard down unto the skirts of his
+raiment.” From the old man’s admiration of this odorous and unctuous
+song of praise, one seldom had any other than what were known as the
+Aaron psalm and “t’other.” In the carol singing, on Christmas eve at
+night, the old men sang, and their brass buttons shone in all their
+glory, when, with heart and soul, they were ringing out such joyous
+strains as “Now let us be merry, and set sorrow aside,” &c.
+
+Another favourite was an older carol, with the chorus of “Noel, noel,
+noel, born is the king of Israel.” There were often sung still older
+ones, which contain many such old catholic traditions as are found in
+the apocryphal gospel of St. Nichodemus and Lives of the Saints, such
+as one about the blessed Mary walking through the orchard, when she
+longed for a red ripe apple far above her reach, “Then up spoke the
+babe in blessed Mary’s womb; bow down, apple tree, bow down, apple
+tree, that mother may have some.”
+
+These simple ditties were then regarded with much reverence for their
+high antiquity. Some of the old manuscript carol-books, formerly used
+in churches at Christmas-tide, are still preserved with religious care
+by old folks of the West.
+
+
+
+
+ANCIENT MODE OF CONDUCTING FUNERALS.
+
+At this time, and long before, the men of Zennor were noticeable for
+their singing and other musical attainments, which they made a source
+of pleasure and profit, to themselves at least, from their being often
+asked to parish-feasts from a good distance off, especially down West
+(the wise folk live t’other side) that the feasters might be gratified
+by their harmonious strains in church on the Sunday, and brisk dancing
+tunes on their fiddles to set their heels a-shaking on other nights of
+the feasten week, besides for the sake of the new songs they often
+contrived to learn from the show people in Corpus Christi fair. But
+they were not often asked two years following, because when they once
+got into comfortable quarters, it was no easy matter to get rid of them
+until long after servy-day, [20] when they had more than eaten their
+welcome. For the sake of their psalm-singing they used also to be often
+asked to attend funerals round about, when the friends wished to show
+more than ordinary respect to the deceased or themselves, and have the
+disconsolate widows cheered. The Zennor men, with their wives and
+children, never failed to come, with half a word’s asking, from miles
+away, and they have the same fondness for funerals still; whether
+seed-time or harvest, sunshine or rainy day, Zennor folks, old and
+young, will leave their work and scamper over hills and moors miles
+away to “a good buryal” (burying), where there is likely to be plenty
+of toddy and tobacco, cake and biscuit, provided for all comers. But
+their room is often better liked than their company; for, after the men
+have smoked and pocketed up as much good shag as opportunity would
+favour them to take, by stuffing into the palm of the hand instead of
+the bowl of the pipe, drunk as much toddy as they could possibly
+contrive to get hold of by shifting about from place to place, so as to
+be always near the jug of hot liquor as it is carried round for the
+people who remain outside, the women and children all push indoors that
+can, to look sharp after the cake and biscuits, of which they contrive
+to pocket up a good store for the children left home, and don’t forget
+the toddy, believe me, even if they have a “dish of nice, sweet, strong
+tea, shure enough.” After having stuffed and quaffed till near bursting
+point, they will scamper away home like prall’d [21] dogs, and the
+devil a finger will they lend to help take the poor defunct to his last
+home, often miles away, leave alone the singing. They are often too
+drunk to raise the funeral note, and make some fun, which serves just
+as well, by getting into an old ballad-tune by mistake. Zennor folks
+are not often asked to parish feasts for the sake of their singing now:
+they may stay home and bleat to Carn Galver for what anyone cares about
+the greedy goats.
+
+
+
+
+FORMER MEANS OF INFORMATION AMONG THE PEOPLE.
+
+We may here take leave of our old clerks, observing that they were in
+general better educated, or at least better informed, than the rest of
+the community, few of whom knew anything about what might be regarded
+as the current literature of the time. Yet, with all their ignorance of
+every work of fiction, except Robinson Crusoe and the Pilgrim’s
+Progress (the former always regarded as literally true), the oldest of
+old folks of fifty years ago knew many scraps of Grecian and Roman
+lore, as well as rare legends of ordinary saints, besides all those of
+our local ones. The story of the taking of Troytown was as well known
+to many as the game of that name. I well remember an old farm labourer
+who did not know his a, b, c; yet he would tell you much about the
+principal heroes of mythic history, and acquired the nickname of Plato
+from his always going about singing, when alone, the old song almost
+worthy of the sage, “Says Plato, why should man be vain, since
+bounteous heaven has made him great?” &c., or another about Aurora and
+Flora.
+
+How came these uneducated and poor folks to get hold of so much of the
+old world lore? It may partly be accounted for by the more gregarious,
+or sociable, customs of the olden times, when there was much less to do
+in the winter season, before turnips were introduced into the west
+country (in a great measure by the example of the late Colonel
+Scobell), there being then but few cattle housed. Great part of the
+winter’s day was passed in hunting, in which sport one and all joined.
+After the substantial supper—no slops of tea then, but good
+home-brewed, with bread and cheese, beef, mutton, or bacon—the mistress
+and her maids spun, whilst the men carded the wool, song-singing and
+story-telling going on all the time, or the master read from their
+favourite Robinson Crusoe, or from Moore’s Almanack, which was also a
+great resource, or recited some drolls which all knew by heart; yet
+they never tire of hearing them repeated, with such variations and
+embellishments as some recent occurrence might often suggest.
+
+A vast amount of curious information may also be traced to the sociable
+and beloved old parson, who kept up such familiar intercourse with his
+flock as to sympathise with all their joys and griefs, and to join in
+all their sports and pastimes during nearly half a century.
+
+
+
+
+THE ASTROLOGERS OF THE WEST.
+
+We are long lingering amongst those old folks whom we are much inclined
+to regard as rude and uncouth. Yet our vaunted refinement has not
+discovered anything much better to supply the loss of the honest
+simplicity and the all-above board character of people of the last
+century.
+
+We may observe that the foregoing remarks, with respect to the
+restricted education of the generality of people of the west, do not
+apply to many who were regarded as the bettermost class of farmers, or
+rather gentlemen-farmers, as they all resided on, and farmed their own
+estates. Many of this class were kept long enough at a grammar-school,
+in Penzance, or elsewhere, to learn a little Latin and mathematics; at
+least they acquired a sufficient knowledge of mensuration to enable
+them to measure their own fields. Many of those gentlemen were so much
+given to the study of astrology that they were regarded as conjurors by
+their domestics and more ignorant neighbours, who, seeing the
+horoscopes and schemes in the gentlemen’s old books, believed these
+strange-looking figures to be the secret signs of the means used for
+dealing with the invisible world, or for commanding the spirits of
+light and darkness, over whom it was devoutly believed that many
+skilful astrologers of the west had (by means of their books) perfect
+control. Among the most noted adepts in this science, the best known
+were Parson Corker, of Buryan; Mr. Jenkyn, of Trezidder, or Alverton;
+Dr. Maddron, of St. Just; Mr. Ustick, of Morvah; and Mr. Matthew
+Williams, of Mayon.
+
+Some of the stories still related of this gentleman will serve as
+examples of the light in which he, and others of his class, were
+regarded by the more ignorant:—
+
+One Sunday morning, whilst this gentleman was in Sennen church (which
+is only a few minutes’ walk from his house) he felt very uncomfortable.
+Something told him that all was not right at home. He left the church
+in the midst of the service, and ran home just in time to find that his
+over-curious old housekeeper had taken one of the conjuring-books out
+of the chest, the key of which he had missed and which she had stolen
+that morning for the sake of satisfying her itching curiosity. When he
+entered the room, he found her transfixed in her master’s arm-chair
+looking like death in a fright, the book open before her in the place
+of some of the most powerful spells for calling up the worst of evil
+spirits. The woman appeared like one in a fit, without the power to
+speak or move, until her master came in the very nick of time to
+prevent the spirits (that she had unwittingly summoned by reading the
+words, and tracing over the signs in the book with her finger) from
+carrying her off bodily. Some of the spirits became visible; others
+lifted her, chair and all, off the floor when she stopped reading; and
+her fright made her fall into a fit. Mr. Williams read and read till
+the sweat boiled from his body, before he had the power to drive the
+evil spirits from the room, and the old housekeeper had to undergo a
+severe penance before she could be free of all danger from them.
+
+Another time it was found that the gentleman’s furze rick was
+diminishing much faster than could be accounted for, for the
+consumption of fuel in his own house. He consulted his books, and
+discovered by his art that some women from the Cove made a practice of
+carrying away the furze every night. The very next night, after all
+honest folks should be in their beds, an old woman of the Cove came as
+usual to the rick for a burn of furze. She made one of no more than the
+usual size, which she tried to lift on to her back, but found that she
+could not move it. Then she took out half the furze, but was still
+unable to lift the faggot or so left in the rope. Becoming frightened,
+she tried to get out the rope and run, but found that she had neither
+the power to draw out the rope, nor move from the spot herself. Of
+course, the conjuror had put a spell on her, and there she had to
+remain throughout the cold winter’s night, until Mr. Williams came out
+and released her in the morning from the spell, and as she was a very
+poor old soul let her have a burn of furze, but she took good care
+never to come any more, nor any of the rest of the women, who soon
+found out how she had been served.
+
+These puerile stories, and many more of the same class, often recounted
+about Mr. Williams, and many other gentlemen comparatively well
+educated for those times, are not without some significance, as they
+denote the power that in all times and places may be acquired by the
+learned over the minds of the ignorant, through their fears of the
+mystical and unknown.
+
+It has been said that Miss Dennis (the learned lady before spoken of)
+caught the disorder, which was the cause of her slow but premature
+decease, by watching the courses of the stars during cold winter’s
+nights, for the sake of making calculations. This lady corresponded
+with many of the learned of her time. As these old astrologers had
+perfect faith in the principles of their ancient science, Astrology
+with them was not such mere imposition as it is generally supposed to
+have been.
+
+
+
+
+CONJURORS AND THEIR SPELLS.
+
+They were consulted, not only with regard to the fortunes of those
+whose exact time of coming to light was known (the time of birth was
+then carefully registered, even to a minute, to serve as data on which
+to construct the horoscope), but were relied on for raising the spells
+of witchcraft, and often by their hints, advice, or threats of
+exposure, procured the restoration of stolen property. They were
+generally believed to have the same faculty of divination as is now
+assumed by the Pellar of Redruth, who is making a fortune out of the
+credulity of people in our enlightened times.
+
+We will now however leave them, and (by way of change) endeavour, after
+a few more tales, to get back to town by the usual mode of travelling
+in the last century.
+
+
+
+
+OLD JUSTICE JONES AND CHEAP LABOUR.
+
+As the notion of the transmigration of souls is not at all new to
+Cornish people, you may imagine that, in some former state of
+existence, you lived out west about the time that old Justice Jones
+resided in Penrose, and was long the unquestioned tyrant of that part
+of the country. In complaisance with the good pleasure of the justice,
+many old men in the parish, even farmers, did the work on his farms of
+Penrose and Brew, for no other payment than his worthless promise that
+their sons should not be impressed and sent off to serve the king on
+board a man-of-war. It seems that in the time of this ancient edition
+of Colonel Peard, the magistrates were intrusted with warrants which
+empowered them to draft off whomsoever they pleased for the king’s
+service, and to gratify their ill-will they had only to intimate to the
+press-gang that the disliked were eligible men.
+
+
+
+
+THE VINGOES OF TREVILLE.—THE JUSTICE’S PUNISHMENT.
+
+Old Jones’s usual mode of proceeding was to compel all the labouring
+class to go to church every Sunday (in case of non-attendance these
+guardians of the law might also fine or imprison.) The justice would be
+first to leave the church, and would remain in the churchyard (where
+those who feared him were collected to learn his pleasure) until he had
+intimated what work he wished to have done, and by whom, during the
+week. When he wanted any extra hands during the week, as was often the
+case in harvest, furze-carrying, and other times of work requiring
+quick despatch, he would hoist a flag on a flag-staff which used to be
+placed in a large holed stone, which was perforated for that purpose,
+and built into the top of the angle formed by the green court and
+garden walls. It was a common saying that not to give anyone sufficient
+wages was like old Jones’s payment, of a kick in the rear, which many,
+who neglected their own harvest work to save the old justice’s corn,
+richly deserved. But he was not long allowed to domineer over the poor
+folks of the west. Many of the old families belonging to the parish,
+among whom the Vingoes, of Treville, were the most prominent, did all
+they could to check his proceedings.  This ancient Norman family, who
+had held Treville ever since the Conquest, and had been the
+wine-tasters to unknown Norman chiefs for equally unknown ages,
+regarded old Jones, for all his riches, as nothing but an upstart
+stranger in the west; yet they did not succeed in bringing the justice
+to act in a reasonable way until a smuggling crew came to their aid.
+Most of the young men of the west country (many of them farmers’ sons)
+belonged to this band, as well as two young men of Morvah—a Daniel and
+Ustick, who were related to the Vingoes, and might be styled gentlemen.
+Their head-quarters were at Priest’s Cove and Pendeen, as best suited
+their convenience. One fine day in the harvest, when old Jones had
+summoned folks from all over the parish to save his corn, the
+smugglers, taking the law into their own hands, marched down to Penrose
+well-armed, took the old justice and his man (as big a rogue as
+himself) from the house, hung them head downwards to a tree in the
+town-place, and gave them the bastinado until they were within an inch
+of giving up the ghost; then made the old sinner give them money to
+treat the men, and sent them off to pass a jovial day, “One and All,”
+at the First and Last. Before the smugglers left, they told the justice
+that, if he ever attempted to practice any of his old tricks again,
+they would come some fine morning when he least expected, and take him
+off to his cousin Davy Jones’s locker, and from this time he had such a
+wholesome fear of the smugglers that he seldom left his den, nor any
+more interfered in the neighbourhood.
+
+
+
+
+PELLEW AND HIS CORNISH CREW.
+
+It was not to be thought of that any of the race of those who, a few
+years later, made the press-gang afraid to show their noses in the
+west, would allow Justice Jones to continue to act oppressively. It was
+about this time that upwards of four score men from St. Just, and
+scores from other western parishes, volunteered to man the Nymph, and
+went off in crowds to their Captain Pellew (whether he wanted them or
+no, they wouldn’t leave his ship, unless some few of them were to go a
+privateering, when he couldn’t tell what to do with all his Cornish
+crew.) But this is a matter of history, that all know or ought to know:
+above all, how he would never suffer any of his Cornish crew to be
+flogged, and, if old men’s tales are true, he allowed them such
+licence, when not in action, as the martinets of the service would now
+think very irregular.
+
+
+
+
+THE ANCIENT GAMES OF HURLING AND WRESTLING.
+
+We will now start for town in good earnest, as we don’t know what fine
+doings may be going on there this week, besides the wrestling-match on
+the Western Green, where the best gentlemen in the land do not disdain
+to try a hitch with the poorest labouring man—not for the value of the
+prize, but for the honour of proving their manliness. There is also to
+be a grand hurling-match on the Eastern Green between Ludgvan hurlers
+[22] and any two other parishes who have a mind to accept the
+challenge. There we shall see all the gentry from the eastward, who no
+more think themselves degraded by joining the commontry, in the ancient
+manly game, than a real old squire’s lady would think it unbecoming to
+ply the spinning-wheel in the ancient hall, surrounded by her maidens
+at the same work. So now we bid good morrow to the hearty old folks of
+the Land’s End, and hope we shall have a pleasant journey to Penzance.
+
+
+
+
+OLD METHODS OF CONVEYANCE.
+
+RIDING PILLION.
+
+POPULAR SONGS OF THE TIMES, MARLBROOK, AND SENTIMENTAL DITTIES.
+
+No people in the West Country had ever yet dreamed of such things as
+gigs, or any other wheel conveyance to take them to fair or market: so
+we must either go on foot, or jog into town on horseback. If your horse
+will carry double, you may be honoured with the company of a lady on a
+pillion behind you. If possible, decline the favour, unless the lass is
+young and fair; for to take one who wishes to pass for a maiden lady of
+a certain age is often as great a punishment as was ever invented in
+Purgatory, for the time. But if you cannot decently get rid of Miss
+Priscilla, or Aunt Jenefer, pray the Lord grant you an extra dose of
+patience.
+
+First, before mounting Dobbin, you must have a handkerchief fastened
+round your middle for her to grasp with her long bony fins, because she
+does not think it decorous forsooth to put her arm round your waist and
+hug you comfortably, like a less-affected girl might, to steady herself
+on a rough road: with such a one we can jog along as happy as Darby and
+Joan. Fasten the handkerchief with a bow-knot, and if Priscilla gets
+too tormenting you can slip the knot and let her tumble off in going up
+hill.
+
+As soon as Dobbin begins to trot she will be working her bony knuckles
+into your ribs: when she wants to take snuff or perform any other
+never-ending fidgety movements, the arm will be slipped inside the
+nackan, as far as her bony sharp elbow, which will be bored into the
+small of your back like a spit.
+
+The lanes, in many places, are more like rocky water-courses than
+roads, and so narrow that a horse and panniers can scarcely pass
+between the high furzy hedges, and so uneven that one must be
+constantly on the look out to keep the nag from stumbling. However, you
+will be kept pretty straight and steady, with the dame pulling on the
+handkerchief behind, and the hard-mouthed horse dragging on the bridle
+in front (to get his head the nearer the ground, the better to see
+where he may tumble down without cutting his knees), till the girths
+give away. Dobbin gives a grunt, and down you tumble, heels over head,
+in going down some such rocky lane as that which crossed Trelew hill a
+short time ago. Ten to one but in the tumble you will be under. There
+is not the least danger of the lady being hurt, because with the
+protection of her cork-rump and the long stays of leather and steel,
+wood and whalebone, in which she is encased, the old girl is as safe
+from harm as a lobster in its shell, or a warrior in his coat of mail.
+
+Her first concern will be to see if the cordial bottle of
+brandy-and-cloves is safe and sound among all the things in her
+knapsack of a pocket; then, if her pattens or clogs are fast and firm
+to the bow of her pillion.
+
+The horse has long kicked himself clear of all the trappings, and
+galloped off toward home: yet take it easy, sit ye down and drain the
+bottle until you have sucked out the last drop. But hearken! There is a
+regular drove of market-women, you may know by their clatter, coming
+down the hill. Get up quick do, and shake yourselves straight, before
+they arrive, for you don’t know what a story the old dames will make of
+it before they leave the butter-market; above all, they delight to
+overhaul such a precise piece of prudery as Miss Priscilla, who, by
+pretending to be shocked into “high strikes” at what are most innocent
+things to the simple, shows as plain as a pike-staff that something bad
+is always uppermost in her thoughts.
+
+The runaway horse is caught and brought back, by some of the market
+folks; the girths mended with a piece of rope-yarn; and from the rock
+at the bottom of the hill you mount again. The worst of the road being
+passed, you will get on like fighting cocks, and tune your pipes for
+the new song of
+
+
+   “Moll Brooks [23] is gone to the wars.
+    Vezy vazzy vumfra.
+    She will never return no more.
+    Ran tan tore, ran tan tore.”
+
+
+The tender Priscilla will treat you to some such touching ballad as—
+
+
+   “Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart;
+    Cold are the drops of rain;
+    The first true love that ever I had,
+    In the green wood he was slain,” &c., &c.
+
+
+If that does not bring the briny tears, she will try another doleful
+sentimental ditty that was very fashionable in her time—
+
+
+   “I have been bad, since you have been gone;
+    Tweedle, tweedle, go twee;
+    If you had been out in the garden green,
+    You would have heard the great moans
+    Of me, of me, of me, of me.”
+
+
+Then you may both join in singing the innocent old song of—
+
+
+   “There did a frog live in a well,
+    Close by a merry mouse in a mill.
+    To my rigdom bomenary kimey.
+    Kimé naré gildé caré,
+    Kimé naré caré,” &c., &c.
+
+
+By the time you have got throughout this you will have arrived in town,
+and be safely landed at the “Duke of Cumberland” public-house, which is
+one of the oldest, and was one of the most respectable, hostels in
+Penzance.
+
+
+
+
+GREEN LANES AND FOOTPATHS.
+
+Those who walked to town always found near the narrow lanes a pleasant
+foot-path, which often cut off the corners and shortened the route. In
+other places, where the road passed between the lands, which formerly
+belonged to different proprietors, or when the adjoining land was
+enclosed for different farms, broad pieces of ground were left by
+ancient proprietors for the purpose of the king’s highway, that, when
+one horse-track was worn impracticable, others might be found in better
+condition, at the same time affording plenty of pleasant greensward for
+the foot-passenger and poor man’s cow. Almost all these broad green
+lanes have now been stolen from the public, by the greedy proprietors
+of adjoining farms, who had no more right than you or I to the ground
+which was open to the Queen’s highway. A few years ago, many such
+pleasant green glades might be found in the road from Penzance to
+Hayle; as, for example, where Canon’s town now stands was one of those
+old broad highways which belonged to the public, and which the public
+should have kept, as well as many other strips of greensward, that the
+weary, worn, and footsore traveller might find some verdant spot
+whereon to repose his feet and eyes.
+
+These old green lanes were altogether distinct from the commons through
+which a highway might pass. There are some portions,—few and far
+between,—yet remaining of these old highways, to which the foot
+passenger turns with pleasure, to get out of the way of the wheels and
+dust.
+
+
+
+
+PACKSADDLES, OX-BUTTS, AND THE FIRST CARRIAGE.
+
+About four score years ago, there was no wheel-carriage for the
+high-road West of Trereife. On some of the farms, there were werries,
+with three solid wheels (druchars.) These things, between wheel-barrow
+and cart, were used for bringing home the turf from the moors, taking
+out manure on level ground, &c. Corn, hay and furze were carried in
+trusses on horse-back; but horses, furnished with pack-saddles,
+dung-pots, or crooks, were then generally used for conveying almost
+everything we now see on some sort of wheel-carriage. Ox-butts and
+wains were in use long before carts became common. One end of the axle
+was fast in the wheel, and the axle was made to work in gudgeons under
+the butt or wain. For building the many large mansions about in the
+West, the timber had to be dogged from Market-jew, or floated to some
+of the Coves near the building site. Slate, lime, laths, &c., were all
+borne on the poor horses’ backs.
+
+I have often heard that the first coach, or chariot, as the old Noah’s
+arks on slings or springs were called, was the old machine still at
+Trewinnard, which was constructed to take out the old Hawkins’ in great
+state, if not in a state of comfort. The Hawkins’ lived in such grand
+style at the time their chariot was set up (so that everything might be
+in keeping with the grandeur of their land-ship) that they very much
+impoverished themselves, and their descendants were consequently
+obliged to live with such economy as appeared mean for persons of their
+rank, which gave rise to the lines about Trewinnard:—
+
+
+   “Here is a grand hall, and no cheer;
+    A great cellar, and no beer;
+    A great park, and no deer;
+    And Sir Christopher Hawkins lives here.”
+
+
+When the ladies and gentlemen of Trewinnard drove out in their chariot,
+accompanied by a cavalcade of belles and beaux, with hawk and hound,
+they must have thought themselves as grand and glorious as the Queen of
+Sheba and King Solomon, till stuck fast in a hole, or jolted out in the
+mud, when the half-a-dozen or more men by whom they were attended, with
+poles and ropes, picks, spades, and led horses, contrived to set them
+in motion again, at about the rate of three miles an hour, at least
+where the roads were the best.
+
+
+
+
+GOING TO TOWN ON MARKET DAY.
+
+Many farmers’ wives and daughters would now think it too fatiguing to
+ride on horseback ten miles or more with the marketing in all sorts of
+weather. Yet I remember that the inconvenience was little felt half a
+century ago; on the contrary, old and young looked with pleasure for
+the market-day to come round—the young folks especially, large parties
+of whom would always contrive to meet together in rain or shine, and
+race along the lanes to the tune of “the devil take the hindmost,”
+often jumping over hedges and ditches, to try the springing qualities
+of their horses, or galloping off to fair, “three on a horse,” as is
+still proverbial for Morvah fair.
+
+Then old folks would often stop to have a chat with people working in
+the fields, or with the smiling women looking out of the open doors of
+their wayside cottages for the accustomed gossip of the market-day,
+when they hail their cronies with something like “Alight, and come in,
+my dear; how glad I am to see ’e looking so well. Fasten your horse to
+the crook in the wall close by the heaping-stock, and we will soon have
+something warm to drink.” Then they would soon have a merry chat, and
+often coursey for an hour or two. The dear old souls were never in such
+a violent hurry as we all seem to be in now: they didn’t care whether
+they had to return by daylight or dark night.
+
+Many used to go to Penzance every Thursday more for the sake of hearing
+the news than on any business of importance. Besides, it was a welcome
+relief from the wearying monotonous life at the Land’s End and other
+remote, lonely places.
+
+It seems to me that the market was more like a fair then, from the
+crowd of people in the street, than the fair is like a market now.
+Perhaps it is only a fancy; or the reason of the more crowded
+appearance of the streets might be owing to the various markets being
+more concentrated fifty years ago. So many alterations and improvements
+have taken place during the last half century that there are scarcely
+any indications remaining to show what Penzance was in the days of our
+grandfathers.
+
+
+
+
+PENZANCE IN THE EARLY PART OF THIS CENTURY, &C.
+
+Yet, fortunately, Dr. Davy has given us a graphic description of the
+town and country as it existed about the year 1780. “Cornwall,” the
+doctor observes, “was then without roads. Those which traversed the
+country were rather bridle-paths than carriage roads; carriages were
+almost unknown, and even carts were very little used. I have heard my
+mother relate that when she was a girl there was only one cart in the
+town of Penzance, and, if a carriage occasionally appeared in the
+streets, it attracted universal attention. Pack-horses were then in
+general use for conveying merchandise, and the prevailing manner of
+travelling was on horseback at that period, the luxuries of furniture
+and living now enjoyed by people of the middle class were confined
+almost entirely to the great and wealthy, and in Penzance, where the
+population was about two thousand persons, there was only one carpet.
+The floors of the rooms were sprinkled over with sea-sand, and there
+was not a single silver fork. The only newspaper which then circulated
+in the West of England was the ‘Sherbourne Mercury,’ and it was carried
+through the country, not by the post but by a man on horseback
+specially employed in distributing it. In the year 1761, the turnpike
+road only reached as far as Falmouth. At that period the Land’s End
+district must have been a sort of unknown land.”
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD-FASHIONED GREETING.
+
+We leave it for those, better qualified for the Task, to describe how
+the Arduous Labour of Years, in endeavouring to obtain Public Buildings
+worthy of the town has progressed until, crowned with the Success WHICH
+WE UNITE IN CELEBRATING to-day with Joy and Gratitude; only hoping that
+the Sun may be as bright and cheering as the open countenance of our
+Indefatigable Chief Magistrate, that THE GLADSOME SOUNDS OF TRUMPET,
+BUGLE, FIFE, AND DRUM MAY PENETRATE THE GLOOMY HAUNTS OF ALL THE SOUR
+AND SULLEN, MAKING THEM LEAVE THEIR MOPING MELANCHOLY, AND HEARTILY
+UNITE, “ONE AND ALL,” LIKE TRUE CORNISH PEOPLE, IN SHOWING THAT THEY
+PARTICIPATE IN THE GENERAL SATISFACTION NOW FELT, AND SOUGHT TO BE
+EXPRESSED IN THE MOST PLEASING MODE THAT AT LAST THE NOBLE BUILDING HAS
+BEEN RAISED. LONG MAY IT GATHER WITHIN ITS WALLS A HEALTHY, UNITED, AND
+PROSPEROUS PEOPLE.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GHOSTS OF CHAPEL-STREET AND St. MARY’S CHAPEL-YARD.
+
+
+Little more than fifty years ago, the building in Chapel street, which
+now (1867) serves as a dispensary, with the adjoining house at the
+entrance to Vounderveor-lane, formed a mansion which belonged to, and
+was occupied by an elderly lady, Mrs. Baines. At that time there was,
+in the rear of this mansion, a large garden, or rather orchard and
+garden, extending westward nearly to New-road, and bounded on the south
+by Vounderveor. The south side of the lane was an open field, and at
+its west end there were no dwellings.
+
+Where the School of Art, the Methodist vestries, and other houses
+stand, was all known as Mrs. Baines’s orchard. This pleasant spot, in
+which the lady took great delight, was stocked with the choicest apple,
+pear, plum, and other fruit trees then known. The town boys soon found
+out the fine flavour of Mrs. Baines’s fruit, which was to them all the
+sweeter for being stolen. When the apples were ripe and most tempting,
+the mistress and her serving-man watched the garden by turns—the man
+during the first part of the night, and madam would descend in her
+night-dress, every now and then, to see that all was right, in the
+small hours of morning.
+
+One night Mrs. Baines, suspecting that man John was rather careless in
+keeping guard, sallied forth to see if he was attending to his duty;
+and, not finding him anywhere about the garden, she went to a tree of
+highly-prized apples and shook down a good quantity, intending to take
+them away, and thus prove to John that, through his remissness, the
+fruit was stolen. But her man Jan, armed with an old blunderbus,
+charged with peas and small shot, was at no great distance dozing under
+a hedge. The rustling of shaken branches, and noise of falling apples,
+awoke him, and, seeing somebody, as he thought, stealing apples from
+their favourite tree, he up with his gun and let fly at his mistress,
+exclaiming, at the same time, “Now you thief, I’ve paid ’e off for
+keeping me out of bed to watch ’e! I know ’e, I do, and will bring ’e
+before his worship the mayor to-morrow!” “Lord help me, I’m killed!”
+cried the lady, as she fell on the ground. Jan stayed to see no more,
+but, frightened out of his wits, ran away and couldn’t be found for
+several days. At last he was discovered up in Castle-an-dinas, half
+starved. By good luck the old lady’s back was towards her man when he
+fired, and the greatest portion of the charge took effect below her
+waist. Doctor Giddy was fetched, and, after some delicate surgical
+operations, which the lady bore with exemplary patience, pronounced her
+fright to be more than the hurt.
+
+However, a short time after the old lady got shot, she died; and then
+she kept such ward and watch over her orchard that few were so bold as
+to enter, after day-down, into the haunted ground, where the ghost of
+Mrs. Baines was often seen under the tree where she was shot, or
+walking the grounds of her garden. Everybody knew the old lady by her
+upturned and powdered grey hair under a lace cap of antique pattern; by
+the long lace ruffles hanging from her elbows; her short silk mantle,
+gold-headed cane, and other trappings of old-fashioned pomp.
+
+There are many still living in Penzance who remember the time when they
+wouldn’t venture on any account to pass through Vounderveor-lane after
+night-fall, for fear of Mrs. Baines’ ghost. Sometimes she would flutter
+up from the garden or yard (just like an old hen flying before the
+wind), and perch herself on the wall: then, for an instant, one might
+get a glance of her spindle legs and high-heeled shoes before she
+vanished.
+
+Her walking in the garden might have been put up with, but she soon
+haunted all parts of the premises, and was often seen where least
+expected both by night and at noon. The ghost became so troublesome, at
+last, that no person could be found to occupy the house, where she was
+all night long tramping about from room to room, slamming the doors,
+rattling the furniture, and often making a fearful crash amongst glass
+and crockery. Even when there was no living occupant in the house,
+persons, standing in Chapel street, often saw through the windows a
+shadowy form and lights glimmering in the parlours and bed-rooms.
+
+The proprietors, driven to their wits’ end, unwilling that such
+valuable property should become worse than useless, all through the
+freaks of this vexatious ghost, at last sent for a parson, who was much
+famed in this neighbourhood as an exorcist (we think the name of this
+reverend ghost-layer was Singleton), that he might remove and lay the
+unresting spirit; and he succeeded (by what means our informant knoweth
+not) in getting her away down to the sand-banks on the Western Green,
+which were then spread over many acres of land where the waves now
+roll. Here, this powerful parson, single-handed, bound her to spin from
+the banks ropes of sand for the term of a thousand years, unless she,
+before that time, spun a sufficiently long and strong one to reach from
+St. Michael’s Mount to St. Clement’s Isle. The encroaching sea having
+swept away the sandbanks, Mrs. Baines’ ghost is probably gone with
+them, as she hasn’t been heard of for some years, and, if she returns,
+the present occupiers of the old abode wouldn’t mind her.
+
+About the time that Mrs. Baines’s ghost carried on its freaks in the
+mansion, an open pathway passed through St. Mary’s chapel-yard, which
+was then often crossed, as it shortened the distance to the Quay; but,
+for a long time, few persons liked to pass through the burial-ground by
+night, because a ghostly apparition, arrayed in white, was often seen
+wandering amongst the tombs, from which doleful sounds were frequently
+heard. Sometimes the fearful figure was also met on the path or seen in
+the chapel porch. One dark and rainy night, however, a sailor, who
+neither knew nor cared anything about the ghost of St. Mary’s, in
+taking the short cut through the chapel-yard, came as far as the
+chapel-porch, when the ghost issued forth on the path and there stood,
+bobbing its head and waving its shroudings before him.
+
+“Halloa! Who or what are you?” said the sailor.
+
+“I am one of the dead!” the ghost answered.
+
+“If you are one of the dead, what the deuce do you do here above
+ground? go along down below!” said the sailor, as he lifted his fist
+and dealt the ghost a stunning blow over its head, which laid it
+sprawling on the stones, where it remained some time, unable to rise or
+descend, until a person passing by assisted it to get on its legs, and
+discovered that a frolicksome gentleman, called Captain Carthew, who
+then lived in the house which is now Mrs. Davy’s property, had long
+been diverting himself and frightening the towns’-folk out of their
+wits by personating the ghost, which was most effectually laid by Jack
+Tar, and served out for its tricks on the timid and credulous.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LOCAL NICKNAMES.
+
+CAMBORNE MERRY-GEEKS AND MARKET-JEW CROWS.—LUDGVAN HURLERS AND GULVAL
+BULLS.—MOUSHAL CUT-THROATS AND NEWLYN BUCKAS.—SANCRAS PIGS AND BURYAN
+BOARS.—ST. LEVAN WITCHES AND SENNEN ——.—SANTUST FUGGANS AND MORVAH
+CHICK-CHACKS.—NANCLEDREA RATS AND ZENNOR GOATS.—TOWEDNACK CUCKOOS AND
+ST. IVES HAKES.
+
+
+The inhabitants of almost all West-country parishes and of several
+villages are known by nicknames peculiar to them as natives of the
+respective places. The origin of these names is for the most part
+forgotten. A few, however, may be accounted for.
+
+
+
+
+CAMBORNE MERRY-GEEKS AND MARKET-JEW CROWS.
+
+Camborne people are now frequently called “Merry-geeks.”
+
+This modernized name conveys the idea that Camborne boys are much
+inclined to frolicsome fooling. Some old folks, however, still call
+them Merry-sicks or Merry-sickers. No doubt they acquired their
+nickname from their patron, St. Meriasek, who, according to his legend,
+as given in the old Cornish Mystery-play, was one of the most noted
+wonder-workers in this land of saints.
+
+Camborne folks, of three centuries or so ago, must have highly
+appreciated this rare old “Guary Miracle” of St. Meriasek, if only for
+the way in which they are lauded in it. Redruth Plan-an-Guary must have
+rung with applause when it was performed there during Queen Elizabeth’s
+reign, and probably much later.
+
+With regard to Marazion people’s appellation of “Crows,” it is said
+that, until a little while ago, a remarkable variety of party-coloured
+crows frequented this ancient town and its neighbourhood from very
+remote times. The saying of “All black and white, like a Market-jew
+crow,” is still frequently heard; as well as that of “Like the Mayor of
+Market-jew, sitting in his own light.”
+
+
+
+
+LUDGVAN HURLERS AND GULVAL BULLS.
+
+Ludgvan folks got the name of “Hurlers,” because they were wont to beat
+all-comers at their favourite game of hurling. They are still proud of
+their name.
+
+Gulval people obtained their nickname of “Bulls” long ago when they had
+a custom of bringing their young bulls (mostly yearlings) together to
+fight. The cattle were always matched according to their ages. Often
+heavy bets were staked on the extent and result of their prowess, and
+the strongest was preferred as a sire for the future herd. Strength was
+then more desirable than now, since most of the team-labour on the land
+was done by oxen, and it was desirable that they should be tough and
+muscular. Feasten Monday was the usual time for this bovine trial of
+strength.
+
+
+
+
+MOUSHAL CUT-THROATS AND NEWLYN BUCKAS.
+
+We will now follow the sun’s course, for good luck, and pass over the
+Bay to Moushal and its “Cut-throats.”
+
+Shortly after the Spaniards burnt this old town, many young men of Paul
+and the adjacent parishes—eager to retaliate on the Dons—went
+privateering. Some of them joined the Jamaica buccaneers, a few turned
+pirates, and all of them scoured the Spanish Main. One and all of the
+West Country men hailed from Moushal, which was then a noted place, and
+the chief port west of Market-jew.
+
+When the adventurous rovers returned home, laden with gold and
+treasures, envious land-lubbers, out of spite, dubbed them “Moushal’s
+Cut-throats.” Old folks used to say that, a century or so ago, the head
+proprietors of Paul and some of Buryan were the descendants of
+Buccaneers and “Madagascar Birds.” Those old families are, for the most
+part, become extinct in this neighbourhood, though two or three of them
+are flourishing elsewhere.
+
+Our old privateering stories always speak of Moushal as the general
+rendezvous of western sea-rovers; thus this bad-sounding nickname was
+acquired
+
+
+   “In the days we went a pirating,
+      A long time ago.”
+
+
+One needs go no farther than Moushal to learn how Newlyn people got the
+name of “Buccas.” What old folks say is to the effect that the
+fishermen of that place (within the remembrance of persons yet alive)
+were accustomed, on their return to shore, to make a propitiatory
+offering to a spirit (Bucca) by placing for him a fish, just within
+high-water mark, in order that the spirit might ensure them good luck
+in their fishing. It was believed that Bucca came at night and took
+away the fish. Those who continued to observe this remnant of an old
+religious rite were derided by their more “enlightened” neighbours of
+recent times, and by them nicknamed “Buccas.”
+
+
+
+
+SANCRAS PIGS AND BURYAN BOARS.
+
+Old folks say that the inhabitants of Sancreed were called “Sancras
+Pigs” because, formerly, pork from that inland parish was preferred to
+what was raised elsewhere in this neighbourhood.
+
+All the other parishes west of Hayle have some part of their boundaries
+on the seaboard: consequently, from the abundance of fish and the want
+of any but the home market for it, until recently, much good fish was
+cast on manure heaps, in places near fishing-coves; and the great,
+long-sided, razor-backed swine, then foraging at their pleasure in
+lanes and hamlets, ate so much fishery offal that it communicated a bad
+flavour and worse smell to their meat. Much pork was then sold to the
+“jousters” (retailers from the eastward) as “Sancras Pigs” that never
+saw Sancras parish; and the natives of that favoured place might be
+heard all over the Market-house calling out, “Come ’e here, my dears,
+look at this, ah es a Sancras pig, born and reared; see the fat ov en
+es as white as a crud (curd); no fear ov en beean trainey, like Paul
+and Sennen-cove trade, that have lived upon fish all their time.”
+
+At length these inlanders’ brag procured them the nickname of “Sancras
+Pigs,” which they still retain.
+
+We must pass over Buryan, for there seems to be no satisfactory account
+as to how the swinish nickname bestowed on the natives of that
+important parish originated.
+
+
+
+
+ST. LEVAN WITCHES AND SENNEN ——.
+
+St. Levan people are said to have acquired their remarkable name of St.
+Levan Witches from the belief—once general—that the inhabitants of that
+remote parish were, in days of yore, much addicted to the practice of
+necromancy, particularly witchcraft. Old folks held that all the West
+Country witches used to meet and hold their revels in Castle Trereen;
+until they mounted to the Castle Peak, and, bestriding their brooms or
+ragwort stalk, thence took their departure for Wales, Brittany, and
+even to Spain. Most nights, however, they merely went over and got a
+good “blow out” (feast) on the milk of Taffy’s cows. At times, too,
+Tol-pedn-penwith was their place of assembly, whence they started to
+wreck ships and perform other deviltry.
+
+If old traditions may be relied on, the unseemly nickname of Sennen ——
+originated in a somewhat remarkable way. They say that it was given
+long ago, owing to the Danish blood inherited by a few families who
+lived on the shore of Whitsand Bay.
+
+Many Land’s End folks have still a strong antipathy to what they regard
+as marks of descent from northern pirates, who ravaged the West more
+than a thousand years ago.
+
+Here, in old times, Scandinavians generally seem to have been called
+Danes; and from the prevalence, in some families of this parish, of the
+fiery-hued hair ascribed to those northern marauders, the inference is
+obvious, and the vulgar nickname accounted for which was given in ages
+past, and “originated with kind and discriminating neighbours.”
+
+No doubt the neighbouring witches, just mentioned, kindly performed
+their share of the nicknaming.
+
+The stories referring to the “red-haired Danes’” incursions seem to be
+handed down from a time more remote than that of King Olof’s conversion
+at the Scilly Islands, and much of what they say is confirmed by Snorri
+Sturluson in his Heimskringla.
+
+
+
+
+SANTUST FUGGANS AND MORVAH CHICK-CHACKS.
+
+St. Just people do not seem to have had one of long standing, but they
+are favoured with two at present.
+
+Many called them “Santust Fuggans,” and others “Red-tailed Drones.” The
+former is given them from the heavy-cakes (fuggan) which they take to
+“ball” for a stay-stomach; and the latter from their red working dress
+dyed with tin-stuff.
+
+One may remark that what we country folks call “drones” are large wild
+bees with orange-coloured or red tails, and never the large male bees
+of the hive. When a slice of meat is baked on a “fuggan” it then
+becomes a “hoggan.”
+
+Perhaps these peculiar words are old Cornish. A haws is also called a
+“hoggan,” but that may be from the Saxon.
+
+It is uncertain how Morvah folks acquired the sobriquet of
+“Chick-chacks.” It is very general: consequently one may suppose it to
+be of ancient date. Some say it was given because the gabble of old
+Morvah people sounded like the chatter of birds commonly called
+Chick-chacks, from their cry or note. Morvah Devils is also a common
+nickname.
+
+
+
+
+NANCLEDREA RATS AND ZENNOR GOATS.
+
+Nancledrea folk owe their nickname of “rats” to their mill, or rather
+to their millers. This may be understood by such scenes as the
+following, which often occurred:—The “loader” (miller’s boy) having
+brought the grist to a farmhouse, the good wife would “peze” (weigh by
+hand) the sacks of flour, bran, &c.—looking very wise, or sour the
+while,—then relieve her mind by saying, “Look here, thou ‘pilyack’
+(good-for-nothing rascal), thee hast broft me up ‘tummals’ enow to be
+sure, but more than hafe of en es secands and brand, that a es; and
+what thee hast broft for brand es most of am barley hulls and ‘ishan’
+(corn husks and dust,) but thee dosn’t care. The cunan old Nancledrea
+rats have eat the best flour agen and left all the secands and brand.
+Dost a hear me, you? I spose, too, that after the sacks had been twice
+tull’d, the millar’s old wife dipped in her dish agen, for doubtan that
+they hadn’t ben tull’d enow before.”
+
+The loader, very unconcerned, lets the dame talk on, and she
+continues:—
+
+“Now, tell the old rat from me—dost a heer me?—ef a don’t sarve me
+better next time, I’ll carry my corn to ‘four parishes round’ before
+I’ll be cheated so; that I will; the devil take the hungry old rat and
+his wife too.”
+
+After some rough talk the boy was generally dismissed with a good slice
+of bread thickly spread with cream and treacle.
+
+It is said that Zennor people obtained their nickname of “Goats” from
+the great number of these animals which were formerly kept on the high
+rocky hills, amongst them Carn Galva (goat’s carn), on the western side
+of this parish.
+
+It was also said that Zennor people would contrive, by their thrifty
+habits, to live like goats, where other animals and ordinary human
+beings would starve. “As careful as Zennor people” was a common saying
+in neighbouring parishes. Yet their care or stinginess was often
+mistaken for economy, when their rearing cattle, and working beasts as
+well, were so badly fed in winter that they came to “heaving” time, if
+not before, in the spring.
+
+It was what we call “funny but whist” to see, of a morning, men or
+women, out in their “crafts” (where such cattle were usually wintered)
+helping a poor, half-starved beast to rise, and holding on to its tail
+until it could stand steady enow to devour the little jerffel (armful)
+of straw, put before it. Yet, when they contrived to keep alive their
+poor yearlings until summer, these hardy young cattle, then turned to
+lanes, would often wander away for miles and get at the grass, or any
+crop to be found on a remarkably fertile strip of land between the wild
+hills and the sea-shore, in spite of all their spanning or steeping
+(tying the head down to a leg), or “mopping,” by a piece of board hung
+before the eyes.
+
+On this strip of land, forming the morrab of Zennor, the principal
+farms of this parish are situated.
+
+
+
+
+TOWEDNACK CUCKOOS AND ST. IVES HAKES.
+
+Towednack people were nicknamed “Cuckoos” from the institution of what
+was called their “Cuckoo Feast.” The story runs that, in old times,
+“Towednackers” fretted themselves very much because the winters were so
+long “up there” in that bitter cold country; besides, they grieved all
+the more on account of their having no feast, as in parishes round.
+
+They owed this grievance either to their not having had a patron saint,
+or he had ceased to be commemorated by an annual festival, if he ever
+were thus honoured. At length the principal people of the parish agreed
+to meet at the public-house that they might lay their heads together
+and, by their united wisdom, devise some plan for bettering their
+condition in both respects. Abundance of strong drink and some eatables
+were provided for the occasion. They met on the last week of April,
+and, after a long deliberation, one of the wisest proposed to hedge in
+a cuckoo, if ever she came there again, which was a rare occurrence.
+
+One and all declared that nothing could be better; they would go the
+very next day and begin to hedge in a place on Cold Harbour Downs, and
+leave a gap in the enclosure through which she could be driven into it.
+They stayed together a week rejoicing over their schemes, and singing
+the old refrain,—
+
+
+   “The cuckoo is a pretty bird,
+        And sings as she flies;
+    And brings us fine weather,
+        And tells us no lies.”
+
+
+They would have remained longer but their drink ran short.
+
+The story doesn’t say if they commenced hedging or not. They were so
+well pleased, however, with the joyous way in which they had passed a
+week together that all of them determined, henceforward to meet every
+year, at the same date, to hold a feast, and to invite their friends
+from other parishes to come there and be entertained.
+
+The good folk kept their resolution, held a feasten week in a jovial
+way, and their winters seemed shorter to them ever after. There are
+other versions of this old droll, all of them intended to ridicule
+simple folk for confounding cause and effect; all show, too, that there
+was something unusual in the establishment of Towednack feast.
+
+This feast was also called “Crowder feast,” from an old custom which
+was there kept up at “the tide,” long after it had fallen into disuse
+in other parishes.
+
+On the feasten-Sunday morning, the people, with their “feasters”
+(visitors from other parishes) met in Churchtown, at or near the inn.
+Whilst the bells rung, they arranged themselves to form a kind of
+procession; when the bells ceased calling them, the fiddler struck up a
+lively tune on his “crowd” (fiddle) and led them on to the Church door.
+
+After service they again formed in order on leaving the Church, and
+headed by the “crowder,” fifers, and others playing a cheerful
+strain—whilst the bells rung,—as was their wont at “the tide,”—they
+marched together three times round or through the village before they
+dispersed and took their various roads home.
+
+This custom was regarded, by good people, as natural enough in more
+simple and sociable times, when it was “Merrie England.”
+
+There is a saying that calves are christened at Towednack Quay Head.
+One would like to know how this arose?
+
+St. Ives people are known as “hake whippers,” the tradition running
+that upon one occasion they flogged the hakes out of the bay, which
+accounts for none having been seen there since. But at St. Ives they
+will tell you that the Hake flogged was a man of that name, and that he
+well deserved it.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A CORNISH DROLL: BETTY TODDY AND HER GOWN.
+
+(RE-PRINTED BY DESIRE.)
+
+
+We almost every day hear the saying “As gay as Betty Toddy’s gown.” Yet
+few know anything more of Betty, or her gown, although both were rather
+remarkable in their way and day. Betty’s right name was Elizabeth
+Williams. There were four, if not five families of this name in St.
+Just about a hundred years ago; when Betty flourished in all her glory.
+To distinguish one of them from another, each family had a nickname, by
+which they were better known than by their proper name, as Bibbs,
+Cobbler, Toddy, &c. The family to which Betty belonged gained their
+queer name by some old granny of theirs giving the children toddy
+(spirit and water) with their bread and butter, instead of the usual
+milk, or pillas-porridge. When the old folks “went round land,” Betty
+and her brother Jacob were left with a little holding in or near
+Churchtown. They had ground enough to keep a cow or two, raise a little
+pease, barley, pillas, or naked oats, which were very much used then
+before the murphies came into the country: the everlasting pease
+porridge, broth and herby-pies, with milk instead of tea (only then
+used by the gentry) was the every day fare. Jacob worked to bal, and
+brought home his gettings to provide the few articles that their little
+quilletts didn’t supply. Betty had all the profit of what she could
+spare to sell from her cows and poultry—not much, for Jacob could eat
+as much as half-a-dozen men, and do as much work as half-a-score of
+those going now, who have their inside washed out with tea and stuffed
+with potatoes. The Toddy’s had been people of consequence in their
+time, and many rich and queer articles of old-fashioned dress came to
+Betty from grandmothers and great-mothers, in which she would appear in
+state at Church on Sundays, decked out in all sorts of worn-out finery,
+put on any how, over the humblest of working-day clothing; as a black
+silk mantle over a bed-gown, check apron, and quilted petticoat so
+patched that it was hard to tell which was the first piece; high-heeled
+velvet shoes, with silver buckles, over sheep-grey stockings; fan,
+rings, beads, pointed hat, lace ruffles hanging from her elbows to her
+knees; all the odds and ends of old-fashioned grandeur would be pitched
+on any how. But Betty was not the only one in the parish then who
+dressed just in the same way. Betty determined (when nearly out of her
+teens) that she would have a brand new gown, the smartest in the
+parish. After saving her money for years—sometimes half starving Jacob
+on “bread and scrape,” that she might have the more butter to sell,
+allowing him no more than half-a dozen eggs with his breakfast and so
+on—she thought that, by the Feast, surely she would have money enough
+to buy as gay a gown as “heart could wish.”
+
+So Hallan Thursday, Betty started off with her basket of three weeks’
+butter, and the money she had been saving for years tied up in her
+pocket. Betty was so proud that day that, when any found fault with the
+grey look of her butter, she said they were fools and buckas not to
+know that the butter was always that colour from a black-and-white cow.
+
+The grey butter was sold at last. Betty went up to Mr. Pidwell’s shop,
+called out to the old gentleman before she got down the steps into the
+shop, “Mr. Pidwell, here I am look’e, and I do want as strong a piece
+of dowlas as you have got in your shop to make a smock, for I must have
+something that will stand plenty of wear, besides a piece of something
+brave and smart to make a new gownd against the Feast.” Dowlas for the
+smock was soon cut out. After, Mr. Pidwell turned over all his gayest
+prints and chintz, but nothing could be found smart enough to please
+Betty, when she happened to spy some bed furniture, covered with trees
+and flowers of all colours, birds singing in the branches, cows
+couranting, with more sorts of beasts than ever entered the ark—birds
+and beasts all as gay as the flowers. “Dear lord, Mr. Pidwell, there’s
+the very thing I do want to have, but I suppose you do think that’s too
+smart for me; that’s the sort of stuff for the ladies of the town to
+deck themselves in on Sundays and high Holy-days; or else that I havn’t
+money enough to pay for’n. What es et a yard than?” “Two and twenty
+pence,” says Mr. Ben. “No, don’t ye believe et, I arn’t going to be
+taken in like that, for mammy only gave two and a grate (groat) for her
+best gownd.” Mr. Pidwell let her have it at her own price, and made up
+the difference, without taking the poor soul in. All the way home from
+Penzance to Church-town, Betty and her comrades never tired of admiring
+the red and blue sheep, goats and deer, rabbits and hares, horses,
+bulls, and such animals as were never born nor created. By the Feasten
+Eve, the mantua-maker had made the precious gown to Betty’s mind. They
+contrived to cut the stuff so as to have one of the red sheep on each
+shoulder, and a blue bull on the back.
+
+In these good old times, everybody kept up the Feast as they ought.
+Jacob had killed the pig for Winter’s use that week, and a fine fat
+calf (none of your “staggering bob,” three weeks old, but something
+worth calling veal, more than two months in this world), a noble piece
+of beef, to cut and come again, hares and rabbits, geese and ducks,
+enough that all the cousins and old acquaintances (not a few) expected
+to come to Feast might have a good “blow-out.” Don’t ye believe it,
+that they went short of plenty of good drink in these roaring times,
+when there was none of your cussed boat-men sneaking about—trying to
+hinder one, but they can’t, from having plenty of good brandy from
+France.
+
+The feasten day, Betty was up in the morning early. The morning work
+was soon done; the great crock put on with the beef, calf’s head, and
+dumpling; not more water than just enough to cover them, as Betty said
+“She wouldn’t make dish-wash for Feasten broth; no not she;” rabbit
+pie, veal and parsley pies, with the figgy-puddings, all were put to
+bake, and the chimney full of turfey-fire, all in a glow from end to
+end, when a poor half-witted fellow called Bucca, [24] who thought
+himself Betty’s sweetheart, came in to watch the cooking, that Betty
+might dress in time to go to church to shew her new gown.
+
+When Betty came out in her new gown, with all the rest of her
+faldelals, Bucca said she was a grander lady, by ever so much than
+Madam down to Pendeen even, leave alone the little gentry and many
+others thought the same, when Betty stopped at the cross, where they
+waited long after the parson had gone into Church that they might see
+all the beauty of Betty’s gay new gownd.
+
+The feasters, from the other parishes, were not expected to arrive much
+before dinner time. Jacob had started off to meet some cousins from
+Sancrass on the road. Betty told Bucca, be sure to keep the crock to
+boil, and when the broth was ready to take up some and a dumpling or
+two for himself. The basins were breaded on the table, ready for the
+feasters to help themselves as soon as they came in, according to
+custom.
+
+The sermon was begun before Betty entered the church door. Then the
+parson stopped preaching, and everybody stood up to see Betty’s smart
+gown, and she was brave and proud to stand up that they might see it.
+At last the parson went on again. Betty and the rest had scarcely
+seated themselves, when Bucca tore into church crying out “Betty!
+Betty! make haste home; the calf’s head have eat the dumplings all but
+one, and es chasing that round the crock like mad, and the feasters are
+all come too!” The parson now stopped for good, and all went out of
+church as fast as they could tumble, to get a sight of Betty Toddy’s
+gay gown, and such a gay gown has never been seen in Church-town from
+that day to this. As might be expected, Bucca found the dumplings so
+good that he eat them all but one and put the fault on the calf’s head.
+No matter. The feasters didn’t lack good cheer.
+
+Best part of the Sunday afternoon was passed in doing justice to the
+good cheer. Towards night, Jacob and the men went round to see their
+old comrades; then one and all went to the public-house for a spell.
+Betty and her female friends remained at home, that they might have a
+good chance of talking by themselves of what they never get weary—their
+sweethearts. By the time they had told each other about all the
+youngsters who were fighting for them, or getting drunk because they
+had been slighted by them, supper being cooked in the meantime, all
+came in, and found the board laid with as substantial a meal as they
+had for dinner, and plenty of nice kick-shaws besides. About midnight,
+after taking eggy-beer and brandy, the old folks went home. The
+youngsters remained to see, and join in, the games of the feasten week.
+
+Monday morning early, all the men were off to the wrestling. The ring
+was in a field near Church-town. All the standards had been made
+before; they had only then to contend for the prizes, which were given
+by the ladies of the parish, and usually consisted of a pair of spurs
+for the first prize, a laced hat or waistcoat for the second, and a
+pair of gloves for the third. The sports of the wrestling-ring and
+plan-an-guare (the round) which was given up to the boys for their
+games at quoits, were kept up from daylight till dark night, when all
+went home for a hasty meal and to take the girls to the public-house,
+where the fiddle and fife in every room put life into the legs of the
+dancers; but they seldom found fiddles enough, and many a merry jig and
+three-handed reel was kept agoing by the tune being sung to such old
+catches as
+
+
+   “Here’s to the devil,
+    With his wooden-spade and shovel,
+    Digging tin by the bushel,
+    With his tail cocked up;”
+
+
+or to “Mall Brooks is gone to the wars,” with a rattling chorus to suit
+the measure. The end to another old catch to which they shoot their
+heel and toe was
+
+
+   “A guinea will sink and a note will float,
+    Better is a guinea than a five-pound note.”
+
+
+Sometimes they merely sang hal-an-toe (heel-and-toe) to keep the mill
+a-going. At the same time the sober old folks would be below stairs
+singing their “three-men’s-songs.” At last, when all had danced and
+drunk so much that they could dance or drink no more, it was “hurrah
+for home, comrades, to be up for the hurling-match in the morning.”
+
+Tuesday morning you would hear the noble old hurling cry of “Guare
+wheag y guare teag” (fair play is good play) when the silver ball, with
+this motto engraved on it, was thrown up from the cross. At the feast
+the match was usually between St. Just and Burian or Sancreed; or
+Sennen and St. Levan together were regarded as a fair match for St.
+Just. The run was often from Church-town to the stone marking the
+boundary of the four parishes, but when Pendeen was kept up in its
+glory then the goal was down to the green-court gate, where the noble
+old squire would have a barrel of strong beer, with abundance of other
+good cheer, to treat all comers.
+
+Pendeen didn’t look wisht and dreary then, with the place crowded with
+ladies, decked in all that was rich and rare, to see the hurling-ball
+brought in. You should have been there to see all the beautiful
+chimney-stacks of the grand old house sending out the turf-smoke, to
+note the clouds coming out of that noble hall-chimney, just beside the
+door; doesn’t it tell one of the comfort and free heart of all within?
+What is it that makes that old building look so noble? Is it the angle
+at which the roof is pitched, the exact proportion and variety of the
+chimney-stacks, or the just proportions and correspondence of the
+whole, that makes the old mansion so pleasing to the eye as well as
+interesting?
+
+Whilst we are admiring the house, all the hurlers are drinking health
+and a happy long life to the squire and all his family. If the old
+stories may be credited there was always good store of something
+stronger than “old October” no farther off than the Vow, which the
+squire, being a justice, was supposed to know nothing about. They say
+that when a cargo from France was expected to be run into the Cove, the
+ladies would contrive to send the good old squire from home, or keep
+him indoors till the liquor was safe in the Vow—the silks and laces in
+the ladies’ chests.
+
+Few were so curious as to venture near the Vow by night, scarcely by
+day, as all said the place was haunted by the spirit of a lady which
+had often been seen coming out of the cavern in the depth of Winter,
+dressed all in white, with a red rose in her mouth; and woe betide the
+person who had the bad luck to see the ghost—misfortune was sure to
+follow. We know now that great part of the ghosts which were said to
+haunt many old mansions in the west were mere creations of the
+smugglers’ brains, to scarce away the over-curious from the convenient
+hiding-places furnished by these old houses in their vaults, caverns,
+secret closets behind or beside the chimneys, with many other
+contrivances for the concealment of persons and property.
+
+The hurlers from the other parishes, whether they lost or won, were
+made to go back to church-town or home with our St. Tusters to be
+treated. If the strangers would neither eat or drink with them they
+would soon have to fight with them, and all in friendship too. They
+would like enough be asked, “Dost thee think thyself too good to eat or
+drink with me then? If that’s the case, come let’s see which is the
+best man of us.” When they had half-killed each other, and had been
+only parted by their comrades to save their lives, then they would
+shake hands, and say “Well thee art worth having for a comrade; thee
+art just as good a man as myself,” and be the best friends in the world
+ever after; and the night would be passed in dancing and other fun till
+morning.
+
+When the feast was over with many, yet others would turn out for
+slinging matches, on the Wednesday. This sport, if it may be called so
+(often more like a battle), is as ancient as wrestling, or hurling, and
+has no doubt been in vogue as a pastime ever since the sling was
+regarded as next in importance, as an offensive arm, to the bow and
+arrow. The stories about the giants slinging rocks at each other on
+Morvah Downs is proof enough of the antiquity of the sport. In the time
+of Betty and Jacob, the boys and girls, by constant practice with the
+sling, were so dexterous in its use that they could hit a mark at a
+very great distance. The men of St. Just, and many of the women too,
+liked the sport so well that they would often draw for sides. The two
+parties place themselves on the burrows of old tin works at a
+convenient distance, and sling stones at each other, for dear life;
+they didn’t mind a few cut heads, for the fun of the thing.
+
+We have said nothing about Jacob, Betty and their feasters this good
+while, but then, you must know, they took their share in all the games
+that were going on, the same as the rest.
+
+When Wednesday came, which is known as servy-day, when all the odds and
+ends of the feast are served up, early in the afternoon the feasters
+return home. It wasn’t come to servy-day either with Jacob and Betty;
+but as they intended to hold the “Little Feasten Day” (for some
+visitors who could not come the feasten week) they didn’t press the
+cousins to stay any longer.
+
+On Thursday, Betty thought they might as well return to the ordinary
+fare of pease-porridge, and save the joints of meat for next Sunday’s
+visitors. Jacob went to bal, just for the saying of the thing. Nobody
+thought of doing much before the next week, as it takes days to tell
+all the news about the feast, the news brought to the parish by the
+strangers, and to get to rights, as we say. The crock, with water to
+boil a gallon or so of peas for Jacob’s supper, was only put on in the
+afternoon, as he was sure to be late home. Betty placed some coals of
+turf fire under the crock, and enough (as she thought) of fursey-turves
+round the brandes (trivet) to keep peas to boil: then she went out to
+“coursey” a bit.
+
+Besides the feasten news, there was then, and always had been, a
+never-ending subject for them to talk of in their constant fears of
+some foreigners or other landing in Whitsand Bay or Priest’s Cove. Who
+they were to be, they couldn’t tell exactly. Only they knew that the
+red-haired Danes [25] were to come again, when Vellandruchar [26] mill
+would again be worked with blood, and the kings would dine on
+Table-māyon (mēn) for the last time (as the world was to come to an end
+soon after). This they still firmly believe may take place any day,
+because Merlin uttered a prophecy to that effect more than a thousand
+years ago. As the time of Betty Toddy’s glory was about the
+commencement of the American war of independence, when the French took
+sides with cousins over the water, the greatest fear then was that the
+French would land some night and carry off the tin; they didn’t fear
+much for what the French would do in the way of fighting, so they said.
+Betty and the rest passed the evening, or night rather, in going round
+Churchtown to hear the news and drinking confusion to the French in
+almost every house. Long before Betty came in, Jacob came home pretty
+well slewed (tipsy) and very hungry, but the peas were just as hard as
+when put in the crock; for soon after Betty went out, the fire went
+out. However, Jacob ate about a gallon of the peas, ready or raw, and,
+that he mightn’t have the mully-grubs, took an extra glass of brandy;
+and was in bed snoring, grunting, groaning, and tossing like a
+porpoise, when Betty came in. We know that ill-boiled peas are very
+indigestable, so one may guess how they troubled Jacob, among the beer
+and brandy, half raw as they were. Betty could hear all Jacob’s
+uneasiness, as there was only a screen of thin boards between their
+chambers, but she little heeded Jacob’s groaning, having enough to do
+(as she wasn’t very steady in the head) to get into bed, to sleep
+herself sober.
+
+Towards the morning part of the night Betty awoke in a terrible fright.
+She had lost all recollection of Jacob’s groans, as she went to bed,
+and, when she was fairly sensible now, his roars were frightful. Her
+first thought was of the French! Without staying to dress, she tore out
+of the house, roused all the neighbours from their beds, by crying out
+at everybody’s door as she went tearing, half-naked, round Churchtown
+“Get up! Get up! You’ll be murdered alive, the French es landed. I
+heard some of ’em in our house!”
+
+In a few minutes after, half the women in Churchtown were racing round
+the place, crying “Fire!” and “Murder,” “Blood and Thunder; you’ll all
+be killed in your beds and be buried alive; the French es landed, get
+up! get up!” The bells were set ringing in the tower. Will Tregear
+fired the furze on the Biccan (Beacon). The Biccan hills were soon all
+a blaze from St. Just to Plymouth, where the nearest troops were
+stationed then. Whilst the bells were still ringing, and women
+screeching in Churchtown, trumpet and drum sounded reveillé in Plymouth
+garrison. The troops in red-hot haste got under arms, and were marching
+Westward ho! Jan Trezise was sent off, fast as horse could go, to meet
+the troops and guide them to St. Just. There were relays of horses kept
+in all the principal towns on the road to Plymouth, ready saddled as
+soon as the Biccan fires gave notice of the enemy landing in the West.
+
+They say that Jan didn’t ride very fast after he passed Penzance, for
+the pack-saddle he took in his hurry to ride on so galled him that he
+could hardly sit on the horse’s back when he arrived at Crowlas,
+sitting sidelong for more ease. The landlady took pity on him, gave him
+the best pillow she had in the house to make a softer seat for him, and
+a good dram of course; then on he went as best he could for Redruth,
+cussing the French all the way.
+
+When Betty had alarmed all the town she came in and waked up her
+brother, but Jacob only cussed the peas, the French, and Betty too;
+then snored away again. Betty, knowing that the smugglers brought the
+silks, laces, and other smart things from France, and that the French
+greatly admired dress and fashion, donned her gay gown, with all her
+trinkets and trappings; placed bread, cream, and honey on the board,
+that the French officers, whom she expected to see every minute, might
+take her for a grand lady of the land, and treat her with great
+respect. So she seated herself on the chimney-stool ready to rise and
+make her curtsey, and thinking what she should say when the French
+Captain came in. There leave her.
+
+At last, when daylight came to dispel the fears of the people of
+Churchtown, they traced all the alarm spread by Betty to the
+indigestible peas eaten by Jacob for supper. Yet they seem never to
+have thought of the consequences of the false alarm, and of having the
+troops quartered on them for nothing, till the parson hearing of it in
+Penzance (where he lived) came out the Saturday to see what was the
+matter. To make sure that no Frenchmen were lurking about, all the
+creeks and coves were searched, the hills and carns inspected. When
+satisfied that all the fuss was for nothing they had the sense to send
+off countermanding orders by the parson’s man.
+
+The troops left Plymouth, and came on West in uncertainty as to where
+the enemy had landed, Jan Trezise having lost his road, and got down to
+Gweek, where he was found a month after in clover, for Gweek people
+treated him like a gentleman for bringing them the news (there was no
+fear of the French finding them, yet they liked to know what was going
+on in the rest of the world).
+
+The parson’s courier found the troops wandering about in a fog on the
+Four-burrow downs, not knowing what way to steer. When told of the
+false alarm they were glad enough to turn tail and cut off home again.
+
+There are plenty more queer things told about Betty Toddy, and others
+who lived about this time in St. Just, but they are such wild rants
+that one don’t like to mention them now, in these precise times, for
+fear the prim, sour folks who call themselves enlightened may accuse
+one of romancing like an Old Celt. Not that any one need care anything
+about their grimace; least of all an Old Celt.
+
+[Perhaps this story may be somewhat embellished or exaggerated through
+the volant fancies of the Drolls; yet, from all that we have heard
+about the matter, there is good reason for believing that a false alarm
+of the French having landed in St. Just occurred, as stated above, on
+the Feasten week, when they were so muddle-headed that they didn’t
+think of, nor care about the consequences of signalling to Plymouth for
+troops. “They might all come to Feast, if they would; and welcome.” In
+some versions of the story the troops are said to have arrived in
+Market-jew, without knowing where they were wanted; yet the alarm had
+spread, from seeing the Beacons blazing, that the French had landed in
+various parts of the county.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GHOST-LAYER.
+
+
+There need be no difficulty about getting a ghost laid. We have just
+heard of a local preacher, living in the district between Camborne and
+Helston, who, according to his own account, has put many troublesome
+spirits to rest, generally by settling for them their mundane affairs,
+about which they were troubled, by reasoning with and advising them to
+stay below, bear their punishment with a good heart, make the best of a
+bad matter, and hope for better times. He allowed that sometimes he was
+merely deluding the ghosts; yet, no matter, the end sought was
+attained—anything to get rid of them!
+
+As he had a rather uncommon adventure in laying one ghost, we give an
+account, somewhat abridged, of this enterprise.
+
+From some trifling cause the spirit got back again to its late abode,
+before the mourners had quitted the public-house, in Churchtown, where,
+as is customary, they stopped awhile to treat and take leave of their
+friends, who had come to the funeral from a distance.
+
+The ghost became, at once, so annoying, that none could rest in the
+house with it, and, a few nights after the burial, the family of the
+deceased, not knowing what to do to obtain any rest, fetched the
+preacher, who was believed to possess extraordinary knowledge of
+spiritual matters and power over the ghostly world and its inhabitants.
+He entered the haunted house alone. After many hours passed in prayer
+and expostulation with the obstinate spirit, it at last consented to
+return to its grave and stay there, if the exorcist and preacher would
+accompany it to the churchyard to see it landed there.
+
+And now happened the most remarkable part of this affair. About
+midnight, the ghost layer bound the spirit with a piece of new rope,
+and fastened the other end of it round his own waist, that the spirit
+mightn’t give him the slip. The spirit, gentle as a lamb, was then led
+out of the house; but it had no sooner crossed the door-sill than the
+dwelling was surrounded by a pack of yelping hounds, of which the
+town-place was full, and the old one riding up the lane in a blaze of
+fire.
+
+The spirit, to save itself from being caught by hounds and huntsman,
+mounted high up in the air, taking the man (hanging by the middle) with
+it. Away they went, over trees, hills, and water. In less than a minute
+they passed over some miles, and alighted in the churchyard, close by
+the spirit’s grave, which the man saw open, and blue sulphurous flames
+issuing therefrom, and he heard, coming from below, most horrid shrieks
+and moans.
+
+The ghost, knowing it was no use to contend with the man of faith, only
+stopped to say farewell, and then descended into its grave, which
+immediately closed. The man—overcome, by being borne, with lightning
+speed, through the air, or by the infernal fumes rising from the open
+grave,—fell down in a fit, from which he didn’t recover till daybreak,
+and then he was scarcely able to leave the churchyard. When near the
+town-place, which he had left with the spirit, in the branch of a tree
+he found his hat, that must have fallen from his head on first mounting
+through the air.
+
+The most probable solution of this story (told in good faith and firmly
+believed) is that the ghost-layer, after taking too much spirit in the
+public-house, rambled into the churchyard, there fell asleep, and
+dreamed the rest.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CORNISH DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OLD MEN.
+
+
+Job Munglar.
+
+Loard! uncle Jan Trudle, dost a hire the news
+How belike we shall stompey in temberan shoes?
+For the Franchmen and Spangars be coaming, they saey,
+For to carry us ale from ould Inglant away!
+
+
+Jan Trudle.
+
+Hould tha toang, tha’ great toatledum pattick of Newlyn,
+What becaze the old wemmen be dwailing and druling,
+And fright’ning one tother with goblins and goastes,
+And a squaling “The Franchmen be got ’pon the coastes!”
+Shoar thee beestu’n sich a whit-liver’d saft-bak’d Tim-doodle
+As to think they’ll titch ground this ’em side of the poodle.
+Noa—drat’em! they weant bring thick noashion to bear,
+While there’s bould Coarnish curridge to give ’em a cheer.
+And trust me, Job Munglar, I’ll weage me ould hat!
+They have too much of slydom to venture ’pon that.
+Besides ef they shud, as a body may saeya,
+Dust a think that we’d let ’em goa deancing aweay?
+Noa—Faith! thof I stand here so ould as thy vaather,
+And thee and thy bastards ale reckon’d togeather;
+Thof I’m lame in my click-hand, and blind ’pon one eye,
+Yet by Gambers! Jan Trudle would scoarn to fight shy,
+Or stand gogling for gapes, like an owl at an eagle,
+Or yowling just ain like a Jany Tregeagle!
+Noa—dost hire ma! Job Munglar, cheeld veane! dest a hire?
+There’s no mortal can saey I’m afeard to stand fire.
+And thee knawst et for sartin, as how, and so be,
+When the marchants wor sheppin the bearley, dest see,
+And we run’d off to Padsta to nack their purceedings;
+Ded I mind the riat-act-man and ’es readings?
+Noa, I called out the Hubbar—soa hard as I cud,
+And cried, stand to et boys! tes for bearly or blood!
+And when ale the soadgers ded loady their guns,
+I made the purpoashals to dost ’an weth stoans.
+Soa we cobb’d et away jest like lyants and tygars
+Till we made am at laste fale a snapping the trigars.
+And drat ’em! Job Munglar! I’m bould for to saey
+That I steev’d down three rud-coats so ded as a daey.
+But I scorn to stand speeching braggashans and soa,
+As ale round the Bal here do very well knoaw.
+Yet in caze, ef so be, as the Papishes coame,
+For to roust us ale out from our houzen and hoam,
+I’ll be cut up in slivers for meat for the crowas,
+Ef I doant slam this tamlyn souse into their joaws.
+Thof I’ve been ever sence that I noozled the nepple,
+Durk as pitch a won side, and a hafe of a crepple;
+Yet I’ve heart’s-blood enow if we chance to fale too’t,
+For to murder five Franch and a Spangar to boot!
+But et es noa moar likely to coam unto pass,
+Than thick moyle to fale talkeing like Balaamses ass!
+
+
+Job Munglar.
+
+Well! that maey be thickey suppoashal’s o’ thine;
+But fath! ’tis noa mazedish condudle o’ mine!
+Noa—soa sartin as thickey there place es Kearn Braey,
+The Franchmen be coaming to car us awey.
+They’ve five hundred great sheps, and mashes of men,
+And sich powars of cannons, as ever was sen!
+But the worstest of ale (sez a man cum’d from Famuth),
+They have swared to burn ale from Tol Ped’n to Plemuth;
+And to force ale the people, boath Chrestians and Jews,
+For to live upon quilkins and pagetopooes;
+And moar too than thickey, they’ll hitch in a roap
+Every soual that weant pray to the Devel and Poap!
+Thof I beant quite soa rich-like in cuyn as a squire,
+Yet I’ve soam little cob-shans, Jan Trudle! dedst hire?
+Soa for doubting, cheeld lookey! I’ve steev’d et, oak farm,
+And “fast bind it, fast find it,” weant do one noa harm.
+Soa for doubting cheeld vean! (as I tould tha afoar)
+I’ve squadg’d et down ninety good fathoms and moar,
+In a drang, where ould scratch, ef ha ever inclin’d et,
+Might sclau ale his claws off afoar he wud find et.
+For the outlandish Pagans, in caze they do landey,
+Will go drifting for cuyn, like excise-men for brandey;
+But ef ever they smill out the pleace where I’ve poat et,
+May my corps like a pelchard be saleted and goated!
+
+
+Jan Trudle.
+
+Why then zounds! let ’em coam, ef soo be they’ve a mind
+Thee hast shanks for to skeyce with thy fardle behind.
+Thee maeyest scamp wi’ the wemmen and cheldren, thee goose!
+And the oather gret gaukums that take the same coose.
+And may ale the  [27]big thunder-bolts up in the clouds
+Tumble down ’pon my body, and squat ’em to jouds,
+May I broyle like grain-tin in a blowing-house fire,
+’Tell I’m rud as the smith makes the pieces of ire;
+Ef I weant be shut ded, afoar enny soap-meagar,
+Shall slavify me like a blackey-moor negar,
+And make me ate quilkins and pagetepooes,
+And worship the Devel and wear woaden shoes! [28]
+Noa fath! by the sperit and soal of my body,
+I’d rather be toarn’d to a hoddymandoddy!
+Doan’t stand, tha’ great lutterpooch! chewing tha thumb;
+For they’ll get a mayn dousting when ever they coam!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A DIALOGUE BETWEEN GRACEY PENROSE AND MALLY TREVISKY.
+
+
+Gracey.
+
+Faith and trath then, I b’leve, in ten parishes round,
+Sickey roage, sichey vellan, es nat to ba found!
+
+
+Mally.
+
+Whot’s tha fussing, un Gracey! long wetha, cheel vean?
+
+
+Gracey.
+
+A fussing aketha! od splet es ould braeane!
+Our Martin’s cum’d hum, cheeld, so drunk as a beast,
+So cross as the gallish from Perranzan veast,
+A kicking, a tottering, a cussin, and swearing,
+So hard as the stomses a tarving and tearing.
+
+
+Mally.
+
+Naver mind et, un Gracey!—cheeld, put en to bed:
+Aal slepe ale the lecker away from hes head.
+
+
+Gracey.
+
+I wudden go neast an to fang the King’s crown;
+For a swears, ef I speke t’un, aal cleave my skull down.
+Thee never in aal thy born days, fath and shoar,
+Dedst behould sickey mazegerry pattick afore.
+Why a scatt all to midjans and jouds for the nons
+A cloam buzza of scale milk about on the scons;
+And a catch’d up a shoul for to steve me outright;
+And I run’d away ready to fainty for fright.
+Loard! tell ma, un Mally! what shall I do by an—
+For zountikins! death! I’m affeared to go nigh an.
+
+
+Mally.
+
+I know what I’d gee’n, ef sa bee ’twor my caze:
+I’d scatt the ould chacks an, I’d trem an, un Grace!
+
+
+Gracey.
+
+I’m affear’d a ma life to go nigh the ould vellan,
+Else, please father, I bleve I should parfectly kell an,
+But I’ll never no more be so bauld and abus’d:
+My arms here like bazam the roage have abruis’d!
+I made for hes supper a muggetty pye;
+But a shant clunk a croom ate, I wish a may die!
+
+
+Mally.
+
+I tould thee, afore that the job was adone,
+That theedst find out tha odds ate so sure as a gun:
+But thee wusent hark to me for doubting, for why,
+Becase thee didst know en much better than I?
+But I know’d the trem aan before thee hads got an,
+And tould thee a mashes of stories about an.
+But thee answered so toytish, and skrink’d up tha noze,
+A gissing ’twas gret stramming lyes I suppoze.
+There’s one of es pranks I shall always remembar,
+(’Twill be dree years agon come the ighth of Novembar),
+I’d two purty young mabyers as eyes cou’d behould,
+So fat as the butter, just ighteen weeks ould:
+They were picking about in town-place for meat:
+So I hove down some pellase among mon to eat;
+When who but your man cum’d a tottering along,
+So drunk that I thoft he wud fale in the dung:
+Aleft fale hes hoggan-bag jest by the door;
+So I caal’d to the man (as one would to be sure)
+Says I: “Martin! dust hire, cheeld? cum take up tha bag;”
+“Arra, (sezza) for what art a caleing me dog!”
+An a run’d forth, tha roage, an nar better nar wus,
+Nact the mabyers both stef with a geart maur of fusse.
+Like anow ef I eadnt got hasty’s away,
+He’d adone as a ded by Jan Rose t’other day;
+When a got in his tantrums, a wilful ould devil,
+And slam’d the poor soal in the head with a kebbal.
+
+
+Gracey.
+
+When the cyder is run’d away every drap,
+’Tis too late to be thinkene of plugging the tap:
+And marriage must go as the Loard doth ordain:
+Yet ef I’d know’d the coose aan, un Mally, cheel vean?
+Ef I’d known the coose aan but nine weeks ago
+I’d never ha had the ould vellan, I know.
+But a vow’d and a swared that ef I’d be hes wife,
+I never should want all the days of my life;
+And a broft me a nakin and corn-save from Preen—
+En ma conscience, thoft I, I shall live like a Queen!
+But tes plagy provoking, adsplet hes ould head!
+To be pooted and slopt so! I wish a were dead!
+Why a spent half hes fangings last Saturday night:
+Like anow, by this time, tes gone every dyte.
+But I’ll tame the ould deval afore et es long—
+Ef I caant wa ma vistes I will wa ma tonge!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS CAROLS.
+
+
+Some of us remember when it was a custom, in the parishes of West
+Cornwall, for a few elderly persons to meet in Church, late on
+Christmas Eve, and sing till after midnight, a good number of cheerful,
+quaint old carols, which were quite different from the solemn Christmas
+hymns that have supplanted them.
+
+The favourite carols, for the most part contained such legends as are
+preserved in the Mysteries, or Old Miracle Plays, which continued to be
+performed in the western parishes, on Sunday afternoons, down to
+Elizabeth’s reign or later. Others may have been derived from the
+Apocryphal Gospels.
+
+Such, for instance, are the circumstances referred to in the
+Cherry-tree carol, beginning with
+
+
+   “Joseph was an old man, an old man was he,
+    When he wedded Mary, in the land of Galilee,
+    When Joseph and Mary walked in the garden good,
+    There were cherries and berries as red as the blood.”
+
+
+And the Holy-well, which thus begins:—
+
+
+   “As it fell out, one May morning,
+      And upon one bright holiday,
+    Sweet Jesus asked of His dear mother,
+      If He might go out to play.”
+
+
+Many other examples might be given of these legendary pieces, which are
+now almost forgotten.
+
+We were delighted, however, last Christmas, to hear a few youngsters
+singing in Penzance streets the pleasant one called the Sunny Bank, or
+the Three Ships, which is also very old.
+
+Among those of special interest may be noticed “In those Twelve Days,”
+“The Joys of Mary,” and “Man’s Duty.” Slightly different versions of
+these are common here and in Wales; and according to Mr. W. Sandys,
+there is a Breton song, as old as the fifth century, in the dialect of
+Cornouaille, called “Ar Rannou,” or “Les Series,” arranged as a
+dialogue between a Druid and his disciple on their ancient maxims and
+rites, which is similar in idea and construction to “In those Twelve
+Days,” or “What is that which is but one?”
+
+The early missionaries engrafted on this ancient Armorican poem a Latin
+hymn, in the same form, where the series of twelve subjects is
+connected with the Christian religion and agrees with those of the
+carol,
+
+
+   “What is that which is but one?”
+
+
+At the end of each verse in the Druid’s Song, the Latin hymn, and the
+three last-mentioned carols, all the previous subjects are repeated in
+the style of “The House that Jack built.” The whole piece can be
+constructed from the last verse. That of “In those Twelve Days,” is
+given as an example:—
+
+
+   “In those TWELVE days, and in those twelve days, let us be glad,
+    For God of His power hath all things made.
+
+                 What are they that are but twelve?
+                 Twelve Apostles Christ did choose
+                 To preach the Gospel to the Jews.
+                            And in those twelve days, &c.
+
+                 Eleven thousand virgins did partake,
+                 And suffered death for Jesu’s sake.
+
+                 Ten commandments God hath given,
+                 Use them well, and go to Heaven.
+
+                 Nine degrees of angels high,
+                 Which praise God continually.
+
+                 Eight beatitudes are given,
+                 Use them well, and go to Heaven.
+
+                 Seven days in the week have we,
+                 Six to work and the seventh holy.
+
+                 Six ages this world shall last,
+                 Five of them are gone and past.
+
+                 Five senses we have to tell,
+                 God grant us grace to use them well.
+
+                 Four Gospels written true—
+                 John, Luke, Mark, and Matthew.
+
+                 Three persons in the Trinity,
+                 The Father, Son, and Ghost Holy.
+
+                 Two Testaments, as we are told,
+                 The one is New, the other Old.
+
+                 We have but One God alone,
+                 In Heaven above sits on His throne.
+                            And in those twelve days,” &c.
+
+
+Old country folk may still be often heard chanting this ancient
+effusion, with all its repetitions. It is more frequently, however,
+recited or taught to children as a kind of pious exercise for their
+memories at Christmastide.
+
+Cornish people have been famous for their carols from an early date.
+Scawen says:—“They had them at several times, especially at Christmas,
+which they solemnly sung, and sometimes used in their churches, after
+prayers, the burthen of them being ‘Nowell, Nowell, good news, good
+news, of the Gospel.’”
+
+These old joyful Christmas songs have long held their own—thanks to
+their wonderfully interesting legends and their lively tunes, that seem
+like the echoes of merry peals of bells.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ANCIENT MIDSUMMER CUSTOMS.
+
+
+Our bonfires, torches, and tar-barrels, with the peculiar hand-in-hand
+dance around the blazing piles, remind us of ancient times when similar
+customs were regarded as sacred rites by our forefathers; and it would
+seem as if some vestiges of these time-honoured religious notions were
+still connected with Midsummer bonfires in the minds of old-fashioned
+people, living in remote and primitive districts, where the good folks
+still believe that dancing in a ring over the embers, around a bonfire,
+or leaping (singly) through the flames, is calculated to ensure good
+luck to the performers, and to serve as a protection from witchcraft
+and other malign influences during the ensuing year.
+
+Many years ago, on Midsummer’s eve, when it became dusk, very old
+people in the West country would hobble away to some high ground,
+whence they obtained a view of the most prominent hills, such as
+Bartinney, Chapel Carn-brea, Sancras Bickan, Castle-an-dinas,
+Trecrobben, Carn Galvar, St. Ann’s Bickan, and many other beacon hills
+far away to north and east, which vied with each other in their
+Midsummer’s blaze. Some of them anxiously watched for a sight of the
+first fire. From its position, with respect to them, they drew a
+presage of good or bad luck. If first beheld in the east it was a good
+sign. There are now but few bonfires seen on the western heights; yet
+we have observed that Tregonan, Godolphin, and Carn Marth hills, with
+others away towards Redruth, still retain their Baal fires. We would
+gladly go many miles to see the weird-looking yet picturesque dancers
+around the flames on a carn, or high hill top, as we have beheld them
+some thirty years ago.
+
+We are sorry to find that another pleasing Midsummer’s observance,
+which also appears to be ancient, has almost died out. Yet within the
+memory of many who would not like to be called old, or even aged, on a
+Midsummer’s eve, long before sunset, groups of girls, of from ten to
+twenty years of age, neatly dressed and decked with garlands, wreaths,
+or chaplets of flowers, would be seen dancing in the streets.
+
+One favourite mode of adornment was to sew or pin on the skirt of a
+white dress, rows of laurel-leaves, often spangled with gold leaf.
+Before Midsummer small wooden hoops were in great demand, to be
+wreathed with green boughs and flowers for garlands, to be worn over
+one shoulder and under the opposite arm. Towards sunset, groups of
+graceful damsels, joined by their brothers, friends or lovers, would be
+seen “threading the needle,” playing at “kiss-in-the-ring,” or simply
+dancing along, every here and there from Chyandour to Alverton, from
+the Quay to Caunsehead, as the upper part of the town used then to be
+called, perhaps with more propriety than Causewayhead.
+
+And here, at Caunsehead, this innocent pastime was most generally
+observed and lingered longest.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE “HILLA.”
+
+
+From the ideas of old folks respecting this distemper, one may
+conjecture that its Cornish name meant some kind of spirit which had,
+for the time, taken a material form. Forty years or more ago, an old
+farmer of Sancreed, who had been a noted hurler when in his prime, told
+me that in his younger days, when hurling matches came off between
+Sancras and some neighbouring parish almost every Sunday afternoon, he
+seldom missed a game, and if the silver ball came into his hands it
+seldom left them until he brought it to Sancras churchtown. When hard
+pressed, as they always were on arriving near the “gold” (goal) the cry
+of “Gare teag” (fair play) “for Sancras boys” would be heard for a mile
+or more from churchtown, and put them in heart for their last run;
+while St. Just men would be calling “One and ale (all) for Santusters,”
+as they came down round the Bickan to cut off their opponents, if they
+could, as their last hope. But that they could seldom do. Then, after
+resting awhile, with his comrades, he steered his course for Sellan,
+where he lived with an uncle, or grandfather, one old Uter Bossence. “I
+can’t say how long we stayed in the comfortable old public house, I’m
+sure,” said the hurler, “for we were all so happy together and loath to
+part; those from a distance just stepped in, had a drink, and away; at
+such times, too, the usually quiet old inn would wake up an be all
+alive for a bit. Then the ‘tenders’ (waiters) on coming into the rooms
+with pewter flagons of foaming ale would sing out, ‘The bird in hand,
+my dears; we can’t stay to use the chalk!’ A fluttering bird with his
+legs grasped by a hand, was painted on the old signboard, and under
+this picture the couplet:—
+
+
+   ‘A bird in hand is better fare
+    Than two that in the bushes are.’”
+
+
+The old man went on to say how every now and then, he got piskey-led on
+his way home to Sellan. As sure as he missed the church-road he would
+be led miles about, round and round the same field, ere he could find
+it again. If he left the field he seldom knew where he was again before
+the break o’ day, and then was most likely to find himself near Brane
+Rings (Caer Brane) instead of on the other side of churchtown. Near the
+Rings piskey would leave him, laughing like nothing else but a piskey!
+
+When once inside the Castle enclosure, he lay down and slept soundly
+till sunrise or after. For everybody knew that anywhere within the
+Rings on Brane hill, the same as at Bartinney, nothing evil that
+wanders the earth by night could harm them. They meant spirits of the
+Bucka-boo (dhu) tribe. Small people (fairies) are friendly to man and
+beast, unless interfered with, and Brane Rings was one of their haunts.
+
+If he wanted to get home early and tried to break through the fog,
+which always surrounds a piskey, he would oftener find himself in broad
+daylight, down by Chappel Uny than over in Sellan. Sometimes, however,
+when by bad luck the ball was carried off to another parish, he was
+ready, on returning homeward, to drop down and sleep in a pool of
+water. “At such times,” said he, “I tumbled into the first house I came
+by, no matter where ’twas, for in these times, a Bossence was home
+anywhere in Sancras or Santust either.” Just as soon as he lay
+down—whether in bed, among the hay, or elsewhere,—the Hilla would be on
+him and lay with such a dead weight that he could neither move hand nor
+foot, nor call for help if it were to save his life, which seemed to be
+almost squeezed out of him sometimes. When the Hilla left he came to
+himself and found all about him wet with sweat. “And I felt as sore,”
+said the old hurler in conclusion, “as if I’d ben thrashed with a
+thrashal on a barn-boards; then, when I cud, I stretched myself in the
+sunshine on the bare ground, for there’s nothing like the sun and earth
+for healing the bruises in one’s flesh and getting the pain out of
+one’s bones; and I’m sure as I’m speakan to thee, my son, that the
+Hilla was nothan else but the same cussed piskey, in another form; and
+older and wiser people say the same thing.”
+
+Only a few weeks since an elderly native of St. Just told me he had
+often heard his father say that people who were subject to the Hilla,
+or feared it, were in the habit of taking to bed with them a couple of
+forks, one of which was placed on either side within reach of the hand.
+If the troubled person could stretch his or her arms, or only one arm,
+and touch a fork with one finger even, that instant the Hilla would
+decamp; for this sprite, like all other evil ones, feared cold iron so
+much that the Hilla-ridden never had the chance to stab the thing.
+
+The elder St. Just man did not know for certain about the Hilla’s form,
+as it was never seen; yet, from the feeling on the breast, or whatever
+it was, people said it was a great hairy thing which lay on them with a
+dead weight that almost stopped their breathing.
+
+The “Stag” is a lighter creature of the same class. People whose rest
+has only been slightly troubled say they only had the “Stag” and not
+the “Hilla,” by good luck.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ANCIENT CORNISH LANGUAGE IN THE COLONIES.
+
+
+Cornishmen’s clannish propensities are well known and are most apparent
+when they meet in foreign lands. At the gold-fields of Australia, as
+elsewhere, they stand by and support each other “through thick and
+thin.” Cornishmen are also preferred for many kinds of work which
+require some degree of engineering skill, and they seldom undertake any
+employment for which they are incompetent. Consequently, many persons
+from other shires who have never been west of the Tamar try to pass
+themselves off as Cornishmen, and sometimes succeed in being received
+into the fellowship of “One and All.” If, however, the stranger be
+suspected of “sailing under false colours,” when they are all in
+familiar chat about nothing in particular, “Cousin Jackey” will take
+occasion to say to the new chum “My dear; ded ’e ever see a duck klunk
+a gay?” If the stranger be up to the intent of the question he will
+probably reply, “Learn thy granny to lap ashes,” which is the West
+Country equivalent for teaching the same venerable dame to suck eggs;
+but, if ignorant of what the question means, he is given to understand
+that they regard him as an interloper and will be no more deceived by
+him than a duck can be made to klunk (swallow) a gay (fragment of
+broken crockery.)
+
+The proverbial saying of “nobody ever saw a duck klunk a gay”—meaning
+that no one will be deceived beyond a certain point—may be puzzling to
+some Cornish readers as well as to strangers; those, however, who are
+country-born and bred remember that when children they often left the
+table with their meals unfinished and ran out with their morsels in
+their hands and their “gays” in their pockets, eager to join their
+playmates in the town-place; and how the village ducks—knowing the
+childrens’ custom—gathered around them to pick up the crumbs, or to
+snatch the food from the childrens’ hands, and the urchins often tossed
+them a “gay,” which the greedy fowl gobble up and drop, one after the
+other, but never swallow. It is a comical sight to see how the ducks,
+on having discovered the cheat, look askaunt at the “didjan” of broken
+clome, shaking their tails and quacking in anger or scorn the while.
+
+The Gileadites’ Shibboleth served much the same purpose in the times of
+the Judges of Israel as the old proverb does to-day among Cornishmen
+abroad. (Judges xii chap., 5 and 6 verses.)
+
+The usual test above-mentioned fails sometimes, chiefly from young
+Cornishmen making comrades of strangers, as they are apt to do for
+short spells, in which case they have other tests for the next
+opportunity, but all turn on the same idea—that of using words only
+understood by themselves. One more will serve as an example.
+
+A Cornishman will come behind the stranger who wishes to pass for a
+genuine Cornubian and say, quite natural-like, “Mate! there’s a green
+myryan on thy nudack.” The venomous bite or sting of a green myryan
+(ant) being much dreaded, a Cornishman would either put his hand to the
+nape of his neck, to brush it off, or show in some way that he
+understood the meaning—looking “as dazed as a duck against (on hearing)
+thunder” the while.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ACCORDING HOW ET MAY DROP.
+
+
+Shortly after Jackey came a-courting, one Sunday afternoon, his
+sweetheart placed on the board all she required for making a heavy
+cake. Last thing, before mixing flour and cream, she took a hearty
+pinch of snuff and wiped her fingers on her “touser.” Whilst making the
+cake, she said to Jackey, “thee hast been courtan me now for years, off
+and on, and always promised thee west marry me soon; now west a marry
+me before Christmas?” Whilst the woman was talking and working up the
+cake, Jackey noticed a snuffy drop quivering on the tip of her nose.
+“Can’t tell thee yet,” Jackey replied, “es accordan how a may drop.” An
+instant after he stamped away to the door, and turning round, called
+out, “No! I’ll neither marry thee before Christmas nor after, nor eat
+any more cakes of thy makean.” How it dropped was made plain enough by
+Jackey’s behaviour.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CORNISH WORDS IN USE.
+
+“SA! SA!”
+
+
+The exclamation “Sa!” which is frequently heard in the country, and
+sometimes in town, is probably the old Cornish word sa, “stand!” It has
+continued in use, though its meaning has been forgotten. It is employed
+instead of “stand still!” “hold!” “avast!” “enough!” and such-like
+words, uttered in haste to arrest speech or action. Its usage, however,
+will be best shown by a few familiar examples.
+
+In all parts of the country hereabouts, it is spoken to a restless cow
+to bid her be still whilst milked,—“Sa! Molly! sa!” Very likely most
+words used to cattle and poultry are ancient Cornish, and had meanings,
+now lost. “Sa, sa! eat petats, let the crust for supper!” is a saying
+often addressed to persons who want to enjoy all their good things at
+once. It is suggested by the well-known potato-pie with its substantial
+roll of crust and the custom of reserving a good portion of the latter,
+to serve, instead of cake for supper.
+
+A short time ago, a butcher belonging to a western town had a horse of
+an uncertain age and no remarkable qualities; yet the owner was always
+“cracking it up” as the best beast in town, of its size—equally good
+for saddle and harness; sure-footed, staunch to collar, and so on. He
+also gave his fellow tradesmen to understand that anyone who coveted
+this choice animal must pay a good sum to tempt him to part with it.
+For a few days, butchers in surrounding stalls, to their surprise,
+heard no mention of the famous horse; then they learnt that it had
+changed owners, and for a lower price than it was expected the seller
+would have accepted. Butchers in general are much given to banter, and
+those of the town in question, liking this pastime very much, renewed
+their jibes by telling the seller of Dobbin that if he had at first
+only asked a fair price for his horse he would have got much more for
+it. One of them remarked that what he had stated in favour of the beast
+was as near the truth as could be expected from a jockey, and nearer
+than the owner knew of. Another, who was two or three stalls off,
+bellowed, “Aye by golls! [29] He nearly told the truth, for a wonder,
+but all through’s ign’rance.” In short, they tried to persuade the
+seller that he had made a bad bargain, though they knew the horse had
+fetched its full value, or more. The jockey-butcher sat listening to
+the others’ jeers with good humour, or returning them in the same vein,
+till, becoming tired of their long harping on the same string he sprang
+up, and shouted, “Sa! sa! lev’n go, es dry eatan” (let him go, he is
+dry eating), “as the old man said for the hare.”
+
+The (native?) fable, or story from which our jolly butcher took his apt
+reply, runs thus:—
+
+An old couple lived all alone in a little old house “out by night” (an
+out-of-the-way place). The old woman was constantly in a bad temper,
+because a hare got into their garden and ate the cabbages; she scolded
+and tormented her old man all day long because he didn’t build the
+garden hedges higher, or do something else to keep the hare out. To all
+her aggravating “jaw,” he would only reply, “Sa, sa, dear, when that
+hare es fat enow we’ll have a good pie.” One Saturday night,
+accordingly, he set a jin among the cabbages. On Sunday morning he got
+up by break o’ day, and ran out to see if the hare were “come to trap.”
+There it was, a fine one, caught by a fore leg. The old man, overjoyed
+by his good luck, without stopping to take up the hare, ran in, calling
+to his wife all the way, “come ’e along out, my dear; be quick; and see
+what a capital pie we shall have for dinner to-day.” She tore out in
+great “stroath” (confused haste), slipped on her clogs, crossed the
+garden, and got to the trap before her old man; but all she saw of the
+hare was a fore foot in the jin, and the white of its tail passing
+through a hole in the hedge, as it scampered off. The hare, on hearing
+the old woman’s clogs coming clap-a-clap among the cabbages, gave a
+twist, severed a bit of skin, which alone held it; the trap in closing
+had broken the bone. “That’s like thee, thee old buffle-head,” screamed
+she, “not to take up the hare at once and bring am in, instead of
+hobblan away to bring me out, draglan through the dew to catch my death
+this cold mornan, all undressed as I am; and that while, the hare,
+twistan and turnan, broke’s leg and es gone.”
+
+“Sa! sa!” said the old man, “lev’n go, es dry eatan.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CORNISH OBSERVANCES WITH REGARD TO THE SUN AND MOON.
+
+
+Only a few years ago elderly farmers of the Land’s End district
+commenced the breaking of grass land with a sort of religious
+solemnity, to bring it into its three years’ course of tillage. On
+entering the field, the cattle, attached to the plough, were turned
+towards the west; and the ploughman saying, “In the name of God let’s
+begin,” proceeded with the course of the sun to “break ground” by
+turning a few yards of sod in that direction; afterwards the field
+might be ploughed towards any point that was convenient.
+
+The same rite was observed by some on beginning to plough an arable
+field; and when they commenced to sow a few handfuls of grain were cast
+round—with the same formality—from east to west, for luck. Following
+the sun’s course in several other kinds of work was also regarded as a
+means of ensuring success.
+
+Dairy-women always place their pans of milk so that they shall be
+skimmed, in turn, going with the sun, or from left to right. The
+scalded or clouted cream, for making butter, being placed in a shallow
+tub, is stirred round with the hand, or a wooden peel, in the direction
+of the sun’s course; if turned in a reverse manner, butter cannot be
+properly made—so it is believed. Young people dance round the
+Midsummer’s bonfire in the same order; if any of them take the wrong
+course it is believed, or at least said, they will die unmarried. When
+the bonfire has burned sufficiently low, old and young leap through the
+flames towards the place of the setting sun.
+
+In the spring, people visit a “Pellar” (conjuror) as soon as there is
+“twelve hours’ sun,” to have “their protection renewed,” that is, to be
+provided with charms; and the wise man’s good offices to ward off, for
+the ensuing year, all evil influences of beings who work in darkness.
+The reason assigned for observing this particular time is, that “when
+the sun is come back the Pellar has more power to goodé” (do good).
+
+In curing diseases, charms are worked against the sun to backen the
+complaint. Ricketty children bathed in a holy well on the three
+Wednesdays in May, are dipped thrice and taken round the spring as
+often against the sun’s course. For the cure of boils or eruptions, the
+afflicted crawl nine times from east to west, under a bramble, rooted
+at both ends. Many other examples might be given of practices regarding
+the sun, but are much to the same effect.
+
+One may notice a remarkable belief, however, that if a person, by false
+swearing, compasses the life of another, the sun is thereafter
+invisible to the perjured one. This idea is so well known that to hint
+at a person’s inability to behold the sun is regarded as a great
+insult.
+
+An observance with regard to the moon may be here mentioned. Most folks
+are acquainted with a practice called “washing in a dry dish,” for the
+cure of warts and other ailments. To get rid of warts on the hands they
+are shown the moon nine times on three successive nights before full
+moon; three times on the full, at intervals of three quarters of an
+hour; and thrice afterwards, on three following nights. On each
+occasion the patient, or rather the supplicant, looks from the moon to
+his hands, and from his hands to the moon—whilst rubbing them together
+as if washing them—and holds them towards the moon nine times, saying:—
+
+
+   “I wash my hands in this thy dish,
+    O, Man in the Moon, do grant my wish,
+    And come take away this.”
+
+
+For the cure of various other ailments this charm is worked in much the
+same way. The above-mentioned remnants of Zabaism are suggestive of
+Phœnician tin-traders’ connection with old Bellerion.
+
+
+
+There are many ancient beliefs and practices with respect to the moon
+still lingering in West Cornwall, which seem to be almost forgotten
+elsewhere. The following are a few examples amongst many.
+
+Herbs for drying, to be used in fomentation, or for other medicinal
+purposes, are gathered at the full of the moon; when winter’s fruit
+should also be picked and stored, in order that it may retain its
+plumpness. Elderly persons prefer to sow their garden seeds and others
+during the moon’s first quarter, from the idea that they will then
+germinate quicker and grow stronger than on the decrease.
+
+Timber should be felled on the “bating” of the moon, because the “sap
+is then down,” and the wood will be more durable.
+
+When the old iron “chills” (lamps) were in general use, rushes for
+making “porvans” (wicks) were cut at the full moon, because it was
+believed that they were then fuller of pith and less liable to shrink
+than if cut at other times.
+
+Old gentlemen who wore their hair long behind, or in “pigtails or
+queues,” and other persons as well, of that day, were very particular
+about having their heads trimmed at the time of full moon, that their
+hair might grow the more luxuriantly.
+
+The first money taken of a market-day is still frequently spit on for
+good luck; and if silver, kept for luck-money, to be shown to the next
+new moon, and turned three times towards the person who shows it. Three
+wishes were made whilst showing the money, which the wisher turned
+three times from the moon towards himself.
+
+It is considered unlucky to get the first sight of a new moon through
+glass, and many persons go out of doors purposely to see her for the
+first time, when they hold towards her a piece of silver to ensure
+their success whilst that moon lasts. Those who offer this kind of
+adoration to Luna are mostly provided with a crooked sixpence, which
+they call a pocket-piece, and wear as a means to retain good luck. This
+observance of showing money to the new moon is, probably, a vestige of
+an ancient rite connected with the worship of Luna or Astarte.
+
+Another belief, which still holds good, is that when a child is born in
+the interval between an old moon and the first appearance of a new one,
+it will never live to attain to puberty. A recent observation confirms
+this as well to animals as children. Hence the saying of “no moon no
+man.” Other popular notions, among old folks, are that when a boy is
+born on the waning moon the next birth will be a girl, and vice versâ;
+they also say that when a birth takes place on the “growing of the
+moon,” the next child will be of the same sex. Many of these fancies,
+however, may be astrological notions, handed down from ancient times
+and common to many places. Here much of such lore has been learnt from
+Sibley’s “Treatise on the Occult Sciences,” which is the oracle of our
+western astrologers; though they seldom let their study of that and
+similar works be known for fear of the ridicule with which it is now
+the fashion to regard such pursuits.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CORNISH CONJURORS’ CHARMS AGAINST WITCHCRAFT.
+
+
+The following are some of the spells supplied by West Country “Pellars”
+to those who seek their protection, as stated in a notice of “Cornish
+Observances with regard to the Sun.”
+
+A strip of parchment, inscribed with the words SATOR AREPO TENET OPERA
+ROTAS, is regarded as a protection from many evils when worn as an
+amulet; all the more so because these magical words read the same
+backwards as forwards. These words also form a magical square, and can
+be read up or down, backwards or forwards, or any way—thus
+
+
+                        S   A   T   O   R
+                        A   R   E   P   O
+                        T   E   N   E   T
+                        O   P   E   R   A
+                        R   O   T   A   S
+
+
+At the time of an old lady’s decease, a little while ago, on her breast
+was found a small silk bag containing various charms; among others, a
+piece of parchment, about three inches square, having written on one
+side of it NALGAH. Under this is a pen-and-ink drawing of a figure
+somewhat like a bird, with two pairs of wings, a pair extended and the
+others folded beneath them. The creature appears to be hovering, and at
+the same time brooding on a large egg, sustained by one of its legs;
+whilst it holds a smaller egg at the extremity of its other leg, which
+is outstretched and long. Its head, round and small, is unlike that of
+a bird; from the rudeness of the sketch, and its faded state, it is
+difficult to trace all the outlines. Under this singular figure is the
+word TETRAGRAMMATON. On the reverse, in large letters,
+
+
+                                JEHOVAH
+                              JAH, ELOHIM,
+                                SHADDAY,
+                                ADONAY,
+                      HAVE MERCY ON A POOR WOMAN.
+
+
+A Pellar of great repute in this neighbourhood tells me, however, that
+this precious document is inscribed with two distinct charms—that the
+Nalgah is the figure only.
+
+The ABRACADABRA is supplied by our “white-witches” for the cure or
+prevention of some diseases; the letters, arranged in the usual way,
+are enclosed in two intersecting triangles.
+
+Another potent spell is a rude draft of the planetary signs for the
+Sun, Jupiter, and Venus, followed by a cross, pentagram, and a figure
+formed by a perpendicular line, and a divergent one on each side of it,
+united at the bottom. Under them is written, “Whosoever beareth these
+tokens will be fortunate and need fear no evil.”
+
+The charms are folded in a paper on which is usually written, “By the
+help of the Lord these will do thee good,” and enclosed in a little bag
+to be worn on the breast. Bed-ridden folks have them placed in their
+pillows, and the conjurors visit such infirm ones yearly to “renew
+their protection.”
+
+Western Pellars are ignorant of the meaning of the above formulas, but
+regard them as powerful words and signs that have been handed down from
+wise men of ancient times who followed a like profession.
+
+There is one practitioner in the vicinity of Penzance who is well
+versed in Astrology, from having made this science the study of a long
+life.
+
+Besides the above-mentioned counter spells to sorcery and other
+mysterious evils, persons are furnished with witch powders, to be cast
+over such children or cattle as may be ill-wished, begrudged, or
+“over-looked;” with regard to the latter, holding two forked (spread)
+fingers towards a person that has evil eyes, is believed to be a
+safeguard from their blasting influence.
+
+A short time ago one might obtain blood-stones, milpreves, or
+snake-stones, but these are become rare; the blue stone or glass rings,
+in which were seen the figure of an adder, or the pattern of a snake,
+were much prized, because it was believed that those who wore them were
+by that means safe from being harmed by any of the serpent tribe, and
+that man or beast having been stung, if given water to drink wherein
+this stone had been infused, would soon recover from the poison.
+
+Cornish folks have such confidence in their conjurors’ mysterious
+science, that many go a great distance to consult them, and the mere
+threat of “going to the Pellar” is often sufficient to procure the
+restitution of stolen goods, or compensation for injury; and, after
+all, their remedies may be as beneficial as those usually prescribed
+for imaginary ailments.
+
+Most Cornish folks are familiar with the following lines, or others of
+the same import:—
+
+
+    Born on a Sunday a gentleman.
+    Monday’s child is fair in face.
+    Tuesday’s child is full of grace.
+    Wednesday’s child is sour and sad.
+    Thursday’s child is merry and glad.
+    Friday’s child is loving and giving.
+    Saturday’s child works hard for its living.
+
+
+Another version says—
+
+
+    Wednesday’s child is full of woe.
+    Thursday’s child has far to go.
+
+
+The assumed principles of astrology furnish a key to the above; as the
+subject is supposed to be influenced according to the nature of the
+planet or divinity after whom the day is named, and which is regarded
+in medical astrology, as lord of the first house for the respective
+day.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ALL ON ONE SIDE, LIKE SMOOTHY’S WEDDING.
+
+
+Some eighty or ninety years ago a male member of a well-known family
+was about to be married. He was a soft-spoken individual, and, in the
+days when nearly every one had a nickname, he was called and known
+generally as “Smoothy.” When the wedding-day came it was found that all
+the invited guests were his relatives and friends—not one the bride’s.
+Hence the saying.
+
+“All on one side, like Smoothy’s wedding,” is often applied to cases of
+biassed judgment, or an unfair award from a prejudiced view of the
+subject.
+
+“Smoothy” is a nickname commonly given to a double-faced, fair-spoken
+hypocrite,—one who runs with the hare and holds with the hounds.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PISKIES, SPRIGGANS, SMALL PEOPLE, AND KNOCKERS.
+
+
+According to the Fairy belief of the old Cornish folk, the Piskey has
+seldom been seen in any other shape than that of a weird,
+wizzened-looking, little old man. As such he has often been spied of
+moonlight winter’s nights threshing the corn in the barns of lonely
+places. Boslow and Lejarn are often spoken of as being favourite haunts
+of the goblin. Another of his well-known pranks is to mount on the
+necks of the colts, where he plaits his Piskey stirrups in the winter,
+and rides the colts after the cows like mad in the summer. Leading the
+folks into the bogs, by appearing like a person with a lantern or light
+from a window, were of constant occurrence unless the night wanderer
+took the precaution to turn some garment inside out, to break the
+spell.
+
+The Spriggans, quite a different class of beings, are the dourest and
+most ugly set of sprights belonging to the elfin tribe; they are only
+seen about old ruins, barrows, giant’s quoits and castles, or other
+places where treasure is buried, of which they have the charge. They
+also steal children, leaving their own ugly brats in their place, bring
+bad weather to blight the crops, whirlwinds over the fields of cut
+corn, and do much other mischief to those who meddle with their
+favourite haunts.
+
+The innocent Small-people, on the contrary, are always described as
+being extremely beautiful by all who have had the luck to see them,
+holding their merry fairs and sprightly dances on the velvety turf of
+the greens, sheltered glades between the cairns, or in other secluded
+pleasant places, dressed in their bright green nether garments,
+sky-blue jackets, three-cornered hats on the men and pointed ones on
+the ladies, all decked with lace and silver bells. They are as lovely
+as the flowers of the fields. These good small folks often showed great
+kindness to those people to whom they took a fancy, and have frequently
+been known to come into poor cottages, divert good old bed-ridden folks
+with their merry pranks and gambols, and fill the air with the
+delicious odours of flowers, and such sweet melody as few but angels
+ever hear and live.
+
+The Bockles, or Knockers, can scarcely be classed as fairies; they seem
+rather to be a hybrid race between ordinary ghosts and elves, as the
+miners believe them to be the restless souls of the Jews who formerly
+worked in the tin-mines of Cornwall. The tinners often hear them
+working when underground; sometimes, these ghostly workers may be heard
+even from the surface; yet they so rarely make their appearance now
+that we hardly know what they are like.
+
+There are a few other mythical beings belonging to our elvin creed, but
+they have been so seldom seen of latter days, that very little is now
+known of the Buccas, Browneys, Mermaids, &c. Probably the mermaids so
+much dislike steam ships that the fair syrens have taken themselves
+off, with all their combs and glasses, to the China seas, so as to be
+out of the way of the fiery monsters of the deep.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OLD CORNISH WORDS.
+
+
+Strangers are often puzzled to know what we Cornish people mean by some
+of our words. Let us take some old Cornish words still in common use,
+as skaw for the elder-tree; skaw-dower, water-elder; bannel, broom;
+skedgewith, privet; griglans, heath; padzy-paw (from padzar, four), the
+small grey lizard; muryan, the ant; quilkan, the frog (which retains
+its English name when in the water); pul-cronack (literally pool-toad)
+is the name given to a small fish with a head much like that of a toad,
+which is often found in the pools (pulans) left by the receding tide
+among the rocks along shore; visnan, the sand-lance; bul-horn, the
+shell-snail; dumble-dory, the black-beetle (but this may be a
+corruption of the dor-beetle). A small, solid wheel has still the old
+name of drucshar. Finely pulverized soil is called grute. The roots and
+other light matter harrowed up on the surface of the ground for burning
+we call tabs. Guldaize, harvest feast. Plum means soft; quail,
+withered; crum, crooked; bruyans, crumbs; with a few other terms more
+rarely used.
+
+Many of our ordinary expressions (often mistaken for vulgar
+provincialisms) are French words slightly modified, which were probably
+introduced into the west by the old Norman families who long resided
+there. For instance; a large apron to come quite round, worn for the
+sake of keeping the under clothing clean, is called a touser (tout
+serre); a game of running romps, is a courant (from courir). Very rough
+play is a regular cow’s courant. Going into a neighbour’s for a spell
+of friendly chat is going to cursey (couser) a bit. The loins are
+called the cheens (old French, echine.) The plant sweet-leaf, a kind of
+St. John’s wort, here called tutsen, is the French toute saine (heal
+all). There are some others which, however, are not peculiar to the
+west, as kick-shaws (quelque chose), &c. We have also many inverted
+words, as swap for wasp, cruds for curds, &c. Then again we call a fly
+a flea; and a flea a flay; and the smallest stream of water a river.
+
+Ishan is a genuine old Cornish word; it is only given to such dust as
+comes from winnowing, the result of which process is husks, chaff, &c.
+
+Refuse, consisting of defective grains, seeds, &c., on the “tail”
+(leeward end) of a winnowing sheet, was, by old “winsters,” called
+attal.
+
+Harvest-time reminds one of our free-hearted old farmers and their
+bountiful goolthise, at which all comers were welcome to eat, drink,
+and be merry. This name for an entertainment given on the principal
+corn-carrying day—generally the last—is preserved from our ancient
+language.
+
+In Scilly a harvest feast is called Nicklethise.
+
+In addition to the above we have the following terms connected with
+harvest work and the preparation of corn for mill or market. Dram, a
+swathe of cut corn; croust, the afternoon’s refreshment, generally of
+hot fuggans (cakes) and ale (Latin crusta).
+
+Collebrands, defective and smutty ears, supposed to be blighted by the
+fine weather lightning, called by the same name.
+
+Pederack and brummal, arish mows. The former is conical in shape, with
+the ear ends of all the sheaves turned inward and upwards; the latter,
+which is also called a culver-house mow, is in shape much like an
+old-fashioned, round, stone-built pigeon-house; having the part which
+answers to a culver-house roof finished with the sheaves turned, ear
+end, downwards and outwards. A brummal mow is the best for continued
+moist weather, because the ears on a mow-top are less liable to sprout
+when reversed. An ill-shaped, bulging pederack mow is said, in
+derision, to be “like an old culver-house,” by those who don’t know
+what the object of their comparison means.
+
+Brummal is so much like a Gallic name for the sort of weather we call
+slaggy (full of misty rain), that they are, probably, offshoots from
+the same old root.
+
+Colp, a short rope for carrying sheaves from a mow-hay to the barn;
+also a blow. Keveran, a strip of hide or leather which unites the two
+sticks of a “threshal” (flail) here called the “hand staff and
+slash-staff.” Liners, threshed wheaten sheaves. Kayer, a coarse sieve
+(probably a modern corruption of Cadar a-Chair, e.g., Cader Michel; St.
+Michael’s Chair on St. Michael’s Mount). Layer, a winnowing-sheet. To
+reeve, to separate with a fine sieve, small corn, seeds, &c., from the
+good grain.
+
+Most West Country folk use many other words connected with husbandry
+which sound very unlike English, and are unknown in the eastern part of
+the county, as Colpas, anything which serves as a prop, or an underset,
+to a crowbar, or other object when used as a lever. Visgey (mutation
+for Pigol), a large pick, or mattock; tubble is another name for the
+same. Piggal, a beat-axe. Monger, a straw horse-collar, &c., &c.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GLOSSARY OF LOCAL WORDS.
+
+
+Aree faa, exclamation: “dear me.”
+
+Bal, a mine.
+Bannel, a broom, a yellow flowering shrub.
+Beety, to mend nets.
+Benen-vat, a good woman.
+Benkeyl, a living stream.
+Ben-ma-brea, woman of my heart.
+Balsh, small rope.
+Boobun, wick of the “chill.”
+Bowjowler, a place in the fishing-boat, to keep the foot-line.
+Breal, mackerel.
+Breedy, to make nets, by meshing with needle and pin-roller.
+Broaze, on the point of boiling.
+Broazen, briskly; the fire burns briskly.
+Bruz, small furze; remnants.
+Bucca-boo, a fool; a bogey.
+Bussa, a salting pot for meat.
+Bussa-head, a blockhead.
+
+Caboolen, a stone used by seiners.
+Caboose, portable fishing-boat’s fire-place.
+Capis, very large meshes in a trammel-net.
+Cavers, the darnel.
+Chea, word used in calling swine to feed.
+Chea-chanter, hold your tongue.
+Chill, a lamp.
+Clibby, sticky, like molasses.
+Clomb, earthenware.
+Clunk, to swallow.
+Cobesta, a part of fishing tackle.
+Codgy or Clidgy, adhesive; gummy.
+Coits, a pile of rocks; group of stones.
+Costan, straw and bramble baskets.
+Cowal, fish basket, with a band for the head, carried by fishwomen.
+Cowl, fish-bladder.
+Cowleck, a glutton.
+Cravel, mantel-beam.
+Croggan, limpet-shell.
+Crowse, refreshment, carried to field in hay, corn, and potato
+  harvests.
+Crum, crooked.
+Crush, shrunk with age.
+
+Derns, a door-frame.
+Didgen, a bit; a small portion.
+Dien, a man.
+Dowse, to throw on the ground.
+Dowsing-rod, divining rod, used to discover minerals, water, &c.
+Drethen, a sand-pot, a sand-area ’neath the sea.
+Drizzle, small rain.
+Drizzling-dour, small stream.
+
+Enys, an island.
+
+Flucan-courses, a term in mining; cross-courses.
+Freathed out, frayed.
+Friday cum-sennet, next Friday week.
+Fuggan, a cake; dinner cake.
+Fun, a small kind of rush.
+Fusy, good.
+
+Geek, a sly look; a peep.
+Ging, to fasten a fish hook to line with wire.
+Gord, a nine-feet rod to measure land.
+Griglens, remains of a heath broom.
+Guldize, harvest home.
+Gurry, a four-handled barrow with enclosed sides.
+Gwarrah, the farthest, the most distant.
+Gweean, perry-winkle.
+
+Hayl, a river.
+Heevil, three-prong fork, a stable implement.
+Hilla, the nightmare.
+Hogan, miners’ dinner.
+Huel, a mine.
+
+Ianken, walking quickly.
+
+Jonic, fair, straightforward.
+Jsenequick, italian-iron.
+Jouder, fish overboiled.
+Jowdy, to walk in water with boots and stockings on.
+
+Kanker, a small crab.
+Kay-yer, a coarse winnowing machine.
+Keals (quilles) nine-pins.
+Keal-alley, a bowling-green.
+Keddened and Cabageed, booted with mud; dirty.
+Keg, a dog.
+Kente-pathen-gy, wooden pins belonging to the stone anchor used in
+  punts.
+Keygans, small refuse roots.
+Kibbal, a mine bucket.
+Kibbin, to steal.
+Kicker, fishing boats’ small mizen sail.
+Keggil, a piece of wood used by thread-spinners.
+Kiskey, a rotten stick.
+Kist-vaen, stone chest.
+Ku-lar, to lend.
+
+Laggen, to splash in the water.
+Laister, yellow iris, or water flag.
+Lasking, keep near shore, a term used by fishermen.
+Lenth, shelter, cover from the weather.
+Ligge, broth; soup.
+Ludras, a frame for the (Killick).
+
+Meanolas, a fire-place, a square box made of stones and clay, made by
+  fishermen.
+Midge-go-morrah, hesitation, doubt, excuse.
+Miggle-cum-par, mixed fuel—a term used in swine feeding; confusion, a
+  mixture.
+Minch, to play truant—shun school.
+Moppeneede, hide and go seek, a game.
+Mowaz, a maid.
+More, the root.
+Muryan, an ant, emmet.
+
+Nacken, pocket handkerchief.
+Nuddick, back part of the neck.
+
+Padger-paw, a lizard.
+Pag-ae, please.
+Peacher, a lure, an enticement.
+Pedna-a-mean, heads and tails, a game of pins.
+Pedn-borbas, cod’s head.
+Pigal, a farm implement.
+Piler, a farm implement, used to pound, or cut the beards from barley
+  in winnowing.
+Pilles, naked oats (avena nuda).
+Planchen, wood floor.
+Podn, mine dust; tailings.
+Pol, a pool.
+Polyn, a stick.
+Punick, a small person; a dwarf.
+Purvans, shreds of cotton used in wick-making for a “chill.”
+
+Quail, withered.
+Quilken, a young frog.
+
+Raf, refuse, waste.
+Riggling, cleaning out the fire-place with the poker.
+Rût, to rub; friction.
+
+Scabby-gullion, a stew.
+Scat, to knock; break to pieces.
+Schecojan, call; invitation.
+Scraggen, straggling.
+Scrof, the refuse.
+Scroggan, a worthless person.
+Scud, to spill any liquid.
+Scruff of the nuddick, nape of the neck.
+Shong, a broken mesh.
+Shethen, any thing long; a piece of hake used as bait.
+Skillet, small tin saucepan.
+Skubmaw, small parts; bits of wreck.
+Slag, small driving rain (drizzle).
+Slintrim, an incline; going down an incline.
+Slotter, a sticky wet mess.
+Stag’d, booted in mud.
+Stroath, wild haste.
+Strop, string; a piece of rope.
+Swap, a wasp.
+Sabs, to burn tabs,—grass tufts, raked together into piles for burning,
+  in preparing ground for seed.
+
+Tabs, turf, harrowed fine.
+Thurl, leary.
+Timmy-noggy, a notched square piece of wood, used to support the lower
+  end of the Vargord.
+To garm, to shout in anger; scold.
+Tolyer-predu, baking-dish.
+Toust, toiled or rumpled.
+Towse, noise; tumult.
+Towser, coarse apron.
+Trantums, friskiness; wildness.
+Tre, a farm.
+Tubbal, double ball-pick.
+Tubban, a tuft of earth.
+Tummels, large quantity, applied in agriculture to crops of straw and
+  hay.
+Tut, hassock.
+
+Vargord, a spar, used as a foresail; bowline in fishing-boats.
+Vean, little; “child vean,” little child; kerris vean, little kerris;
+  treveneth vean, &c.
+Vezy, without; distant; away.
+Vumfra, blow; a heavy slap.
+
+Widden, white.
+Widdles, nonsense; foolishness; romancing.
+Whinz, mine-winch.
+
+Zawn, a cavern.
+Zelli, a conger eel.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SUBSCRIBERS’ NAMES.
+
+
+Allen, C. B., Kilburn, London.
+Allsop, Miss, Penzance, 3 copies.
+Anderson, T., Penzance.
+Andrews, William, F.R.H.S., Hull.
+
+Barwis, J. C., Penzance.
+Batten, Joseph Childs, London.
+Bennett, E. G., Plymouth.
+Berryman, Alexander, Penzance.
+Blewett, J. P., Penzance.
+Boase, Francis, J.P., Penzance, 2 copies.
+Boase, Geo., Queen Anne’s Gate, Westminster.
+Boase, Rev. Charles W., Exeter College, Oxford.
+Bolitho, Mrs. W., Polwithen.
+Bolitho, William, Jun., J.P., Ponsandine, 3 copies.
+Borlase, John, Castle Horneck.
+Borlase, W. C., Larrigan.
+Borlase, Rev. William M., Zennor, 2 copies.
+Botheras, R. Gorton, Manchester.
+Brokenshire, E., Penzance.
+Brooks, William, Reigate, Surrey.
+Brune, Charles G. Prideaux, Prideaux Place, Padstow, 2 copies.
+
+Carne, Henry, Penzance.
+Chevely, J. C., Madron.
+Chope, Rev. R. R., Wilton House, London.
+Colenso, Richard, 2 copies.
+Colenso, W.
+Commins, Thos. T., 3, St. Paul’s Churchyard.
+Cornish, Miss, Penzance.
+Cornish, C. H., Skaton Chapel.
+Cornish, Henry R., Penzance.
+Cornish, James M., Penzance.
+Cornish, Thomas, Penzance, 2 copies.
+Cornish, Thomas R., Buenos Ayres.
+Couch, J. Q., M.R.C.S.E., Penzance.
+Coulson, J. B., Penzance.
+Courtenay, James, Bristol.
+Craig, Mrs. S., 11, Parliament Street, Liverpool.
+
+Dent, Mrs., Sudeley Castle, Winchcombe.
+Dingley, Mrs., Beachfield House, 2 copies.
+Drake, Rev. W. N., Ruan, 2 copies.
+Drew, J. E., Penzance.
+
+Fagan, Rev. H. S., St. Just Vicarage.
+Field, Thomas W., Marazion.
+Fisher, Edward, Sidmouth.
+
+Geoffroi, H. M., School of Science and Art, Penzance.
+Gilbert, Hon. Mrs., Trelissick.
+Green, William, 9, Cullum-street, London, E.C.
+Grylls, Thos., Penzance.
+
+Harry, R., London.
+Harvey, Miss, Penzance.
+Harvey, J. S., Penzance.
+Hattam, Thomas, St. Anthony.
+Hosking, Samuel, Bank Buildings, Hull.
+Hudson, Robert S., Redruth.
+
+James, Arthur H., St. Just.
+James, John, Rosevean House, 2 copies.
+James, Stephen H., St. Just.
+James, Stephen H., B.C.S.
+Jennings, E., Linares, Spain.
+
+Kevern, J. T., 2 copies.
+
+Lach-Szyrma, Rev. W. S., Newlyn.
+Lanyon, J. J., Penzance.
+Lea, Henry Carey, Philadelphia, U.S.
+Lovell, James, Jun., Chyandour, Penzance.
+
+Mann, Capt. Benjamin P., London.
+Matthews, Robert, Penzance.
+Matthews, R., Jun., Tregoose, Helston.
+Mauleverer, Miss, The Mall, Armagh, Ireland.
+Menneer, Miss A., 7, Trewartha Terrace, Penzance.
+Michell, A. O., Marazion.
+Michell, W. H., Penzance.
+Millett, George Bown, M.R.C.S., Penzance.
+Millett, J. N., Lelant.
+Mitchell, W., “Western” Hotel, Penzance.
+Montgomery, H. M., 5, Clarence Place, Penzance.
+Morewood, R. D., Trinity House, London.
+Müller, Professor Max, Oxford.
+Nance, Capt. Francis, St. Martin’s, Scilly Isles.
+Ninnis, Paul C., Linares, Spain.
+Noy, W. D., London.
+
+Paull, A., M.R.C.S.E., Truro.
+Paull, Nicholas, Penzance.
+Pellew, W. H., Penzance.
+Pentreath, Dr. F. R., Head Master of Winborne School.
+Pentreath, Capt. Wm., Pentreath Villa, Mousehole.
+Pentreath, Richard, Australia Villa, Exmouth, Devon.
+Pentreath, Richard, H.M.C., London, 2 copies.
+Pentreath, William B., H.M. Customs, London.
+Peter, Thurstan C., Redruth, 2 copies.
+Preston, R. H., Penzance, 3 copies.
+Price, Charles, Birmingham.
+Prynne, C. M., The Republican, Springfield, Mass., U.S.A.
+
+Ralfs, John, M.R.C.S.E., 2 copies.
+Rawlings, W. J., Downes, Hayle.
+Richards, Mrs., Newlyn.
+Rickarby, James W. B., Brixton, S. W.
+Rundle, Rev. S., Ladock.
+
+Stewart, Henry, Penzance.
+
+The Penzance Public Library.
+Thomas, Henry, Clarence place.
+Trenoweth, Captain James, Jun., London.
+Trenwith, Charles, Hayle.
+Trevail, Silvanus, Tywardreath.
+Trowsdale, T. B., Young People’s Institute, Hull.
+
+Uren, J. C., Penzance.
+Uren, J. G., Penzance.
+
+Victor, H., Penzance.
+
+Wellington, R., Penzance.
+White, Miss, Penzance.
+White, W. N., Covent Garden.
+White, R., Jun., 6, Cornwall Terrace, Penzance.
+Wildman, A. C., Penzance.
+Wildman, Henry E., R.N., Halifax, Nova Scotia.
+Williams, Henry, Penzance.
+Williams, J. H., London.
+Williams, J. H., Higher Penrose Farm, near Helston.
+Williams, Major, Washington, U.S.A.
+Williams, T., Trinity House, London.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+[1] The once general custom of “touching the cravel” for the purpose of
+averting evils foreshadowed by ill-omens, &c., seems to have almost
+died out with the disuse of open fire-places for burning furze and
+turf.
+
+Some fifty years ago the practice must have been known all over the
+county, and farther off. A “pellar,” called Lutey, then in great
+repute, enjoined those under his “protection” to perform the rite at
+stated periods, as a safeguard against witchcraft and bad luck
+generally. In the spring—as soon as there was twelve hours sun—this
+wise man was resorted to by people from all parts of the county, and
+farther away, to have their “protection” renewed. This was always the
+term used, and its meaning well understood. Great numbers came over
+from the Scilly Islands, and the captains and crews of Welsh vessels
+trading to Hayle often sought this conjurer’s aid.
+
+One may hope that the pleasant old Christmas pastime of burning
+ivy-leaves and rushes was still observed, last Twelfth-night, in some
+outlying hamlets where the good folks are not yet so “enlightened” as
+to conceive that they know much more than their grandparents.
+
+Those who have taken part in this old observance for obtaining presages
+regarding the most important events of life, know that “touching the
+cravel” must be carefully complied with on leaving the hearth to gather
+what they require; and the first thing on their return, before any of
+them may speak, and their more interesting rites commence.
+
+If any of the company happen to speak by the way, the charm is spoiled,
+and the seeming presages will be unreliable, unless the incautious ones
+return, touch the cravel, and resume the work.
+
+One may be excused for dwelling so long on these almost forgotten
+customs, as they may have some significance, interesting to antiquaries
+at least. It is high time to glean the little that remains of old-world
+observances; for even in such remote places as the northern parishes,
+most folks, under middle age, are chary of giving any information about
+them.
+
+[2] See the Tinner, page 21.
+
+[3] The name usually given to St. Just feast as it is the nearest
+Sunday to All-Hallows.
+
+[4] Grease which oozes out from the gudgeons of mine machinery.
+
+[5] The herb scrophularia aquatica.
+
+[6] Avena nuda.
+
+[7] At that time the duty on salt was 4d. per pound; and, at the low
+price for which pork was then sold, it took nearly the value of one
+side of a carcase to buy enough salt to cure the other side.
+
+[8] Literally corn-feast; the last day of corn carrying, when
+neighbours usually assist each other, then have a good supper and
+carouse.
+
+[9] Beacon.
+
+[10] Mean men.
+
+[11] Frogs.
+
+[12] Shell-snails.
+
+[13] Small Lizards.
+
+[14] Patrick Kennedy’s description of an Irish wake, may remind elderly
+Cornish people of a custom generally observed in West Cornwall, at
+least, in the last century; that of holding watch-night, with the
+deceased, for one night, and keeping lighted candles in the room in
+which the body was laid out, every night until the funeral.
+
+All those friends of the family who intended to follow the body to its
+grave, as “mourners” were expected to join the watchers. It was
+customary to have a supper for them (the watchers) about midnight; and
+a few hours afterwards the watching was concluded.
+
+It was never the custom here, within our remembrance to address the
+spirit, supposed to be hovering near its body, until the latter was
+consigned to earth, as the Irish do at this day. In their “croneing”
+the spirit is mostly spoken to in consoling or flattering words; and
+often a little blarney is added also. Both in Ireland and here, it was
+thought a great slight or an insult if friends, who had formal notice
+of a decease, did not attend at the watch-night or wake. It is evident,
+however, that these customs are remnants of the same ancient British
+usage, amongst those of the Celtic race.
+
+A pleasing picture of this ancient observance may be seen in
+Cymbeline,—Act iv. Scene 2.
+
+[15] He-Goat.
+
+[16] She-Goat.
+
+[17] See page 70.
+
+[18] Mr. W. J. Henwood.
+
+[19] Before this old building was demolished, a few months since, it
+was photographed by Mr. R. H. Preston.
+
+[20] Wednesday in Feasten week.
+
+[21] Dogs with old tin pans, or the like, tied to their tails.
+
+[22] A century or so ago, the people of Ludgvan were so much celebrated
+for their dexterity in throwing and catching the silver ball, that they
+were known far and near as the Ludgvan hurlers, and still hold in
+remembrance their ancient renown by retaining it to this day as a
+nickname. Formerly, they were as proud of this name as of their holy
+well, and of the tradition they firmly believe—that none who have been
+baptized in its waters ever have been, or ever will be, hanged.
+
+[23] “Malbrook is gone to the wars.” This once popular ditty was a
+version of the celebrated French song of
+
+   “Malbrough s’en va-t-en guerre,
+    Mironton, mironton, mirontaine,”
+
+which was composed after the battle of Malplaquet in 1709, by some
+French officers; who, after being defeated by the Duke of Marlborough,
+consoled themselves by making the facetious song in which they imagined
+
+   “Monsieur Malbrough is dead.—
+    What’s more—he’s buri-ed,”
+
+many years before he gave up the ghost and ceased to be the object of
+the soldier’s admiration and terror.
+
+The name of Marlborough having been first corrupted by the French into
+Malbrough, was further changed by the English into Malbrook. Only a few
+years since the old song was republished in Paris, in the collection of
+“Chansons Populaires,” under the title of “Mort et convoi de
+l’invincible Malbrough.” From the translation of an amusing essay,
+which precedes the song in this collection, we quote the following.
+Speaking of Marlborough, the writer says, “Not being able to conquer,
+the enemy lampooned him, and each of his victories was followed by a
+new satirical song; such verses being in France then, as in the good
+times of Cardinal Mazarin, the people’s most ordinary means of taking
+their revenge.”
+
+The song was preserved only by tradition in some of the provinces,
+where it had been probably left by the soldiers of Villars and de
+Bufflers; but in 1781 it resounded, all of a sudden, from one end of
+the kingdom to the other. It happened that when Marie Antoinette gave
+to the throne of France an heir, he was nursed by a peasant named
+(probably nicknamed) Madame Poitrine, who had been chosen, among other
+qualifications, for her healthy appearance, and good humour. The nurse,
+while rocking the royal cradle, sung Malbrough, and the dauphin, it is
+said, opened his eyes at the name of the great general. The name, the
+simplicity of the words, singularity of the burthen, and the touching
+melodiousness of the air, interested the queen, and she frequently sang
+it. Everybody repeated it after her, and even the king condescended to
+quaver out the words, “Malbrough s’en va-t-en guerre.” Malbrough was
+sung in the state apartments of Versailles; in the kitchens; in the
+stables; it became quite the rage: from the Court it was adopted by the
+tradespeople of Paris, and passed thence from town to town, and country
+to country; it was wafted across to England, where it soon became as
+popular as in France. It is said that a French gentleman, wishing, when
+in London, to be driven to Marlborough Street, had totally forgotten
+its name, but, on singing the air of Malbrough, the coachman understood
+him immediately, and drove him to the proper address with no other
+direction.
+
+Goethe, who travelled in France about the same time, was so teased with
+the universal concert of Malbrough, that he took a hatred to the duke,
+who was the innocent cause of the musical epidemic. Malbrough made
+itself heard, without ceasing. Apropos of everything, and apropos of
+nothing, it gave its name to the fashions, to silks, head-dresses,
+carriages, and soups—was reproduced, in short, in all manner of ways
+and forms, and, nothing short of the Revolution, the fall of the
+Bastile, and the Marsellaise hymn, were sufficient to smother the
+sounds of that hitherto never ceasing song. The warlike and melancholy
+air of the song did not, any more than its hero, originate in France,
+and we have sought in vain to trace its history back from the time when
+Napoleon—in spite of his general antipathy to music—roared it out
+whenever he got into his saddle to start on a fresh campaign. We are
+not unwilling to believe, with M. de Chateaubriand, that it was the
+same air which the crusaders of Godefroid de Bouillion sang under the
+walls of Jerusalem. The Arabs still sing it, and pretend that their
+ancestors learned it at the battle of Massoura, or else from the
+brothers-in-arms of De Joinville, who repeated it to the clashing of
+bucklers while pressing forward to the cry of
+
+   “Mountjoy, Saint Denis!”
+
+[24] This old Cornish word Bucca (still in common use) has various
+significations, and none very clearly defined. It appears to belong to
+the same family of words as the Irish “Pooka,” and the Welsh “Pwcca.”
+As above, it is often applied to a poor, half-witted person of a
+mischievous disposition—one about whom there is anything weird or
+wisht—to a ghost, or any kind of frightful apparition, and by
+association of ideas to a scarecrow. By Buccaboo, which is probably a
+corruption of Buccadhu (black spirit) we mean Old Nick, or one of his
+near relations. As an example of this, there is a story told of an old
+lady who lived long ago at Raftra, in St. Levan. The old dame, when
+more than fourscore, was so fond of card playing that she would walk
+almost every Winter’s night, in spite of wind or weather, to the
+village of Trebear, distant a mile or more, that she might enjoy her
+favourite pastime with a family of congenial tastes who resided there.
+The old lady’s step-daughter wished to put a stop to what she regarded
+as rather scandalous vagaries, the old dame seldom arriving home before
+the small hours of the morning; with this intention the young mistress
+persuaded the serving-man to array himself in a white sheet, &c., so as
+to personate a ghost that was accused of wandering about a lonely spot
+over which old madam would have to pass. The Winter’s night was dark
+and rainy, when, about midnight, the ghost seated himself on the side
+of Goon-proynter stile, where he had to wait two or three hours. The
+dear old lady was in no hurry to leave pleasant company as it was
+Christmas time. At last the old lady passed Padz-jigga, mounted the
+stile, and seated herself to draw breath opposite the ghost. Over a
+while, she said, “Hallo! Bucca gwidden (white spirit) what cheer? And
+what in the world dost thee do here with Bucca Dhu close behind thee?”
+This cool address so frightened Bucca-gwidden that he ran off as fast
+as he could lay feet to ground, the old lady scampering after, clapping
+her hands and calling “Good boy, Buccadhu; now thee west catch Bucca
+gwidden and take’n away with thee!” The ghost was so frightened that he
+fell in a fit and was never right in the head after. Then he was a real
+bucca in the sense of our Betty’s sweetheart, and the strong minded
+sociable old lady enjoyed many more years of her favourite pastime with
+her friends in Trebear.
+
+Another Bucca of the mischievous class lived in St. Just but a short
+time since, who gave rise to the saying “Between both,” as Bucca said.
+Being, as usual, loafing about the public-house of a pay day, when
+there is more than the ordinary good cheer about, Bucca happened to
+look into a room where Capt. Chynolds and another gentleman were
+sitting in the window-seat. The captain said to the intruder, “Which
+art thee, Bucca, a fool or a rogue?” Before making any reply, Bucca
+placed himself between them, then answered “I’m between both, I
+believe!” Another day he was idling about a new shaft that two men were
+engaged in sinking—one filling the kibbal, the other winding up the
+stuff with a hand winze. The man to grass told Bucca to take hold of
+the winze and wind up a few kibbals whilst he lighted his pipe. Bucca
+wound up two or three all right. When the next kibbal full was near the
+top of the shaft he called out “Hold on there below while I spit on my
+hands a minute.” Down went the kibbal, winze and all smash, and half
+killed the man below. Bucca took to his heels crying “Triz-wiz,
+triz-wiz; whipper-snapper, catch me if thee cust.” (canst).
+
+Another trick of the Bucca was to watch when the women put a nice bit
+of cake to bake that they might have a comfortable cup of tea before
+the good man came home from work. They would be sure to go out to
+coursey (gossip) a bit while the cake was baking. Then Bucca would
+steal in, carry off the cake, and place a turf under the bake-pan,
+carefully covered with fire again. When the gossip came to take up the
+nice bit she might be heard to exclaim “Well I never thought I’d been
+out so long; my cake is burned to ashes.”
+
+[25] The “red-haired Danes” have continued a source of terror and a
+name of reproach to the present day. On the first of this month a
+Longrock quarrel was the subject of a magisterial inquiry at the
+Penzance town-hall, when it was proved that the defendant, Jeffery, had
+called one of the complainants, Lawrence, who has rubrick hair, a
+“red-haired Dane.” In Sennen Cove, St. Just, and the western parishes
+generally, there has existed, time out of mind, a great antipathy to
+certain red-haired families, who were said to be descendants of the
+Danes, and whose ancestors were supposed, centuries before, to have
+landed in Whitsand Bay, and set fire to, and pillaged the villages.
+Indeed, this dislike to the Rufus-headed people was carried so far that
+few families would allow any member to marry them, so that the
+unfortunate race had the less chance of seeing their children lose the
+objectionable tinge of hair.
+
+[26] As the name Vellandruchar means wheel-mill, the mill which was
+formerly in this place was probably one of the oldest in the West. At
+no great distance from Vellandruchar is the site of another ancient
+mill called Vellansager. This name is equally suggestive, as denoting
+that the serging or bolting apparatus was not then common in the mills.
+These old mills were situated in the lower part of Burrien, on the
+stream which divides that parish from Paul. According to tradition, a
+sanguinary battle was fought on the moors a little above Vellandruchar,
+between Arthur and the Danes, when they say the mill was worked with
+blood, and that arrow, spear and axe-heads, with the remains of other
+weapons, have frequently been found in the bog-turf (peat soil) which
+is cut for fuel from Vellandruchar Moors. These moors were also said to
+be so much infested with adders, in old time, that cattle could not be
+turned into them in Summer, until one day an adder got into a pot of
+milk, which a man who was cutting turf on the moor brought with him to
+drink. The man placed a turf on the mouth of the pot, and stopped the
+adder in it. In a short time the imprisoned adder made a peculiar
+noise, which attracted other adders round the pot. These, in turn,
+seemed to call others, until from all parts of the moors the adders
+were seen directing their course straight to the interesting captive.
+The men cutting turf on the moors were all obliged to flee the low
+grounds. Towards night, when they ventured into the moor, they found
+that a mass of adders, as large as an ordinary hay-cock, had interlaced
+themselves into a solid heap over and round the pot. The people then
+formed a ring of dry furze, and other fuel they found ready cut, around
+the mass of adders, now apparently torpid. When many scores of trusses
+of furze were collected, fire was placed at the same instant to several
+parts of the ring of furze. They say that the noise made by the burning
+adders was frightful, and that a great number of milpreaves were found
+in the ashes.
+
+This story of the adders is also told about Trevethow Moors, the ground
+now called the Hay Meadow, and many other places.
+
+[27] At pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras, Pallentes umbras
+Erebi, noctemque profundam, &c., &c.
+
+[28] This was nearly the language of our learned countryman, Mr. Moyle,
+in “A charge to the Grand Jury at Liskeard, April, 1706.” “If France
+(says he) prevails in this war, we shall be dragooned into idolatry,
+slavery, and wooden shoes.”—See Moyle’s works, vol. 1, p. 163.
+
+[29] “Golls” or “gollies” is the Phœnician name for Hercules, according
+to the Rev. Mr. Hogg, in his Fabulous History of Cornwall, so that the
+use of the term, vulgar as it may appear to some, connects the butcher
+of our narrative with a favourite deity of the Phœnicians.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75799 ***