/ CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THIS BOOK IS ONE OF A COLLECTION MADE BY BENNO LOEWy I854-I9I9 AND BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 'H^^^^^^l ^^^^^^^^^^^H '^^m^^M ^^^^^^^^H m^J^M P^^ ^^jPi^ctP^-^'' ^JmBBI^^^^^I «I^^H rr^^i^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H -^^iP^lB igujg. ^o|^H ^^^^^^^^^Hw ' .1 b^^^»|tf|Hra|ra|^^ B 1 I^^^H ^ ^^j^^^^^^^l ^^K ^ ^^^^^I^^^^^H ^ V '.^^^^aO^^^^^^B ^ 1 ^^^ .-■; ^^^^^^^^1 Bgjr- ' •"--'^ • ■>,r^-.-"f^. ,i a^^^^^M ^^9 I^^^^^H H|HH|H H ^^H ^^^^^^^^^^Vaw^^^^^^^^^^I »3 IPH y^tlM wk'i^^^^^^^^^^^M ^^^hhhhhj^^^h MM^^^ '^Sj^uu^^^^BeBBimmK^m ^^^^^^^^H ■ (^^sW^Vf i si ■S^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^l ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029890609 ■*!?fe'\ POPULAR ROMANCES WEST OF ENGLAND ^be 2)roll5, tTrabitions, anb Superstitions of ®Ib Cornwall COLLECTED AND EDITED BY ROBERT HUNT, F.R.S. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. THIRD EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED ILontion CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY " ' Have you any stories like that, guidwife?' " * Ah,' she said ; ' there were plenty of people that could tell those stories once. I used to hear them telling them over the fire at night ; but people is so changed with pride now, that they care for nothing.' " — Campbell. PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. During the last few years a new interest has been awakened, and the West of England lias attracted the attention of many, who had previously neglected the scenes of interest, and the spots of beauty, which are to be found in our own island. The rugged granite range of Dartmoor, rich with the golden furze ; the moorlands of Cornwall, with their mighty Tors and giant boulders fringed with' ferns and framed in masses of purple heath ; the stern coasts, washed by an emerald sea, quaint with rocks carved into grotesque forms by the beating of waves and winds, spread with the green samphire and coated with yellow lichens ; are now found to have a peculiar — though a wild — often a savage — beauty. The wood-clad valleys, ringing with the rush of rivers, and the sheltered plains, rich with an almost tropical vegetation, present new features of interest to the stranger's eyes, in the varied characters of the organisation native to that south-western clime. The railways give great facilities for visiting those scenes, of which the public eagerly avail themselves. But they have robbed the West of England of half its interest, by dispelling the spectres of romance which were, in hoar antiquity, the ruling spirits of the place. The "Romances of the West of England" — collected into a volume which has served its purpose well — gives the tourist Preface to the Third Edition. the means of restoring the giants and the fairies to their native haunts. The growing inquiries of those who are desirous of knowing something of the ancient Cornish miners, — of the old peasantry of this peninsula, and of the aged fishermen who almost lived upon the Atlantic waters, — have convinced me that a third edition of this volume of folk-lore has become a necessity. While correcting the pages for a new edition, a scientific friend, who was deep in the cold thrall of positivism, called upon me. He noticed the work upon which I was engaged, and remarked, "I suppose you invented most of these stories." In these days, when our most sacred things are being sneered at, and the poetry of life is being repressed by the prose of a cold infidelity, this remark appears to render it a humiliating necess^"\v, to assure my readers that none of the legends in this volume have been invented. They were all of them gathered in their native homes, more than half a century since, as stated fully in the Introduction to the volume. For this edition some necessary corrections have been made; and additions will be found in the Appendix, which it is thought will increase the interest of the volume. ROBERT HUNT. March iSS/, CONTENTS. Jirst Series. Introduction, THE GIANIS. PAGE 1. The Age of the Giants, . . 35 2. Corineus and Gogmagog, . , 44 3. The Giants of the Mount, . . 46 4. The Key of the Giant's Castle, . 47 5. The Rival Giants, . . . 48 6. The Giants of Trencrom, or Tre- crobben, 49 7. The Giants at Play, . , .51 8. Holiburn of the Cairn, . . . 52 9. The Giant of Nancledry, . . 53 10. Trebiggan the Giant, . . • 53 11. The Lord of Pengerswick and the Giant of St Michael's Mount, . 53 12. The Giant of St Michael's Mount loses his Wife, ■ • ■ . 55 13. Tom and the Giant Blunderbuss ; or, The Wheel and Exe Fight, "55 14. Tom the Giant, his Wife Ja^e, and Jack the Tinkeard, . 15. How Tom and the Tinkeard found the Tin, and how it led to Morva Fair 16. The Giant of Morva, . 17. The Giant Bolster, 18. The Hack and Cast, 19. The Giant Wrath, or Ralph, 20. Ordulph the Giant, THE FAIRIEg. 21. The Elfin Creed of Cornwall, 22. Nursing a Fairy, . 23. Changelings, 24. The Lost Child, . 25. A Native Pigsey Story, 26.. The Night-Riders, 27. The Fairy Tools ; or. Barker' Knee, .... 28. The Piskies in the Cellar, . 29. The Spriggans of Trencrom Hill, 30. The Fairy Miners — the Knock- ers, 31. The Spriggan's Child, . 32. The Piskies' Changeling, 33. The Pixies of Dartmoor, 34. The Fairy Fair in Germoe, . 35. St Margery and the Piskies, 60 THE FAIRIES — COJlUmted. 36. The Fairy Revels on the "Gump." St Just, ... 98 37. The Fairy Funeral, . . . 102 38. The Fairy Revel, . * . 103 39. Betty Stogs and Jan the Moun- ster, 103 40. The Four-leaved Clover, , . 107 41. The Fairy Ointment, . . . 109 42. How Joan Lost the Sight of her Eye Ill 43. The Old Woman who Turned her Shift, ... . . .113 44. The Fairy Widower, . . 114 45- The Small People's Gardens, . 118 46. St Levan Fairies, . . . 119 47. The Adventure of Cherry of Zennor, lao 48. Anne JefFeries and the Fairies, . 127 49. The Piskie Threshers, . 129 50. The Muryan's Bank, . . . 130 TREGEAGLE. 51. The Demon Tregeagle, . . 132 52. Jahn'Tergagle the Steward, . 138 53. Dosmery Pool, .... 142 54. The Wish Hounds, . . . 145 55. Cheney's Hounds, . . 146 THE TvrT-.PTvrA-ma 56. Morva or Morveth^ . . . 148 57. Merrymaids and Merrymen, . 149 58. The Mermaid of Padstow, . • 151 59. The Mermaid's Rock, 151 60. The Mermaid of Seaton, . 15; 61. The Old Man of Cury, . . 152 62. The Mermaid's Vengeance, . 155 THE ROCKS. 63. Cromlech and Druid Stones, . 172 64. The Logan or Lo^^ing Rock, . 174 65. Mincamber, Main-Amber, or Ambrose's Stone, . , . 175 66. Zennor Coits, . . . 175 67. The Men-an-ToI, . . . 176 68. The Crick Stone in Morva, . 177 C out cuts. THE ViOCK.s~co)tt{nued. page The Dancing Stones, the Hur- lers, &c., 177 The Nine Maids, or Virgin Sisters, .... 179 The Twelve-o'clock Stone, . 179 The Men-Sci-yfai • ._ . t8o Table-Men — The Saxon Kings' Visit to the Land's End, . . 180 Merlvn's Prophecies, , . 181 The Armed Knight, . . .182 The Irish Lady, - . . 183 The Devil's Doorway, . . 184 Piper's Hole, Scilly, • . . 185 The Devil's Coits, &c., . . 185 King Arthur's Stone, . , 186 The Cock-Crow Stone, . > 187 LOST CITIES. Lost Lands, , . . , 189 The Tradition of the Lyonesse or Lethowsow, . . . 189 Cudden Point and the Silver Table 193 The Padstow " Hobbv-Hcse,'* 194 St Michael's Mount— The White Rock in the Wood, . . . ' 195 Gwavas Lake, .... 198 The City of Langarrow or Lan- gona, . . . , . 199 The Sands at Leiant and Phil- lack, "!..... 201 "The Island," Stives, . . 201 The Chapel_ Rock, Perran- Porthi ■ ' ■ . . . 202 FIRE 'WORSHIP. PAGE 205 206 92, Romances of Fire Worship, 93- Baal Fires, , . . - 04. The Garrack Zans, or Holy Rock, 208 95. Fire Ordeal for the Cure of Disease, 2^9 96. Burning Animals Alive, . ■ 212 DEMONS AND SPECTRES. -97. The Hooting Cairn, . . .216 98. Jago's Demon 219 99- Peter the Devil, . . 220 100. D;Hndo and his Doe^s, . . 220 loi. The Devil and his Dandj'-Dogs, 223 102. The Spectral Coach, . . 224 103. Sir Francis Drake and his Demon, ... . 230 104. The Parson and Clerk, . . 231 105. The Haunted Widower, . 233 106. The Spectre Bridegroom, . 233 107. Duffy and the Devil, . , 239 io3. The Lovers of PorLhangwartha, 247 109. The Ghost of Rosewarne, . 248 no. The Suicide's Spearman, . . 253 111. The Suicide's Ghost, . . 254 112. The " Ha-af" a Face, . 254 113. The Warning, .... 254 114. Laying a Ghost, . . 255 115. A Flying Spirit, . . . 256 ir6. The Execution and Weddtpf?, . 256 117. The Luggerof Croft Pasco Pool, 258 Sec0ntJ Series. THE SAINTS. Legends *of the Saints, ._ . 261 The Crowza Stones, . .' . 262 The LongsCone, . , . 264 St Sennen and St Just« . . 265 Legends of St Ltvcu — I'he Saint and Johana, . . 265 The Saint's Path, . . .26^ The St Leven Stone, . • 266 The Two Breams, . . . 266 St Keyne, 208 St Dennis's Blood, . . . 269 St Kea's Boat, .... 270 St German's Well, . . 271 How St Piran reached CnrnwiiH, . 272 St Peran, the Miners' Saint,_ . 273 The Discovery of Tin, . . 274 St Neot, the Pigmy, . . 275 St Ncot and the Fox, . . 275 St Neot and the Doe, . . . 276 St Neot and the Thieves, . 276 St Neot and the Fishes, . 276 Probus and Grace, . . . 277 St Nectan's Kieve and the Lonely Sisters 27S Theodore^ King of Cornwall, 2S2 HOLT WELLS. 25. Well-Worship, 26. The Well of St Constantine, 27. The Well of St Ludgvan, , 28. Gulval Well, 29. The Well of St Keyne, 30. Maddern or Madron Well, . 31. The Well at Altar-Nun, 32. StGundred'sWellat Roach Rock 33. St Cuthbert's or Cubert's Well, 24. Rickety Children, 35. Chapell XJny, 36. Perran Well, 37. Redruth Well, . 38. Holy Well at Little Conan. 39. The Preservation of Holy Wells, KING ARTHTJR. 40. Arthur Legend-^, .... 41. The Battle of Vellan-diuchar, . 42. Arthur at the Land's End, . 43. Traditions of the Danes in Corn- wall, 44. King Arthur in the Form of a Chough, .... 285 287 288 290 292 293 296 293 299 299 300 303 305 306 307 308 Contents. 19 KING ARTHUR — COftlmued. 45. The Cornish Chough, . 46. Slaughter Bridge, 47. Camelford and King Arthur, 48. Dameliock Castle, * " 49. Carlian in Kea, . 309 309 310 311 312 SORCERY AND ■WITCHCRAFT. 50. The '* Cunning Mkn," . 314 51. Notes on Witchcrait, . . . 316 52. Ill-wishing, 3r8 53. The " Peller," .... 319 54. Bewitched Cattle, . • . 320 55. How to Become a Witch, . . 321 56. Cornish Sorcerers, . . . 521 57. How Pengerswick became a Sor- cerer, 322 58. The Lord of Pengerswick an En- chanter, 323 59. The Witch of Fraddam and Pen- gerswick, 326 60. Trewa,.the Home of Witches, 328 61. Kenidzhfik Witch, . • ^ 329 62. The Witches of the Logan Stone, 329 63. Madgy Figgy's Chair, . . 330 64. Old Madge Figgey and the Pig, 332 65. Madam Noy and Old Joan, . 334 66. The Witch of Treva, . . . 335 67. How Mr Lenine gave up Court- tins, 336 68. The Witch and the Toad, . . 337 6g. The Sailor Wizard, . . . 339 37. THE SHIiEES. Traditions of Tinners, The Tinner, of Chyannor, . Wtio are the Knockers ? Miners' Superstitions, Christmas-Eve in the Mines, Warnings and *' Tokens," The Ghost on Horseback, The Black Dogs, Pitmen's Omens and Goblins, The Dead Hand, ... Dorcas, the Spirit of Polbreen Mine, Kingston Downs, FISHERKEN AND SAILORS. The Pilot's Ghost Storj', The Phantom Ship, . Jack Harry's Lights, The Pirate-Wrecker and the Death Ship, .... The Spectre Ship of Porthcur- no, .... The Lady with the Lantern, The Drowned " Hailing their Names," The Voice from the Sea, The Smuggler's Token, The Hooper of Sennen Cove, How to Eat Pilchards, Pilchards Crying for More, The Pressing-Stones, Whipping the Hake, 341 344 346 349 349 350 351 351 352 353 354 355 357 358 359 362 3^4 366 366 367 367 3^8 3^8 368 370 BEATH SUPERSTITIONS, page 96. The Death Token of the Vin- goes 372 97. The Death Fetch of William. Rufiis, 372 98. Sir John Aiundell, . . 373 99- Phantoms of the Dying, . , 374 100. The White Hare, . . . 377 lor. The Hand of a Suicide, . . 378 102. The North Side Of a Church, . 379 103. Popular Superstitions, . . 379 OLD USAGES. 104. Sanding the Step on New Year' s- Day, 382 105. "May- Day, .... 382 io5. Shrove Tuesday at St Ives, . 383 107. "The Furry," Helstone, . . 3S3 108. Midsummer Superstitious Cus- toms, . . . 384 rog. Crying the Neck, . . . 385 no. Drinking to the Apple-Trees on Twelfth-Night Kve, 386 111. Allhallows-Eve at St Ives, . 388 112. The Twelfth Cake, . . . 38S 113. Oxen Pray on Christmas-Eve, . 389 114. "St George"- — The Christmas Plays, . • . . 389 115. Geese-Dancing — Plough Mon- day, ... . 392 116. Christmas at St Ives, . . 392 117. Lady Lovell's Courtship, . . 395 118. The Game of Hurling, . 400 119. Sham' Mayors — The Mayor of Mylor, . . 401 I'he Mayor of St Germans, 402 The Mayor of Halgaver Moor, .... 402 120. The Faction Fight at Cury Great Tree, . . ' . 403 121. Towednack Cuckoo Feast, 404 122. The Duke of Restormel, . . 404 POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 123. Charming, and Prophetic Power, . . 407 124. Fortune-Telling, Charms, &c , 408 125. I'he Zennor Charmers, . . 410 126. J. H., the Conjuror of St Ctilomb, . ... 410 127. Cures for Warts, . . 411 12S. A Cure for Paralysis - 412 129. A Cure for Rheumatism, . 412 130. Sundry Charms, . . 413 131. Cure for Colic in Towednack, 413 132. For a Scald or Burn, . _ . 413 133. Charms for Inflammatory Dis- eases, . . . - . 413 134. Charms for the Prickof a Thorn, 413 135. Charms for Stanrhing of Blood, 413 136. Charm for a Tetter, . . . 414 137. Charm for the Sting of a Nettle, 414 138. Charm for Toothache, . 414 139. Charm for Serpents, . . 415 140. The Cure of Boils, . . . 415 20 Contents. POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS — COItttmied. 41. Rickets, or a Crick in the Back, 42. The Club-Moss, 43. Moon Superstitions, . 44. Cures for Whooping-Cough, 45. Cure of Toothache, . 46. The Convalescent's Walk, 47. Adders, and the Milpreve, 48. Snakes Avoid the Ash-Tree 49. To Charm a Snake, . 50. The Ash-Tree, .... 51. Rhyme on the Even Ash, . 52. A Test of Innocency, 53. The Bonfire Test, 54. Lights seen by the Converted . 55. The Migratory Birds, 56. Shooting Stars 57. The Sun never Shines on the Perjured, 58. Characteristics, .... 59. The Mutton Feast, . 60. The Floating Grindstone, . 61. Celts — Flint Arrow-heads, &c., 62. The Horns on the Church Tower, .... 63. Tea-Stalks and Smut, 64. An old Cornish Rhyme, 65. To Choose a Wife, 66. The Robin and the Wren, . 67. To Secure Good Luck for Child, .... Innocency, Rain at Bridal or Burial, . Crowing Hens, &c. . The New Moon, Looking- Glasses, The Magpie, 74. The Month of May Unlucky 75. On the Births of Children, 76. On Washing Linen, . 77. Itching Ears, 78. The Spark on the Candle, 79. The Blue Vein, . 80. The Croaking of the Raven, 81. Whistling, .... 82 Meeting on the Stairs, 83. Treading on Graves, . 84. A Loose Garter, 85. To Cure the Hiccough, 86. The Sleeping Foot, . 87. The Horse-Shoe, 88. The Black Cat's Tail, 89. Unlucky Things, 90. The Limp Corpse, 91. " By Hook or by Crook," . 92. Weather Signs, . 93. Weather at Liskeard, 94. The First Butterfly, . 95- Peculiar Words and Phrases, MISOELLANEOTTS STORIES. 415 415 416 416 417 418 418 420 420 421 421 421 422 422 422 423 424 424 426 426 427 427 427 428 428 428 428 428 429 429 429 429 429 430 430 430 430 430 431 431 431 432 432 432 432 432 432 433 433 433 433 434 434 435 433 196. The Bells of Forrabury Church, 438 197. The Tower of Minster Church, 439 198. Temple Moors, .... 440 199. The Legend of Tamara, . . 440 MISCELLANEOUS STORIES— cojiUnued. PAGE 441 442 444 444 200. The Church and the Barn, 201. The Penryn Tragedy, 202. Goldsithney Fair and the Glove, 203. The Harlyn Pie, 204. Packs of Wool the Foundation of the Bridge of Wadebridge, 205. The Last Wolf in England, 206. Churches Built in Performance of Vow3, 207. Bolait, the Field of Blood, 208. Woeful Moor, and Bodrigan' Leap, .... 209. Pengerswick Castle, . 210. The Clerks of Cornwall, . zii. A Fairy Caught, 212. The Lizard People, . 213. Prussia Cove and Smugglers' Holes, .... 214. Cornish Teeny-tiny, , 215. The Spaniard at Penryn, 216. Boyer, Mayor of Bodmin, . 217. Thomasine Bonaventure, . 218. The Last of the Killigrews, 219. Saint Gerennius, 220. Cornish Dialogue, 445 446 446 447 449 450 450 451 451 452 453 453 454 456 459 460 APPENDIX. A. Bellerian, 463 B. The Poem of the Wrestling, . 463 C. Shara and Sheela, . . . 464 — The Hag's Bed near Fermoy, . 465 D. The Giant of Nancledry ; and Trebiggan the Giant, . _ . 46^ E. Geese Dancing — Guise Dancing — Guizards, . . . 466 — "Goose Dancing," . . 467 F. Wayland Smith, . . . 467 G. The Wonderful Cobbler of Wel- lington, ... . 467 H. The Giant " Bolster," . . 468 1. St Piran's-day and Picrous-day, 1 469 K. Moses Pitt's Letter respecting Anne JeflFeries, . . . 470 L. The Bargest, or Spectre-Hound, 471 — Billy B 's Adventure, . M. The Mermaid's Vengeance, N. Rock Masses, Celtic, O. A vibrosice Petres, P. Padstow Hobby-Horse Q. The City of Langarrow or Lau' gona. — Perran Churches, R. St. Piran— Perran Zabuloe, S. St. Chiwidden, . T. The Discoverer of Tin, U. St. Neot, .... X. The Sisters of Glen-Neot. Y. Millington of Pengerswick, 2. Pengerswick, AA. Saracen, .... BB. The Tinner of Chyannor, . CC. Merry Sean Lads DD. The North Side uf a Church, EE. Peculiar Words and Phrases, FF. The Harlyn Pie, 472 472 473 473 474 475 475 476 476 477 478 478 478 478 479 479 479 480 480 INTRODUCTION. '"PHE beginning of this collection of Popular Romances may -L be truly said to date from my early childhood. I remember with what anticipations of pleasure, sixty-eight years since, I stitched together a few sheets of paper, and carefully pasted them into the back of an old book. This was preparatory to a visit 1 was about to make with my mother to Bodmin, about which town many strange stories were told, and my purpose was to record them. My memory retains dim shadows of a wild tale of Hender the Huntsman of Lanhydrock ; of a narrative of streams having been poisoned by the monks ; and of a legend of a devil who played many strange pranks with the tower which stands on a neighbouring hill. I have, within the last year? endeavoured to recover those stories, but in vain. The living people appear to have forgotten them ; my juvenile note-book has long been lost : those traditions are, it is to be feared, gone for ever. Fifteen years passed away — about six of them at school in Cornwall, and nine of them in close labour in London, — when failing health compelled my return to the West of England. Having spent about a month on the borders of Dartmoor, and wandered over that wild region of Granite Tors, gathering up its traditions, — ere yet Mrs Bray* had thought of doing so, — I re- solved on walking through Cornwall. Thirty-five years since, on a beautiful spring morning, I landed at Saltash, from the very ancient passage-boat which in those days conveyed men and women, carts and cattle, across the river Tamar, where now that triumph of engineering, the Albert Bridge, gracefully spans its waters. Sending my box forward to Liskeard by a van, my wanderings commenced ; my purpose being to visit each relic of Old Cornwall, and to gather up every existing tale of its ancient people. Ten months were delightfully spent in this way ; and in that period a large number of the romances and superstitions which * Mrs Bray collected her " Traditions, Legends, and Superstitions of Devonshire " in 1835, and they were published in 1838. This work proves to me that even at that time th-i old-world stories were perishing like the shadows on the mist before the rising sun. Many wild tales which I heard in 1829 appear to have been lost in 1835. 22 Iiiiroduction are published in these volumes were collected, with many more, which have been weeded out of the collection as worthless. During the few weeks which were spent on the borders of Dart- moor, accidental circumstances placed me in the very centre of a circle who believed " there were giants on the earth in those days " to which the " old people " belonged, and who were con- vinced that to turn a coat-sleeve or a stocking prevented the piskies from misleading man or woman. I drank deeply from the stream of legendary lore which was at that time flowing, as from a well of living waters, over " Devonia's dreary Alps ; " * and longed to renew my acquaintance with the wild tales of Corn- wall, which had either terrified or amused me when a child. My acquaintance with the fairies commenced at an early date. When a very boy, I have often been taken by a romantic young lady, who lives in my memory — *' So bright, so fair, so wild,"t to seek for the fairies on Lelant Towans. The maiden and the boy frequently sat for hours, entranced by the stories of an old woman, who lived in a cottage on the edge of the blown sandhills of that region. Thus were received my earliest lessons in fairy mythology. From earthly youth accidental circumstances have led to my acquiring a taste for collecting the waifs floating upon the sea of time, which tell us something of those ancient peoples who have not a written history. The rude traditions of a race who appear to have possessed much native intelligence, minds wildly poetical, and great fertility of imagination, united with a deep feeling for the piysteries by which life is girdled, especially interested me. By the operation of causes beyond my control, I was removed from the groove of ordinary trade and placed in a position of considerable responsibihty, in connection with one of the most useful institutions of Cornwall. J To nurse the germs of genius to maturity — to seek those gems " of purest ray serene," which the dark, though not " unfathomed caves " of the Cornish mines might produce — and to reward every effort of human industry, was the purpose of this institution. As its secretary, my duties, as well as my inclination, took me often into the mining and agricultural districts, and brought me into intimate relation with the miners and the peasantry. The bold shores of St Just — the dark and rock-clad hills of Morva, * Carrington's " Dartmoor." f Coleridge. X The Royal Cornwall Polytechnic Society. Introduction. 23 Zennor, and St Ives — the barren regions of St Agnes — the sandy- undulations of Perranzabuloe — the sterile tracts of Gwennap — the howling moorlands of St Austell and Bodmin — and, indeed, every district in which there was a mine, became familiar ground. Away from the towns, at a period when the means of communi- cation were few, and those few tedious, primitive manners still lingered. Education was not then, as now, the fashion. Church- schools were few and far between ; and Wesleyan Methodism — although it was infusing truth and goodness amongst the people — ^had not yet become conscious of the importance of properly educating the young. Always delighting in popular tales, no oppor- tunity of hearing them was ever lost. Seated on a three-legged stool, or in a " timberen settle," near the blazing heath-fire on the hearth, have I elicited the old stories of which the people were beginning to be ashamed. Resting in a level, after the toil of climbing from the depths of a mine, in close companionship with the homely miner, his superstitions, and the tales which he had heard from his grandfather, have been confided to me. To the present hour my duties take me constantly into the most remote districts of Cornwall and Devon, so that, as boy and as man, I have possessed the best possible opportunities for gathering up the folk-lore of a people, who, but a few generations since, had a language peculiarly their own,* — a people, who, like all the Celts, cling with sincere affection to the memories of the past, and who even now regard with jealousy the introduction of any novelty, and accept improvements slowly. The store of old-world stories which had been collected under the circumstances described would, perhaps, never have taken their present form, if Mr Thomas Wright had not shown the value of studying the Cyclopean Walls of the promontory beyond Penzance, popularly called "The Giant's Hedges," — and if Mr * "The Cornish dialect, one of the tliree branches of the old British, bears greater affinity with the Breton or Armorican dialect of Brittany than it does.with the Welsh, although it properly forms the link of union between the Celtic dialect of France and that of the Cambrian hills. The nature of its inflexions, both in letters and in tenses and cases, is, generally speaking, alike, allowance being made for dialectic variations ariNing from the nature of the country in which the dialect is spoken." The above quo- tation is from the remarkable book published by Bagster & Sons, "The Bible of every Land : A History of the Sacred Scriptures in every Language and Dialect into which Translations have been made." Preceding the above quotation, I iind it stated that "Dolly Pentreath, who died at Penzance in 1778. aged 102, was then said to be the only person in Cornwall who could speak the aboriginal idiom of that province of ancient Britain." This old woman died at Mousehole, and was buried in the churchyard of Paul. Over her grave Prince Lucien Bonaparte has recently placed an inscribed granite obelisk. Polvvhele and some others have doubted the statement made by Daines Harrington, that Dolly was the last person who could speak Cornish, As they contend, many other men and women may, a hundred years since, have known the tongue, but no writer has pro- duced good evidence to show that any person habitually 'spoke the language, which Barrington informs us was the case with Dolly Pentreath. 24 Introduction. J. O. Halliwell had not told us that his " Rambles in Western Cornwall, by the Footsteps of the Giants," had led him to attempt " to remove part of a veil beyond which lies hid a curious episode in the history" of an ancient people. In writing of the Giants, the fairies, and the spectral bands, I have often asked myself, How is it possible to account for the enduring life of those romantic tales, under the constantly-repress- ing influences of Christian teaching, and of the advances of civilisation ? I have, to some extent, satisfied myself by such a reply as the following: — Those things which make a strong impression on the mind of the child are rarely obliterated by the education through which he advances to maturity, and they exert their influences upon the man in advanced age. A tale of terror, related by an ignorant nurse, rivets the attention of an infant mind, and its details are engraven on the memory. The " bogle," or " bogie," with which the child is terrified into quiet by some thoughtless servant, re- mains a dim and unpleasant reality to shake the nerves of the philosopher. Things like these — seeing that existence is sur- rounded by clouds of mystery — become a Powgr which will, ever and anon through life, exert considerable control over our actions. As it is with the individual, so is it with the race to which that individual belongs. When our Celtic ancestors — in the very darkness of their ignorance — were taught, through their fears, a Pantheistic religion, and saw a god in every grand phenomenon : — when not merely the atmospheric changes — the aspects of the starry sky — and the peculiarities apparent in the sun and moon, were watched with fearful anxiety ; but when the trembhng of a rock — the bubbling of a spring — the agitation of the forest leaves — and the flight of a bird, were charged with sentences of life and death : — then was moulded the Celtic mind, and the early impressions have never been entirely obliterated. " There were maddening orgies amongst the sacred rites of the Britons ; orgies that, whilst they reminded one writer of the Bacchic dances, reminded another of the worship of Demeter." * The Romans came and possessed the land. Even to the most westerly promontory, we have evidences of their rule, and indications of their superiority. The Saxons overcame the Danmonii — Athel- stane drove the Cornish beyond the Tamar, and planted his banner on the Scilly Islands ; — and this Teutonic people diffused their religion and their customs over the West.t The Dane followed upon * Latham. t "Athelstane {937) handled them yet more extremely, for he drove them out of Introduction. 2 5 the Saxon, and he has left his earthworks, in evidence ot his possession, upon the Cornish hills.* The Norman conquerors eventually took possession of our island, and several of the existing families of Cornwall can speak of ancestors, who v^on their lands by favour of William, the Duke of Normandy. Notwithstanding the influences which can be — not very obscurely — traced of Roman and Saxon, Danish and Norman civilisations, the Celtic superstitions lingered on : — varied perhaps in their cloth- ing, but in all essentials the same. Those wild dreams which swayed with irresistible force the skin-clad Briton of the Cornish hills, have not yet entirely lost their power where even the National and the British Schools are busy with the people, and Mechanics' Institutions are diffusing the truths of science. In the infancy of the race, terror was the moving power : in the maturity of the people, the dark shadow still sometimes rises, like a spectre, partially eclipsing the mild radiance of that Christian truth which shines upon the land. It must not be forgotten that Cornwall has, until a recent period, maintained a somewhat singular isolation. England, vvdth many • persons, appeared to terminate on the shores of the river Tamar ; and the wreckers of the coasts, and the miners of the hills, were equally regarded as indicating the semi-civilisation of this county. The difficulties of travelling in Cornwall were great. A clergyman writing in 1788, says, " Our object was now to obtain a passage to Loo, without losing sight of the noble sea. Saddle-horses would render the difficulty of this route a pleasure, but with my carriage it is deemed impracticable."! Again, he tells us he was with his guide " five hours coming the eleven miles from Loo to Lost- withiel." Within my own memory, the ordinary means of travel- ling from Penzance to Plymouth was by a van called a "kitterine," and three days were occupied in the journey. There was in latter years, a mail coach, but the luxury of this conveyance was, even then, reserved for the wealthier classes. This difficulty of transit in a great measure explains the seclusion of the people up to a comparatively recent period ; and to it we certainly owe the pre- servation of their primitive character, and most of the material to be found in these volumes. At one period indeed — but still earlier than the days of kitterines — we find the Cornish people, as a body, Excester, where, till then, they bsre equal sway with the Saxons, and left them only the narrow angle on the west of Tamar river for their inheritance, which hath ever since beene their fatall bound." — Careiv, p. 96. * "And divers round holds on the tops of hill ; some single, some double, and treble trenched, which are termed Castellan Dejtis or Da7iis, as raysed by the Danes when they were destyned to become our scourge." — Carew, p. 85. t A Tour to the West of England in 1788. By the Rev. S. Shaw, M.A., London, 1789. 26 Introduction. curiously, but completely, cut off by the river Tamar, from their countrymen. They were then informed of the active life of the wrorld beyond them by the travelling historian only, who, as he also sought amuse the people, was called the " droll-teller." The wandering minstrel, story-teller, and newsmonger appears to have been .an old institution amongst the Cornish. Indeed Carew, in his " Survey of Cornwall," tells us that " the last of the Wideslades, whose estates were forfeited in the Rebellion, was called Sir Tristram. He led a walking life with his harp to gentlemen's houses." As the newspaper gradually found its v^ay into this western county (the first one circulated in Cornwall being the Sherbourne Mercury), the occupation of this representative of the bards was taken away ; but he has only become extinct within the last twenty years. These old men wandered constantly from house to house, finding a hearty welcome at all. Board and bed were readily found them, their only payment being a song or a droU (story). A gentleman to whom I am under many obliga- tions writes : — " The only wandering droll-teller whom I well remember was an old blind man, from the parish of Cury, — I think, as he used to tell many stories about the clever doings of the conjurer Luty of that place, and by that means procure the conjurer much practice from the people of the west. The old man had been a soldier in his youth, and had a small pension at the time he went over the country, accompanied by a boy and dog. He neither begged nor offered anything for sale, but was sure of a welcome to bed and board in every house he called at. He would seldom stop in the same house more than one night, not because he had exhausted his stories, or ' eaten his welcome,' but because it required all his time to visit his acquaintances once in the year. The old man was called Uncle Anthony James. (Uncle is a term of respect, which was very commonly applied to aged men by their juniors in Cornwall. Aunt ( A'nt or Ann), as A'nt Sally or Ann' Jenney, was used in the same manner when addressing aged women. " Uncle Anthony James used to arrive every year in St Leven parish about the end of August. Soon after he reached my father's house, he would stretch himself on the ' chimney-stool,' and sleep until supper-time. When the old man had finished his frugal meal of bread and milk, he would tune his fiddle and ask if ' missus ' would like to hear him sing her favourite ballad. As soon as my dear mother told him how pleased she would be. Uncle Anthony would go through the ' woeful hunting' (' Chevy Chase '), from beginning to end, accompanied by the boy and the fiddle. Introduction. 27 I expect the air was his own- composition, as every verse was a different tune. The young were tlien gratified by hearing the 'sfreams' (strains) of 'Lovely Nancy,' divided in three parts.* I never saw this ballad published, yet it is a very romantic old thing, almost as long as ' Chevy Chase.' Another favourite was : — ' Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart ; Cold are the drops of rain ; The first truelove that ever I had In the green wood he was slain. *'Twas down in the garden-green, sweetheart, Where you and I did walk ; The fairest ilower that in the garden grew Is withered to a stalls. ' The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart ; 'I'he flowers will ne'er return ; And since my truelove is dead and gone, What can I do but mourn ? * A twelvemonth and a day being gone, The spirit ^ose and spoke — " My body is clay cold, su-eetheart ," My breath smells heavy and strong \ And if you kiss my liiy-vvlnte lips. Your time will not be long." ' " Then follows a stormy kind of duet between the maiden and her lover's ghost, who tries to persuade the maid to accompany him to the world of shadows. Uncle Anthony had also a knack of turning Scotch and Irish songs into Cornish ditties. ' Barbara Allan ' he managed in the following way, and few knew but that he had composed the song : — ' In Cornwall I was born and bred. In Cornwall was my dwelling: And there I courted a pretty maid, . Her name was Ann Tremellan. " The old man had the ' Babes in the Wood ' for religious folks ; but he avoided the ' Conorums,' as he called the Methodists. Yet the grand resource was the stories in which the supernatural bore great part. The story I told you about the ancestors of the con- jurer Luty finding the mermaid, who gave them the power to break the spell of witchcraft, was one of this old man's tales, which he seemed to believe ; and he regarded the conjurer with as much respect as the bard might the priest in olden time. I have a dim recollection of another old droll-teller, called Billy Frost, in St Just, who used to go round to the feasts in the neighbouring parishes, and be well entertained at the public-houses for the sake of his drolls." * Carew, in his " Survey of Cornwall," makes especial mention of "three men's song.s, as being peculiar to this county. 28 Introduction. In 1829 there still existed two of those droll-tellers, and from them were obtained a few of the stories here preserved. These wanderers perpetuated the traditions of the old inhabi- tants ; but they modified the stories, according to the activity of their fancy, to please their auditors. Not merely this : they with- out doubt introduced the names of people remembered by the villagers ; and when they knew that a man had incurred the hatred of his neighbours, they made him do duty as a demon, or placed him in no very enviable relation with the devil. The legends of Tregeagle are illustrations of this. The man who has gained the notoriety of being attached to a tale as old as that of Orestes, — was a magistrate in Cornwall two hundred years since. The story of the murderess of Ludgvan and her lover is another, and a very modern, example of the process by which recent events are inter- woven with very ancient superstitions.* When the task of arranging my romances was commenced, I found that the traditions of Devonshire, as far east as Exeter — the tract of country which was known as " Danmonium," or even more recently as " Old Cornwall " — had a striking family resem- blance. My collection then received the name it bears, as em- bracing the district ordinarily known as the West of England. Although I have avoided repeating any of the traditions which are to be found in Mrs Bray's books ; I have not altered my title ; for the examples of folk-lore given in these volumes belong strictly to " Old Cornwall." There are some points of peculiar interest connected with the Dartmoor traditions, indicating, as I conceive, a purely Saxon origin, deserving an attention which they have not yet received. Childe's Tomb, in one of the dreariest portions of the moor, is a large cross of granite. This Childe, lord of the manor of Plym- stock, was benighted on the moor in a snowstorm ; he killed his horse, and got within its body for warmth, having first written in blood on a granite slab, near which he was found dead, — "The first that finds and brings me to my grave, The lands of Plymstock he shall have." The Benedictine monks of Tavistock are said to have found the body, and thus secured their right to the lands. This is without doubt an old Saxon legend, modified, as it has been handed down from age to age. Wistman's Wood, with its " hundred oaks one hundred yards high," — a remnant of the old Dartmoor Forest, — * I find in Campbell's "Popular Tales of the West Highlands" particular mention made of numerous historical events which have taken the forms of ancient legends. " There is popular history of events which really happened within the last five centuries." Introduction. 2g is the very home of the Wish hounds, which hunt so fiercely over the Moor ; and this Wistman appears to have been some demon creature, vifhose name alone remains. Mr Kemble gives Wusc, or Wise, as one of the names of Odin. Here vie have a similar name given to a strange wood in Devonshire, associated with wild superstitions ; and whish, or whisht, is a common term for that weird sorrow which is associated with mysterious causes. The stone circles, the stone avenues, and the rock tribunals, — of which Crockern Tor furnishes us with a fine example, — have yet tales to tell, which would well repay any labour that might be bestowed upon them. Ancient British rule gave way to Saxon power, and probably there was no tract in England less known to the Romans than Dartmoor. Thus we -may expect to find the paganism of the Briton and the rude Christianity of the Saxon, shadowed out in the remaining legends of Dartmoor. " Crocker, Conwys, and Coplestone, When the Conqueror came, were found at home," is an old Devonshire rhyme. Those names are associated with many a moorland tradition, and indicate their Saxon origin. It may appear strange to many, that having dealt with the super- stitions of the Cornish people, no mention has been made of the Divining Rod (the " Dowzing Rod," as it is called), and its use in the discovery of mineral lodes. This has been avoided, in the first place, because any mention of the practice of "dowsing '' would lead to a discussion, for which this work is not intended ; and, in the second place, because the use of the hazel-twig is not Cornish. The divining or dowzing rod is ceitainly not older than the German miners, who were brought over by Queen Elizabeth to teach the Cornish to work their mines, one of whom, called Schutz, was some time Warden of the Stannaries. Indeed, there is good reason for believing that the use of this wand is of more recent date, and, consequently, removed from the periods which are sought to be illustrated by this collection. The Divining Rod belongs no more to them than do the modern mysteries of twirling hats, of teaching tables to turn, and, — in their wooden way, — to talk. The giant stories, prefaced with the often-told tale of Gog- magog, are of a character peculiarly their own. They do not appear to resemble the giants described in Mr Campbell's " Popu- lar Tales of the West Highlands ; " but it must be admitted that there are some indications of a common origin between those of Cromarty and of Cornwall. In Mr Dasent's translation of Asbjornsen, and Moe 's collection of " Norse Tales," the giant is not like our native friends. May we venture to believe that the 30 Introduction. Cornish giant is a true Celt, or may he not belong to an earlier race ? He was fond of home, and we have no record of his ever having passed beyond the wilds of Dartmoor. The giants o Lancashire, of Cheshire, and Shropshire have a family likeness, and are, no doubt, closely related ; but if they are cousins to the Cornish giants, they are cousins far removed. Dr Latham, in his " Ethnology of the British Islands," says " Tradition, too, indicates the existence of an old march or debatable land ; for south of Rugby begins the scene of the deeds of Guy, Earl of Warwick, the slayer of the dun cow." The large bone which is shown in Redcliff Church, Bristol, is the last indication of the dun cow in the south. As this marvellous cow moved within prescribed limits, so was it with the giants of old Cornwall. The fairies of Cornwall do not exhibit the same marked indi- viduality. Allowing for the influences of physical conditions, they are clearly seen to be an offshoot from the common stock. Yet they have several local peculiarities, and possess names which are especially their own. A few of the more popular legends of. the Cornish saints are preserved, for the purpose of showing how enduringly the first impressions of power, as exhibited by the earliest missionaries, have remained fixed amongst the people ; this being due mainly to the mental operation of associating mental power and physical strength with external things in the relations of cause and effect. I cannot but consider myself fortunate in having collected these traditions thirty-five years ago. They could not be collected now. Mr J. O. Halliwell speaks of the difficulties he experienced in his endeavours to obtain a story. The common people think they will be laughed at if they tell their " ould drolls " to a stranger. Beyond this, many of the stories have died out with those who told them. In the autumn of 1862, being very desirous of getting every example of folk-16re which existed in the remote parishes of Zennor and Morva, I employed the late C. Taylor Stephens, " sometime rural postman from St Ives to Zennor," and the author of " The Chief of Barat-Anac," to hunt over the district. This he did with especial care, and the results of his labours are included in those pages. The postman and poet, although he spent many days and nights amidst the peasantry, failed to procure stories which had been told me, without hesitation, thirty years before. When it was known that I was engaged in preparing for publication a work on the Traditions and Superstitions of Cornwall numerous contributions, from much-valued friends, and from strangers interested in the preservation of these characteristics Introduction. ? i of the West of England, were sent to me. From these some stories have been selected, but. by far the larger number were modifications of stories already told. My obligations and thanks ai-e, nevertheless, due to all ; but there are two gentlemen to whom acknowledgments beyond this are necessary. These are Mr T. O. Couch, who had already published examples of the folk-lore of Polperro and the neighbourhood, who has communi- cated several original stories, and Mr W. Botterell of Caerwyn, a native of St Leven, who possesses a greater knowledge of the household stories of the Land's-End district than any man living. Mr Botterell has, with much labour, supplied me with gleanings from his store, and his stories have been incorporated, in most cases, as he told them. Beyond this, it was satisfactory to have the correctness of many in my own collection confirmed by so reliable an authority. Without the assistance which this gentle- inan has given, the West Cornwall stories would not have pos- sessed the interest which will be found to belong to them. One word on the subject of arrangepient. In the First Series are arranged all such stories as appear to belong to the most ancient inhabitants of these islands. It is true that many of them, as they are now told, assume a mediaeval, or even a modern char- acter. This is the natural result of the passage of a tradition or myth from one generation to another. The customs of the age in which the story is told are interpolated for the purpose of render- ing them intelligible to the listeners, and thus they are constantly changing their exterior form. I am, however, disposed to believe that the spirit of all the romances included in this series shows them to have originated before the Christian era. The romances of the Second Series belong certainly to the historic period, though the dates of many of them are exceedingly problematical. All the stories given in these volumes are the genuine household tales of the people. The only liberties which have been taken with them has been to alter them from the vernacular — in which they were for the most part related — into modern language. This applies to every romance but one. "The Mermaid's Vengeance" is a combination of three stories, having no doubt a common origin, but- varying considerably in their details. They were too much alike to bear repeating ; consequently it was thought best to throw them into one tale, which should preserve the peculiarities of all. This has been done with much care ; and even the songs given preserve lines which are said by the fisherman — from whom the stories were obtained — to have been sung by the mermaids. The traditions which are told, the superstitions which are spoken 32 Introduction. of, and the customs which are described in these volumes, may be regarded as true types of the ancient Cornish mythology, and genuine examples of the manners and customs of a people who will not readily deviate from the rules taught them by their fathers. Romances such as these have floated down to us as wreck upon the ocean. We gather a fragment here and a fragment there, and at length, it may be, we learn something of the name and char- acter of the vessel when it was freighted with life, and obtain a shadowy image of the people who have perished. Hoping to have been successful in saving a few interesting fragments of the unwritten records of a peculiar race, my labours are submitted to the world. The pleasure of recalling the past has fully repaid me for the labour of arranging the Traditions of Old Cornwall. ROBERT HUNT. ROMANCES AND SUPERSTITIONS MYTHIC AGES. THE GIANTS. " Of Titan's monstrous race Only some few disturb'd that happy place. Raw hides they wore for clothes, their drink was blood, Rocks were their dining-rooms, their prey their food, Caverns their lodging, and their bed their grove, Their cup some hollow trunk." — Havilaiis " Architrenium" translated in Cough's " Camden.' POPULAR ROMANCES OF THE WEST OF ENGLAND. THE AGE OF THE GIANTS., " Eald enta geweorc Idlu stodon," — The Wanderer. Exeter Book. " The old works of giants Stood desolate." — Thomas Wright. IN wandering over some of the uncultivated tracts which still maintain their wildness, austerely and sullenly, against the march of cultivation, we are certain of finding rude masses of rock which have some relation to the giants. The giant's hand, or the giant's chair, or, it may be, the giant's punch-bowl, excites your curiosity. What were the mental peculiarities of the people who fixed so permanently those names on fantastic rock-masses ? What are the conditions — mental or otherwise — necessary for the preservation of these ideas ? are questions which I have often asked myself when wandering amidst the Tors of Dartmoor, and when seated upon the granite masses vvhich spread themselves so strangely, yet so picturesquely, over Carn Brea and other rocky hills in Cornwall. When questions of this kind are continually recurring, the mind naturally works out some reply, which satisfies at least itself ; and it consequently not unfrequently reposes con- tentedly on a fallacy as baseless as the giant-spectre of the moun- tain mists. This may possibly be the condition at which I have arrived, and many of my readers may smile at my dreams. It is not in my nature to work without some hypothesis ; but I endea- vour to hold it as loosely as possible, that it may be yielded up readily the moment a more promising theory is born, whoever may be its parent — wherever its birthplace. 36 Romances of the Giants. Giants, and every form of giant-idea, belong to the wilds of nature. I have never discovered the slightest indication of the existence of a tradition of giants, of the true legendary type, in a fertile valley or in a well-cultivated plain. Wherever there yet hnger the faint shadows of the legendary giant, there the country still retains much of its native wildness, and the inhabitants have, to a great extent, preserved their primitive character In other words, they have nurtured a gloomy imagination, and permitted ignorance to continue its melancholy delusions. The untaught mind, in every age, looks upon the grander phenomena of nature with feelings of terror, and endeavours to explain them by the aid of those errors which have been perpetuated from father to son since the days when the priests of superstition sought to rule the minds of men by exciting their fears. I shall have to tell, by and by, the story of a so-called giant, who could bestride the lovely river which flows through the luxu- riant valley of Tavistock, where, also, the inquiring traveller is shown his grave. The giant's grave in Penrith churchyard is familiar to me ; and in or near many a picturesque village, shadowed by noble trees, and suiTounded by richly-clothed fields, I can point to mounds, and to stones, which are said to be the resting-places of giants. These, however, will invariably be found to be rude monuments to ordinary men, who were possessed of more wealth, intelligence, courage, or strength than their fellows : men who have been the objects of hero-worship, but whose names have perished amidst the wrecks of time. It may be argued that these village giants are creations of the same character as those of the true legendary type, and that both result from analogous operations in the human mind. It may be so ; but how vastly different must have been the constitution of those minds to which we owe the creations of the Titans of our mountains and the lar<^e men of our lowlands. Had I the learning necessary for the task of showing that our legendary giant is of Oriental origin, I have not the required leisure to pursue that inquiry to its end ; and I leave it to abler men, contenting myself, and, let me hope, satis- fying my readers, by studying the subject in its more 'simple aspects. I find, over a tract of country extending from the eastern edcre of Dartmoor to the Land's End — and even beyond it, to the SciDy Islands— curious rehcs of the giants. This district is in many respects a peculiar one. The physical features of the country are broadly marked ; and, even after the civilising influences of cen- turies, wild nature contests with man, and often maintains her The Land of the Giants. 37 supremacy. On one hand we see industry taking possession of the hills, and holding them firm in its ameliorating grasp ; on the other, we find the sterile moor and the rock-spread region still resisting successfijUy the influences of man and his appliances. When I travel into other parts of the British Isles, and reach a dis- trict having the same general features, I usually discover some outstanding memory of the giants, often, it must be admitted, faint and ill-defined. The giant Tarquin, almost forgotten amidst the whir of spindles, " who had his dwelling in a well-fortified castle near Manchester, on the site of what is yet known by the name of Castlefield," and Carados — " A mighty giant, just pull'd down, Who lived near Shrewsbury's fair town" — may be quoted as examples of the fading myths.* I therefore draw the conclusion that those large masses of humanity — of whom Saturn devouring his own children would seem to be the parental type — can exist only in the memories of those races who are born and live amidst the sublime phenomena of nature. On the rugged mountain, overspread with rocks which appear themselves to be the ruins of some Cyclopean hall, amidst which the tempests play, still harmless in their fury ; — here, where the breezes of spring and summer whistle as with some new delight — where the autumnal winds murmur the wildest music, or make the saddest wail ; and the winter storms, as if joyous in their strength, shout in voices of thunder from cairn to cairn ; — here does the giant dwell ! On the beetling cliff, where coming tem- pests delight to send those predicating meanings, which tell of the coming war of winds and waves ; — on rocks which have frowned for ages on the angry sea, and in caverns which mock, by repeat- ing, the sounds of air and water — be they joyous as the voice of birds, or wild and solemn as the howl of savages above the dead ; — here does the giant dwell ! In the valley, too, has he sometimes fixed his home ; but the giant has usually retired from business when he leaves the hills. Even here we miss not the old associations. Huge boulders are spread on every side ; rock-masses are overgrown with furze, ferns, mosses, and heaths ; and torrents rush from the hills, bring- ing, as it were, their native music with them. Wherever, indeed, the giants have made a home, we find a place remarkable for the grand scale on which the works of nature are displayed. * See " Popular Traditions of-Lancashire," by J. Roby, Esq., M.R.S.L. Bohn, 1843. 3$ Romances of the Giants. The giants of Daiimonium — as that region was once named to which I have confined my inquiries — will be found to be a marked race. They appear to bear about them the characteristics of the giants of the East. They have the peculiarities which may be studied in those true Oriental Titans, Gog and Magog, who still preside so grimly and giantly at our City feasts. They have none of that stony, cold-hearted character which marks the giants of Scandinavia; and although Mr Keightley* would connect the mighty Thor with the no less mighty giants of the Arabian stories, I think it can be shown that all those of the West of England resemble their Northern brethren only in the manner in which the sensual monsters succumb to the slightest exercise of thought. Mr J. O. Halliwell appears to have been a little surprised at discovering, during a very short residence in the West of Corn- wall, that the Land's End district was " anciently the chosen land of the giants ; " that it was " beyond all other the favourite abode and the land of the English giants." Peculiarly fitted for the inquiry as Mr Halliwell is, by his life-long studies, it is to be re- gretted that he spent so brief a period amidst " what still remains of these memorials of a Titan race." f Who were the giants ? Whence came they "i \ I asked my- self these questions when, seated in the Giant's Chair, I have looked down upon a wide expanse of " furzy dovms," over which were scattered in picturesque confusion vast masses of granite rocks, every one of them standing in monumental grandeur, in- scribed by the finger of tradition with memorials of this mighty race. Did Cormelian and Cormoran really build St Michael's Mount ? Did Thunderbore walk the land, inspiring terror by his extreme ugliness ? Did Bolster persecute the blessed St Agnes, until she was compelled by stratagem to destroy him ? Did, indeed, our British Titans play at quoits and marbles with huge rocks ? Is it a fact that all the giants died of grief after Corineus overthrew Gog Magog on Plymouth Hoe ? Let us, if only for amusement — and- to give to a light work some appearance of * Tales and Popular Fictions: their Resemblance and Transmission from Country to Country. By Thomas Keightley. 1834. t Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants, with Notes on the Celtic Remains of the Land's End District, and the Islands of Scilly. By J. O. Halli- well, F.R.S. j86i. t That these Titans lived down to historic times is suggested by the following : — "Guy, Earl of Warwick, fought at the request of Athelstan a combat with Colbrand a Danish giant, and slew him." — Gilbert^ quoting Carew, who again quotes Walter of Exeter. Vol. iv., p. in. The Sons of the Titans. 39 research — examine a few antiquated authorities, who may be said — in their own way— indirectly to answer those questions. M. Pezron, D.D., and abbot of La Charmoye, wrote a strange book, "The Antiquities of Nations," which in 1706 was "Englished by Mr Jones."* In his Epistle Dedicatory to Charles Lord Halifax, speaking of the " Famous Pezron," Mr Jones asks, " Was there ever any before him that attempted to Trace the Origin of the Celta, who with Great Probability of Truth, were the same People, and spoke the same Language, as our Ancient Britaitis did, and their Descendants continue to do to this Day, so high as Gomer and the Gomarians f " This authority, with a great display of learning, proves that Gomer, the eldest son of Japhet, was the chief of the Gomarians, and that these Gomarians afterwards were called Galatians, or Gauls. We further learn from him that a section of the Goma- rians were called Sacae, and that the Sacae went into Phrygia, and afterwards assumed 'the name of Titans. This race, " and especially the Princes that commanded them, exceeded all others in Bulk and Strength of Body ; and hence it is that they have been looked upon to be terrible people, and, as it were. Giants. The Scripture itself, the Rule of Truth, even gives such an Idea as this, of those famous and potent men, who, according to it, ruled over all the Earth. Judith, speaking of them in her fine Song, called them Giants the sons of the Titans.'^ And the Prophet Isaiah informs us, also, that these Giants were anciently Masters of the World." This mighty race dwelt in mountains, woods, and rough and in- accessible places, and " they lay in the Hollows of Valleys, and the like Places of Shelter and retirement, because they had no Houses in those Times." The learned abbot proceeds, exerting all his powers to prove that the Titans were the true Celtae — that a people of Greece were the descendants of the Titans — that Gomer was " the true stock of the Gauls " — and that Magog, his brother, " is also looked upon to be the Origin of the Scythians, or People of Great Tartary."X To seize on another authority, who appears to connect the Oriental with the British cromlech, and through those the people * The Antiquities of Nations : more particularly of the CeUa; or Gauls, taken to be originally the same People as our Ancient Britaius. t Judith xvi. 7 : " Neither the sons of the Titans smite him, nor high giants set upon him." X Those who are curious in this matter may examine also, "Gomer; or, A Brief Analysis of the Language and Knowledge of the Ancient Cymry. By John Williams, A.M., Oxen., Archdeacon of Cardigan." 40 Romances of the Giants. whose remains they cover, we will quote Dr E. D. Clarke, who describes* a Cyclopean structure visited by him near Kiel, con- sisting of three upright stones, supporting horizontally an enor- mous slab of granite. After mentioning several cromlechs of a similar character, and other " stupendous vestiges of Cyclopean architecture," he says — " There is nothing Gothic about them — nothing denoting the Cimbri or the Franks, or the old Saxons — but rather the ancient Gaulish, the ancient British, and the ancient Irish ; and if this be admitted, they were Titan-Celts : the Giants of the sacred, and the Cyclops of the heathen his- torians." I am informed that Mr Christy has lately examined several cromlechs in Algeria ; beneath each he found a human skeleton. Such may be presumed to be the sources from which sprang the giants of Cornwall, whose labours — of which rehcs still remain — prove them to have been a race by the side of whom " In stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmy's height. " Everything they have left us informs us that they were men who ' ' Would have ta'en Achilles by the hair, and bent his neck, Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel." + With these evidences, who then dares- say that the Samotluans, who, under the reign of Bardus, people this island, were not' sub- dued by Albion, a giant son of Neptune, " who called the land after his own name, and reigned forty-four years." J Let us not forget the evidence also given by Milton in his " Lycidas," when he asks, in his poetic sorrow, if his friend ' ' Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great Vision of the guarded Mount Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold," Bellerian was the name formerly given to the promontory of the Land's End. It was the home of a mighty giant, after whom, in all probability, the headland was called.§ * Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa, vol. ix., p. 59. t Hyperion. By John Keats. X The History of Britain. By John Milton. Second edition, 1678. 2 Keightley, who of all men should h.ave traced this Bellerus to his home, in his *' Life of Milton" confuses St Michael's Mount and the Land's End, and "conceives the giant Bellerus to have been an invention of Milton's." The evidence of the "History Works of the Giants. 41 Tradition throws a faint light back into those remote ages, and informs us that Cyclopean walls, vast earthworks, and strangely- piled masses of rock, which still remain, imperishable monuments of animal power, in various parts of the ancient Danmonium, were the works of the giants. With the true history of Jack the Giant- Killer — of him of the Bean-Stalk — and some others, we are all acquainted. We listened to those histories ere yet the dark seed of that troublesome weed — doubt — had germinated. They were poured forth from loving lips into believing ears ; and often in the sleep of innocency have we buried our heads in the maternal bosom to hide the horrid visage of some Cormoran Blunderbore, or Thunderbore, and escape the giant's toils. By this process the stories were imprinted on memory's tablets with an indelible ink, and for long years, the spunge and water — which is employed by the pioneers in^the great March of Intellect — has been used almost in vain. Notwithstanding the influences which have been brought to bear, with no kindly spirit, upon the old-world tales, we have still lingering, though in ruins, the evidences by which they were supported. Mr Thomas Wright, in his " Memoir on the Local Legends of Shropshire," quotes from (and translates his quotation) an Anglo-Saxon poem, which bears the title of " The Ruin," in the " Exeter Book . " — " Wondrous is this wall-stone. The fates have broken it, Have burst the burgh-place ; The work of giants is perishing." From the Land's End* to the eastern edge of Dartmoor, the perishing works of the giants — wondrous wall-stones — are yet to be found. In many instances the .only records by which we can mark the homes of the giants are the names which yet cling to the rocks on the hills where they dwelt. The Giant's Cradle, on Trecrobben Hill, reminds us of the great man's infancy, as does also the Giant's Spoon, which is near it. The giant of Trecrobben of Britain " shows with how much diligence the legendary lore which existed in 1678 had been sought out by the poet: and his grand epic proves with how much reverence Milton studied our own mythology. I could lead the reader to twenty places around the Land's End which were not discovered even by Mr J. O. Halliwell when rambling " In Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants," upon which Bellerus, although he has not left his name, has left a long-enduring record. See Appendix A. * " Not far from the land's ende there is a little village called Trebigean—^w English, the towne of the Giant's Cn«»^,— near whereunto, and within memory (as I have been 42 Romances of the Giants. was, beyond question, a temperate one, as the Giant's Well, without the walls of his castle, incontestibly proves. But what shall we say of his neighbour, who dwelt at Beersheba, where the Giant s Bowl is still suggestive of imbibitions deep. The monumental mass of granite on Dartmoor, known as Bowerman's Nose, may hand down to us the resting-place and name of a_ giant whose nose was the index of his vice ; though Carrington, in his poem of " Dartmoor," supposes these rocks to be "A granite god, — To whom, in days long flown, the suppliant knee In trembling homage bow'd." Let those, however, who are curious in this problem visit the granite idol; when, as Carrington assures us, he will find that the inhabitants of " The hamlets near Have legends rude connected with the spot (Wild swept by every wind), on which he stands, The Giant of the Moor." Of the last resting-places of the giants there are many. Mardon, on Dartmoor, has' a Giant's Grave* and from that rude region, travelling westward, we find these graves — proving the mortality of even this Titan race — rising on many a moor and mountain, until, crossing the sea, we see numerous giants' graves in the Scilly Islands ; as though they had been the favourite resting-places of the descendants of those who dreamed of yet more western lands, beneath the setting sun, which were, even to them, " the Islands of the Blest." f * See Shorlt's Collection, p. 28. t Mr Augustus Smith, in the Reports of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, has de- scribed one of the graves opened by him during a visit paid by the Cambrian Archseo- logical Society to the Scilly Isles. Hugh Miller, in his '* Scenes and Legends of the North of Scotland," tells us a story of the giants of Cromarty, which shows us that they were intimately related to the giants of Cornwall. Moreover, from him we learn something of the parentage of our giants, for we presume the Scottish myth may be applied with equal truth to the Titans of the south. " Diocletian, king of Syria, say the historians, had thirty-three daughters, who, like the daughters of Danaus, killed their husbands on their wedding-night. The king, their father, in abhorrence of their crime, crowded them all into a ship, which he aban- doned to the mercy of the waves, and which was drifted .by tides and winds, until it arrived on the coast of Britain, then an uninhabited island. There they lived solitary, subsisting on roots and berries, the natural produce of the soil, until an order of demons becoming enamoured of them, took them for their wives, and a tribe of giants, who must be regarded as the true aborigines of the country, if indeed the demons have not a prior - claim, were the fruits of those marriages. Less fortunate, however, than even their prototypes, the Cyclops, the whole tribe was extirpated a few years after by Brutus, the Works of the Giants. 43 There is scarcely a pile of rocks around our western shore upon which the giants have not left their impress. At Tol-Pedden-Pen- with we have the Giant's Chair ; at Cam Boscawen we see the Giant's Pulpit. If we advance nearer to the towns, even the small mass of rocks behind Street-an-Noan, near Penzance, called Tol- carne, has the mark of the Giant's Foot. The priests, however, in the season of their rule, strove to obliterate the memories of those great pagans. They converted the footprint at Tolcarne — and similar indentations elsewhere — into the mark of the devil's hoof, when he stamped in rage at the escape of a sinner, who threw himself from the rock, strong in faith, into the arms of the Church. In more recent times, this footmark has been attributed to the devil jumping with joy, as he flew off, from this spot, with some unfortunate miller, who had lost his soul by mixing china clay with his flour. The metamorphosis of ancient giants into modern devils is a curious feature in our inquiry. At Lemorna we have the Giant's Cave. On Gulval Cairn we find also the giant's mark, which the magic of Sir H. Davy's science could not dispel.* On Cam Brea are no end of evidences of these Titans — the Giant's Hand rivalling in size any of the monstrous monuments of the Egyptian gods. Thus, in nearly every part of the country where granite rocks prevail, the monuments of the giants may be found. Why do the giants show such a preference for granite ? At Looe, indeed, the Giant's Hedge is a vast earthwork; but this is an excep- tion,t unless the Bolster in St Agnes is a giant's work. In pur- suing the dim lights which yet remain to guide us to the history of the giants, we must not forget the record of the Fatal Wrestling on Plymouth Hoe. ■ parricide, who, with a valour to which mere bulk could render no effectual resistance, overthrew Gog, Magog, andtXermagol, and a whole host of others with names equally terrible." The Cromarty legends give accounts of a ponderous stone flung from the point of a spindle across Dornoch Firth : and of another yet larger, still to be seen, a few miles from Dingwall, which was thrown equally far, and which bears the impress of the giant's finger and thumb. Also, they tell us of the cailliach-nwre, or great woman, who " from a pannier filled with earth and stones, which she carried on her back, formed almost all the hills of Ross-shire." The Sutars, as the promontories of Cromarty are named, served as the work-stools of two giants, who were shoemakers, or soutars, and hence, says Hugh Miller, " in process of time the name soutar was transferred by a common metonymy from the craftsmen to their stools, the two promontories, and by this name they have ever since been distinguished." * Sir H. Davy, when a youth, would frequently steal to Gulval Cairn, and in its soli- tude pursue his studies. •j* See Davies Gilbert's History, vol. iv., p. 29. 44 Romances of the Giants. W CORINEUS AND GOGMAGOG. HO can dare question such an authority as John Milton? In his " History of Britain, that part especially now called England. From the first Traditional beginning continued to the Norman Conquest. Collected out of the antientest and best authors thereof," he givps us the story of Brutus and of Corineus, " who with the battele Ax which he was wont to manage against the Tyrrhen Giants, is said to have done marvells." With the adven- tures of these heroes in Africa and in Aquiiaiiia we have little concern. They suffer severe defeats ; and then " Brutus, finding now his powers much lessn'd, and this not yet the place fore- told him, leaves Aquitain, and with an easy course arriving at Tot- ness in Dev'nshire, quickly perceivs heer to be the promis'd end of his labours." The following matters interest us more closely :* — " The Hand, not yet Britain, but Albion, was in a manner desert and inhospitable, kept only by a remnant of Giants, whose excessive Force and Tyrannie had consumed the rest. Them Brutus destroies, and to his people divides the land, which, with some reference to his own name, he thenceforth calls Britain. To Corineus, Cornwall, as now we call it, fell by lot ; the rather by him lik't, for that the hugest Giants in Roeks and Caves were said to lurk still there ; which kind of Monsters to deal with was his old exercise. " And heer, with leave bespok'n to recite a grand fable, though dignify'd by our best Poets : While Brutus, on a certain Festival day, solemnly kept on that shoar where he first landed ( Totness), was with the People in great jollity and mirth, a crew of these savages, breaking in upon them, began on the sudden another sort of Game than at such a meeting was expected. But at length by many hands overcome, Go'emagog, the hugest, in hight twelve cubits, is reserved alive ; that with him Corineus, who desired nothing more, might try his strength, whom in a Wrestle the Giant catching aloft, with a terrible hugg broke three of his Ribs : Nevertheless Corineus, enraged, heaving him up by main force and on his shoulders bearing him to the next high rock, threw him hedlong all shatter'd into the sea, and left his name on the cliff called ever since Langoemagog, which is to say, the Giant's Leap " The same stoiy has been somewhat differently told, although thera \ is but little variation in the main incidents. When Brutus andl * For a discussion of the question rel.itive to Brutus, see Cough's "Camden's Bri- tannia," vol. i., pp. xlix. to Iv. The Giants Wrestling. ' '45 Corineus, with- their Trojan hosts, landed at Plymouth, these chiefs wisely sent parties into the interior to explore the country, and to learn something of the people. At the end of the first day, all the soldiers who had been sent out as exploring parties, returned in great terror, pursued by several terrific giants. Brutus and Corineus were not, however, to be terrified by the immense size of their enemies, nor by the horrid noises which they made, hoping to strike terror into the armed hosts. These chieftains rallied their hosts and marched to meet the giants, hurling their spears and flinging their darts against their huge bodies. The assault was so unexpected that the giants gave way, and eventually fled to the hills of Dartmoor. Gogmagog, the captain of the giants, who was sadly wounded in the leg, and, unable to 'proceed, hid himself in a bog ; but there, by the light of the moon, he was found by the Trojan soldiers, bound with strong cords, and carried back to the Hoe at Plymouth, where the camp was. Gogmagog was treated nobly by his victors, and his wounds were speedily healed. Brutus desired to make terms with the giants ; and it was at length proposed by Gogmagog to try a fall with the strong- est in the host, and that whoever came .off the conqueror should be proclaimed king of Cornwall, and hold possession of all the western land. Corineus at once accepted the challenge of the monster. Notwithstanding, the giant, ' ' Though bent with woes, Full eighteen feet in height he rose ; His hair, exposed to sun and wind, Like wither'd heath, his head entwined," and that Corineus was but little above the ordinary size of man, the Trojan chief felt sure of a victory. The day for the wrestling was fixed. The huge Gogmagog was allowed to send for the giants, and they assembled on one side of a cleared space on Plymouth Hoe, while the Trojan soldiers occupied the other. All arms were thrown aside ; and fronting each other, naked to the waist, stood the most lordly of the giants, and the most noble of men. The conflict was long, aqd it appeared for sometime doubt ful. Brute strength was exerted on one side, and trained skill oh the other. At length Corineus succeeded in seizing Gogmagog by the girdle, and by regularly-repeated impulses he made the monster undulate like a tree shaken by a winter storm, until at length, gathering all his strength into one effort, the giant was forced to Ihis back on the ground, the earth shaking with his weight, and the air echoing with the thunder of his mighty groan, as the breath was 46 Romances of the Giants. forced from his body by the terrible momentum of his fall. There lay the giant,- and there were all the other giants, appalled at the power which they could not understand, but which convinced them that there was something superior to mere animal strength. Corineus breathed for a minute, then he rushed upon his prostrate foe, and seizing him by the legs, he dragged him to the edge of the cliff, and precipitated him into the sea. The giant fell on the rocks below, and his body was broken into fragments by the fall ; while the " Fretted flood ^ Roll'd frothy waves of purple blood." " Gogmagog's Leap" has been preserved near the spot which now presents a fortress to the foes of Britain ; and there are those "who say that, at the last digging on the Haw for the foundation of the citadel of Plymouth, the great jaws and teeth therein found were those of Gogmagog." * THE GIANTS OF THE MOUNT. THE history of the redoubtable Jack proves that St Michael's Mount was the abode of the giant Cormelian, or, as the name is sometimes given, Cormoran. We are told how Jack de- stroyed the giant, and the story ends. Now, the interesting part, which has been forgotten in the narrative, is not onlythat Cormoran lived on, but that he built the Mount, his dwelling-place. St Michael's Mount, as is tolerably well known, is an island at each rise of the tide — the distance between it and the mainland being a little more than a quarter of a mile. In the days of the giants, however, it was some six miles from the sea, and was known as the White Rock in the wood, or in Cornish, " Carreg luz en kuz." Of the evidences in favour of this, more will be said when the traditions connected with physical phenomena are dealt with. In this wood the giant desired to build his home, and to rear it above the trees, that he might from the top keep watch over the neighbouring country. Any person carefully observing the structure of the granite rocks will notice their tendency to a cubical form. These stones were carefully selected by the giant from the granite of the neighbouring hills, and he was for a long period employed in carrying and piling those huge masses, one on the other, in which labour he compelled his wife to aid him. It has been suggested, with much show of probability, that the confusion of the two name: * See Appendix B for the " Poem of the Wrestling, " S:c. The Key of the Giant's Castle. 47 alluded to has arisen from the fact that the giant was called Cor- moran, and that the name of his wife was Cormelian ; at all events, there is no harm in adopting this hypothesis. The toil of lifting those granitic masses from their primitive beds, and of carrying them through the forest, was excessive. It would seem that the heaviest burthens were imposed upon Cormelian, and that she was in the habit of carrying those rocky masses in her apron. At a short distance from the "White Rock," which was now approaching completion, there exists large masses of greenstone rock. Cormelian saw no reason why one description of stone would not do as well as another ; and one day, when the giant Cormoran was sleeping, she broke off a vast mass of the .greenstone rock, and taking it in her apron, hastened towards the artificial hill with it, hoping to place it without being observed by Cormoran. When, however, Coimelian was within a short distance of the " White Rock," the giant awoke, and presently perceived that his wife was, contrary to his wishes, carrying a green stone instead of a white one. In great wrath he arose, followed her, and, with a dreadful imprecation, gave her a kick. Her apron-string broke, and the stone fell on the sand. There it has ever since remained, no human power being sufficient to remove it. The giantess died, and the mass of greenstone, resting, as it does, on clay slate rocks, became her monument. In more recent days, when the light of Christianity was dawning on the land, this famous rock was still rendered sacred : " a lytle chapel"* having been built on it; and to this day it is usually known as the " The Chapel Rock." + THE KEY OF THE GIANT'S CASTLE. THE giant's castle at Treryn, remarkable as a grand example of truly British Cyclopean architecture, was built by the power of enchantment. The giant to whom all the rest of his race were indebted for this stronghold was in every way a remark- able mortal. He was stronger than any other giant, and he was a mighty necromancer. He sat on the promontory of Treryn, and by the power of his will he compelled the castle to rise out of the sea. It is only kept in its present position by virtue of a magic key. This the giant placed in a holed rock, known as the Giant's Lock, and whenever this key, a large round stone, can be taken out of the lock, the promontory of Treryn and its castle will dis- appear beneath the waters. There are not many people who obtain even a sight of this wonderful key. You must pass at low * Leland. t See Appendix C for the Irish legend of Shara and Sheela. 48 Romances of the Giants. tide along a granite ledge, scarcely wide enough for a goat to stand on. If you happen to make a false step, you must be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Well, having got over safely, you come to a pointed rock with a hole in it ; this is the castle lock. Put your hand deep into the hole, and you will find at the bottom a large egg-shaped stone, which is easily moved in any direction. You will feel certain that you can take it out, — but try ! Try as you may, you vnll find it will not pass through the hole; yet no one can doubt but that it once went in. Lieutenant Goldsmith dissolved one bit of superstition byfoolishly throwing the fatal Logan Stone from off its bearing ; but no one has ever yet succeeded in removing the key of the giant's castle from the hole in which the necromancer is said to have placed it when he was dying. THE RIVAL GIANTS. THOSE who have visited the Logan Rock will be familiar with the several groups which form the Treryn promontory. Treryn Castle, an ancient British fortress, the Cyclopean walls of which, and its outer earthwork, can still be traced, was the dwell- ing of a famous giant and his wife. I have heard it said that he gave his name to this place, but that is, of course, doubtful. This giant was chief of a numerous band, and by his daring he held possession, against the giants of the Mount, of all the lands west of Penzance. Amongst the hosts who owned allegiance to him, was a remarkable fine young fellow, who had his abode in a cave, in the pile of rocks upon which the Logan Rock stands. This young giant grew too fond of the giantess, and it would appear that the lady was not unfavourably inclined towards him. Of their love passes, however, we know nothing. Tradition has only told us that the giantess was one day reclining on the rock still known as the Giant Lady's Chair, while the good old giant was dosing in the Giant's Chair which stands near it, when the young and wicked lover stole behind his chief and stabbed him in the belly with a knife.* The giant fell over the rocks to the level ridge below, and there he lay, rapidly pouring out his life-blood. From this spot the young murderer kicked him into the sea, ere yet his life was quite extinct, and he perished in the waters. The guilty pair -took possession of Treryn Castle, and, we are told, lived happily for many years. * Mr Halliwell infers from this that the story is Saxon. See "Wanderings in the Footsteps of the Giants." The Giants of Trecrobben. 49 THE GIANTS OF TRENCROM, OR TRECROBBEN. THE rough granite hill of Trecrobben rises in almost savage grandeur from the wooded lands which form the park of Trevetha, close by the picturesque village of Lelant. From the summit of this hill may be surveyed one . of the most striking panoramic views in Cornwall. The country declines, rather rapidly, but still with a pleasing contour, towards the sea on the southern side. From the sandy plain, which extends from Marazion to Penzance, there stretch out two arms of land, one on the eastern side, towards the Lizard. Point, and the other on the western side towards Mousehole and Lemorna, which embrace as it were that fine expanse of water known as the Mount's Bay. The most striking object, " set in the silver sea," is the pyramidical hill St Michael's Mount, crowned with the " castle," an unhappy mix- ture of church, castle, and modern dwelling-house, which, never- theless, from its very incongruities, has a picturesque appearance when viewed from a distance. Nestling amidst the greenstone rocks, sheltered by " the Holy Mount," is the irregular town of Marazion, or Market-Jew ; and, balancing this, on the western side of " the Green," Penzance displays her more important build- ings, framed by the beautifully fertile country by which the town is surrounded. The high lands to the westward of Penzance, with the fishing villages of Newlyn and Mousehole, the church of Paul on the summit of the hill, and the engine-house belonging to a mine at its base, have much quiet beauty under some aspects of light, — the yet more western hills shutting out the Land's End from the observer's eye. Looking from Trencrom (this is the more common name) to the south-east, the fine hills of Tregoning and Godolphin, — both of which have given names to two ancient Cornish families, — mark the southern boundary of a district famed for its mineral wealth. Looking eastward, Carn Brea Hill, with its ancient castle and its modern monument, stands up from the tableland in rugged grandeur. This hill, " a merry place, 'tis said, in days of yore," — when British villages were spread amidst the mighty cairns, and Cyclopean walls sheltered the inhabitants, — rises to mark the most productive piece of mining-ground, of the same area, to be found in the world. Around the towns of Camborne and Redruth are seen hundreds of miners' cottages, and scores of tall chimneys, telling of the mechanical appliances which are D 50 Romances of the Giants. brought to bear upon the extraction of tin and copper from the earth. Beyond this thickly-peopled region the eye wanders yet eastward, and eventually reposes on the series of granite hills which rise beyond St Austell and stretch northward,— the two highest hills in Cornwall, which are known as Roughtor and Brownwhilly,* being in this range. Let the observer now turn his face northward, and a new and varied scene lies before him. Within two miles the waters of St Ives' Bay break against the cliffs. On the left is the creek of Hayle, which has been fashioned by the energy of man into a useful harbour, and given rise to the foundation of two extensive iron-foundries. Between those and the sea are the hills of blown sand, which have ever been the homes of the Fairy people. The lighthouse of Godrevy stands, a hunible companion, to balance in this bay the "Mount," which adorns the bay, washing the southern slope of this " narrow neck of land." Godrevy marks the region of sand extending to the eastward. To the north the shores become more and more rugged, culminating in St Agnes' Beacon, — a hill of graceful form rising somewhat rapidly to a considerable elevation. From this the " beethng cliffs " stretch away northward, until the bold promontory Trevose Head closes the scene, appropriately displaying another of those fine examples of humanity — a lighthouse. To the left, towards the sea, rises the cenotaph of Knill, an eccentric man, who evidently sought to secure some immortality by this building, and the silly ceremonials carried on around it ; the due performance of which he has secured by bequests to the Corporation of St Ives. Around this the mining district of St Ives is seen, and her fishing-boats dotting the sea give evidence ol another industry of vast importance to the town and neighbour- hood. Westward of St Ives, hills more brown and rugged than any which have yet been viewed stretch away to Zennor, Morva, and St Just, and these, girding the scene beneath our feet, shut out from us the region of the Land's End. On the summit of this hill, which is only surpassed in savage grandeur by Carn Brea, the giants built a castle — the four en- trances to which still remain in Cyclopean massiveness to attest the Herculean powers by which such mighty blocks were piled upon each other. There the giant chieftains dwelt in awful state. Along the serpentine road, passing up the hill to the principal gateway, they dragged their captives, and on the great flat rocks within the castle they sacrificed them. Almost every rock still bears some name connected with the giants — " a race may perish * Btyn-w/teUa, the highest hill, according to Mr Bellows. 77^1? Giants at Play. 5 1 but the name endures." The treasures of the giants who dwelt here are said to have been buried in the days of their troubles, when they were perishing before the conquerors of their land. Their gold and jewels were hidden deep in the granite caves of this hill, and secured by spells as potent as those which Merlin placed upon his "hoarded treasures." They are securely preserved, even to the present day, and carefully guarded from man by the Spriggans, or Trolls, of whom we have to speak in another page. THE GIANTS AT PLAY. IN several parts of Cornwall there are evidences that these Titans were a sportive race. Hyge rocks are preserved to show where they played at trap-ball, at hurling, and other athletic games. The giants of Trecrobben and St Michael's Mount often met for a .game at bob-buttons. The Mount was the " bob," on which flat masses of granite were placed to serve as buttons, and Trecrobben Hill was the " mit," or the spot from which the throw was made. This order was sometimes reversed. On the outside of St Michael's Mount, many a granite slab which had been knocked off the " bob " is yet to be found ; and numerous piles of rough cubical masses of the same rock, said to be the granite of Trecrobben Hill,* show how eagerly the game was played. Trecrobben Hill was well chosen by the giants as the site of their castle. From it they surveyed the country on every side ; and friend or enemy was seen at a considerable distance as he approached the guarded spot. It is as clear as tradition can make it, that Trecrobben was the centre of a region full of giants. On Lescudjack Hill, close to Penzance, there is " The Giant's Round," evidently the scene of many a sanguinary conflict, since the Cornish antiquarian authority Borlase informs us, that Lesgud- zhek signifies the " Castle of the Bloody Field." On the cairn at Gulval are several impressions on the rocks, all referable to the giants. In Madron there is the celebrated " Giant's Cave ; " and the well-known Lanyon cromlech is reported by some to be the " Giant's Coit," while others declare it to be the " Giant's Table." Cairn Galva, again, is celebrated for its giant ; and, indeed, every * Mr O. Halliwell, who carefully followed in the " Footsteps of the Giants," referring to this game as played by them, says : — '* Doubtlessly the Giant's Chair on Trink Hill was frequently used during the progress of the game, nor is it improbable that the Giant's Well was also in requisition. Here, then, were at hand opportunities for rest and refreshment — the circumstances of the various traditions agreeing well with, and, in fact, demonstrating the truth of each other. " 52 Romances of the Giants. hill within sight has some monument preserving, the memory of those, " the Titans fierce." HO LI BURN OF THE CAIRN* HOLIBURN, according to tradition, was a very amiable and somewhat sociable gentleman ; but, like his brethren, he loved to dwell amongst the rocks of Cairn Galva. He made his home in this remote region, and relied for his support on the gifts of sheep and oxen from the farmers around — he, in return, pro- tecting them from the predatory incursions of the less conscientious giants of Trecrobben. It is said that he fought many a battle in the defence of his friends, and that he injured but one of his neighbours during his long lifetime. This was, however, purely an accident. The giant was at play with the human pigmies, and in the excitement of the moment, being delighted at the capital game made by a fine young peasant, he tapped him on the head, and scattered his brains on the grass. I once heard that Holiburn had married a farmer's daughter, and that a very fine race, still bearing a name not very dissimilar, was the result of this union. Holiburn, like his brethren, was remarkably fond of quoits ; indeed, go where we will within the Land's End district, the " Giant's Quoit " is still shown. Other — shall we call them house- hold — relics of the giants occur. From Cairn Galva to Zennor we find a series of " Giant's Chairs ; " and, careful to preserve each remarkable relic ot this interesting race, here is also the " Giant's Dinner-plate." That St Ives, too, was not without its giant, although the record of his name is lost, is evident from the fact that a tooth, an inch broad, was taken from a " Giant's Grave." t * "Somewhere amongst the rocks in this cairn is the Giant's Cave — in ages long gone by the abode of a giant named Holiburn." — Halliwell. Mr Halliwell was fortunate in securing a name. I have often heard of the giant in question, but I never heard his name. t The following extract from a note written by the late Zennor postman and poet, shows how enduringly the giants have left their names on the rocks of Cornwall : — " Some districts in Cornwall were said to have been peopled in olden times by giants, and even Zennor district possesses the largest quoit — three Logan rocks — whilst Tre- . crobben Hill still exhibits the Bowl in which the giants of the west used to wash. The large granite boulder near to the residence of the Rev. Mr S , curate of Morva, is said to be the Giant's Dinner-plate. Farther down the hill, and hard by the Zennor vicarage, the seats of the giants are still shown by the inhabitants. Indeed, so strong is the belief that giants inhabited the hills of the west, that a young lady in this neighbour- hood assayed, a month or two ago, to deliver a lecture, or address, on the subject, taking for her text, 'There were giants in those days.' But the giants were not immortal: colossal as were their frames, they too had to ' sleep with their fathers.' Whether Jack the Giant-killer took any part in ridding the earth of this wonderful race of mein Pengerswick and the Giant. 5 3 THE GIANT OF NANCLEDRY* IN Nancledry Bottoms, about a mile from the famous hill Castlet- an-Dinas, there stood at one time a thatched house near the brook which runs murmuring down the valley. Rather more than thirty years since, some mouldering " clob " (mud) walls, indicating the existence at one time of a large dwelling, were pointed to as the former residence of a terrible giant. He ap- pears to have led a solitary life, and to have lived principally on Uttle children, whom he is said to have swallowed whole. His strength was indicated by several huge masses of granite which were scattered around the Bottoms, and in the neighbouring fields. These were carried by him in his pockets, to defend himself from the giants of Trecrobben, with whom he appears to have been on unfriendly terms. This giant is noteworthy as the only one re- corded who lived in a house. TREBIGGAN THE GIANT* TREBEGEAN is the name of a village near the Land's End. This name, as we have already stated, signifies the town of the giant's grave. The giant's existence was confirmed by the discovery of a vault and some large bones in it, on this spot.t Trebiggan divides with Tregeagle the honourable immortality of being employed to frighten children into virtue. Often have I heard the unruly urchins of this neighbourhood threatened with Trebiggan. They are told that Trebiggan was a vast man, with arms so long that he could take men out of the ships passing by the Land's End, and place them on the Longships ; but that some- times he would, having had his fun with them, good-humouredly place them on board their ships or boats again. He is said to have dined every day on little children, who were generally fried on a large flat rock which stood at a little distance from his cave. THE LORD OF PENGERSWICK AND THE GIANT OF ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT. THE giant who dwelt on St Michael's Mount had grown very old, and had lost all his teeth ; still he was the terror of the neighbouring villages. The horrid old monster — who had but one we cannot positively state ; but thus much is certain, the giants were succeeded by a numerous race of small people, and so small as not to be observable by the eye." * See Appendix D. t See Heath's Description of Cornwall, 1750. 54 Romances of the Giants. eye, and that one in the middle of his forehead — would, whenever he required food — which was pretty often — walk or wade across to Market-Jew, as the tide might be, select the best cow in the neighbourhood, and, swinging it over his shoulders, return to his island. This giant had often taken cattle from the Pengerswick estate ; and one day he thought he should like another of this choice breed. Accordingly, away he went, across the sea, to Pengerswick Cove. The giant did not know that the lord of Pengerswick had returned from the East, a master of " white- witchcraft," or magic. The lord had seen the giant coming, and he began to work his spells. The giant was bewildered, yet he knew not how. At last, after much trouble, he caught a fine calf, tied its four feet together, passed his great head between the fore and hind legs, and, with the calf hanging on his shoulders, he trod in joy towards the shore. He wandered on in perfect unconsciousness of the path, and eventually he found himself on the precipitous edge of the great black rock which still marks the western side of Pengerswick Cove. As if the rock had been a magnet, the giant was chained fast. He twisted, turned, and struggled in vain. He found himself gradually becoming stiff, so that at last he could neither move hand nor foot ; yet were his senses more keenly alive than ever. The giant had to remain thus, during a long winter's night, with the calf bleating, as never calf bleated before, into his ear. In the morning when the enchanter thought he had punished the giant sufficiently, he mounted his mare, and rode down to the shore. He disenchanted the giant, by giving him a severe horse- whipping, and he then made him drop the calf He continued to flog the giant until he leaped off the rock into the sea, through which in great agony he waded to the Mount ; and from that day to this he has never ventured on the mainland. We learn, however, from undoubted authority, that some time after this, Tom, the giant of Lelant, visited the giant on the Mount, and, finding him half starved, he took his aunt Nancy from Gulval to see his friend, with a large supply of butter and eggs. The old giant was exceedingly glad to see the farmer's wife, bought all her store at a very extravagant price, and bargained and paid in advance for more. He had a store of wealth in the caverns of the Mount. The knowing old woman kept him well supplied as long as the giant had money to pay her ; and aunt Nancy's family became the wealthiest in the parish of Gulval. Tom and the Giant Blunderhtss, 5 5 THE GIANT OF ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT LOSES HIS WIFE. 'T^HE giant on the Mount and the giant on Trecrobben Hill were -L very friendly. They had only one cobbling-hammer be- tween them, which they would throw from one to the other, as either required it. One day the giant on the Mount wanted the hammer in a gi-eat hurry, so he shouted, " Holloa, up there ! Trecrobben, throw us down the hammer, woost a'?" " To be sure," sings out Trecrobben ; " here ! look out, and catch 'm." Now, nothing would do but the giant's wife, who was very near- sighted, must run out of her cave to see Trecrobben throw the hammer. She had no hat on ; and coming at once out into the light, she could not distinguish objects. Consequently, she did not see the hammer coming through the air, and received it be- tween her eyes. The force with which it was flung was so great that the massive bone of the forehead of the giantess was crushed, and she fell dead at the giant's feet. You may be sure there was a great to-do between the two giants. They sat wailing over the dead body, and with their sighs they produced a tempest. These were unavaihng to restore the old lady, and all they had to do was to bury her. Some say they lifted the Chapel Rock and put her under it, others, that she is buried beneath the castle court, while some — no doubt the giants' detractors — declare that they rolled the body down into the sea, and took no more heed of it. TOM AND THE GIANT BLUNDERBUSS ; OR, THE WHEEL AND EXE FIGHT." A YOUNG giant, who does not appear to have been known by any other name than Tom, lived somewhere westward of Hayle, probably in Lelant. Tom would eat as much meat as * The similarity of this story to the well-known tale of " Tom Hickathrift " will strike every one. It might be supposed that the old story of the strong man of the Isle of Ely had been read by some Cornish man, and adapted to the local peculiarities. This may possibly have been the case, but I do not think it probable. I iirst heard the story from a miner, on the floors of Ding-Dong Mine, during my earliest tour in search of old stories. I have since learned that it was a common story with the St Ives nurses, who told It to amuse or terrify their children. Recently, I have had the same tale commMni- cated to me by a friend, who got it from a farmer living in Lelant. This story is con- fined to the parishes of Lelant, St Ives, Sancreed, Towednach, Morva, and Zcnnor. 56 Romances of the Giants. three men, and when he was in the humour he could do as much work as half a dozen. Howheit, Tom was a lazy fellow, and spent most of his time wandering about the parish with his hands in his pockets. Occasionally Tom would have an industrious fit ; then, if he found any of his neighbours hedging, he would turn to and roll in all the largest rocks from over the fields, for "grounders."* This was the only work Tom took delight in ; he was won't to say, he could feel his strength about such work as that. Tom didn't appear so very big a man in those days, when all men were twice the size they are now. He was about four feet from shoulder to shoulder, square built, and straight all the way down from shoulder to cheens (loins). Tom's old mother was constantly telling her idle son to do something to earn his food, but the boy couldn't find any job to his mind for a long time. At last he undertook to drive a brewer's wain, in the hope of getting into plenty of strong drink, and he went to live in Market -Jew, where the brewery was. The first day he was so employed, he was going to St Ives with his load of beer, and on the road he saw half a score of men trying to lift a fallen tree on to a " draw." It was, however, more than the whole of them could do. " Stand clear ! " shouts Tom. He put his hands, one on each side of the tree, and lifted it on the " draw," without so much as saying " Ho ! " to his oxen, or looking behind him. The feat was performed in Ludgvan Lees, and a little farther on was a giant's place diverting the road, which should have gone straight to St Ives but for it. This place was hedged in with great rocks, which no ten men of these times could move. They call them the Giant's Hedges to the present day. There was a gate on that side of the giant's farm which was nearest Market-Jew, and another on that side which joined the highway leading on to St Ives. Tom looked at the gate for some time, half disposed to drive through, but eventually he decided on pro- ceeding by the ordinary road. When, however, Tom was coming Mr Halliwell thinks the adventures of Tom Hickalhrlft are connected with " some of the insurrections in the Isle of Ely, such as that of Herewood, described in Wright's ' Essays,' ii. gi." Now, Herewood the Saxon is said to have taken refuge in the ex- treme part of Cornwall, and we are told of many romantic adventures, chiefly in con- nection with the beautiful daughter of Alef, a Cornish chief. May it not be, that here we have the origin of the story as it is told in Lincolnshire and in Cornwall? • In making the really Cyclopean hedges which prevail in some parts of Cornwall, the large boulders of granite, or other stones, which lie scattered on the moors are used for the foimdation. Indeed, one purpose, and a very important one, served by those hedges has been the removal of the stones from the ground which has been enclosed, and the disposal of the stones so removed. ' Tom and the Giant Blunderbuss. . 57 back from St Ives with his empty wain, his courage screwed up by the influence of some three or four gallons of strong beer which he had drunk, he began to reason with himself thus : — " The king's highway ought not to be twisting and turning like an angle-twitch.* It should go straight through here. What right has the giant to keep his place closed, stopping honester men than he ever was longer on the road home .^ If everybody were of my mind, the road would soon be opened. Faith, I'll drive through. He wouldn't eat me, I suppose. My old mammy never told me I was to come to my end that way. They say the giant has had scores of wives. What becomes of them nobody can tell ; yet there are always more ready to supply their place. Well, that 's no business of mine. I never met the man to make me turn back yet ; so come along. Neat and Comely," shouts Tom to the oxen, opening the great gate for them to pass through. On went Tom, without seeing anything of the giant or of anybody else, except the fat cattle of all sorts in the fields. After driving about a mile, Tom came to a pair of gates in a high wall, which was close to and surrounding the giant's castle. There was no passing round those, as deep ditches, full of water, were on either side of these gates. So at them went Tom. The huge gates creaked on their hangings, and the wheels of Tom's wain rattled on over the causey.t A little ugly midgan of a 'cur began to bark, and out tore the giant, a great ugly unshapely fellow, all head and stomach. " You impudent little villain," roared the giant, " to drive into my grounds, disturbing my afternoon's nap. What business have you here' ? " " I am on the road," says Tom, " and you — nor a better man than you — shan't put me back. You ha' no right to build your hedges across what used to be the king's highway, and shall be again." " I shan't bemean myself to talk with such a little saucy black- guard as thee art," said the giant ; " I '11 get a twig, and drive thee out faster than thee came in." " Well," says Tom, " you may keep your breath to cool your porridge ; but, if that 's the game you are up to, I can play at that as well as you." The giant had pulled up a young elm-tree, about twenty feet high or so, and he began stripping the small branches from the head of the tree, as he came up the hill, gaping (yawning) all the time, as if he were half asleep, Tom; seeing what he was up to, * A worm. t Causeway, pavement. 58 Romances of the Giants. upset his wain. This he did without the oxen moving, as the tuntsy (pole), turned round in the ring of the yoke. He then shpped off tlie'further wheel in a wink, hauled out the exe (axle- tree) fast in the other wheel, against the giant came up. (In old time the axle was made to work in gudgeons under the carts or wains. ) " Now then," says Tom, " fair play for the buttons. If you can beat me, I '11 go back. The exe and wheel is my sword and buckler, which I'll match against your elm-tree." Then Tom began whistling. The giant got round the uphill side, lifted his tree, and tore towards Tom without saying a word, as if he would cleave him from head to heel. Tom lifted the axle-tree, with the wheel, up, to guard off the blow of the giant's twig — the giant being in such a towering passion to hear Tom coolly whistUng all the time, that he couldn't steady himself. He missed Tom's head, struck the edge of the wheel, and, the ground being slippery, the giant fell upon his face on the ground. Tom might have driven the " exe " through him as he lay sprawling in the mud, and so have nailed him to the earth ; but no, not he ! Tom would rather be killed than not fight fair, so he just tickled the giant under the ribs with the end of the " exe." " Come, get up," says Tom, " let 's have another turn." The giant rose very slowly, as if he were scarcely able to stand, bent double, supporting himself on his twig. He was only dodging — the great cowardly skulk — to get the uphill side again, and take Tom unawares ; but he was waiting with his right hand grasping the " exe," the wheel resting on the ground. Quick as lightning the giant raised his tree. Tom fetched him a heavy kick on the shins, he slipped, fell forward, and Tom so held the " exe," that it passed through his body like a spit. Good Lord, how the giant roared ! " Thee stop thy bleating," says Tom. " Stand quiet a moment. Let 's draw the exe out of thy body, and I '11 give thee a chance for another round. Thee doesn't deserve it, because thee aren't playing fair." Tom turned the giant over, laid hold of the wheel, and dragged out the " exe." In doing this he was nearly blinded with the blood that spouted out of the hole. Blunderbuss rolled on the ground like an empty sack, roaring amain all the time in o-reat agony. " Stop thy bleating," says Tom, '•' and put thy hands in the hole the ' exe ' has made in thee, to keep in the blood, until I Tom Kills the Giant. 59 can cut a turf to stop up the place, and thee will'st do again yet." As Tom was phigging the wound with the turfs, the giant groaned and said, " It 's all no good ; I shall kick the bucket. I feel myself going round land ; but with my last breath I '11 do thee good, because I like thee better than anybody else I ever met with, for thy fair play and courage. The more thee wouldst beat me, the better I should like thee. I have no near relations. There is heaps of gold, silver, copper, and tin down in the vaults of the castle, guarded .by two dogs. Mind there names are Catchem and Tearem. Only call them by these names and they '11 let thee pass. The land from this to the sea is all mine. There is more head of oxen, cows, sheep, goats, and deer, than thee canst count. Take them all, only bury me decent." " Did you kill all your wives ? " asked Tom. " No," sighed the giant, " they died natural. Don't let them abuse me after death. I like thee as a brother." " Cheer up," says Tom, " you 'U do again." He then tried to raise the giant up, but the plug of turf slipped from the wound, and all was over. Tom put the wheel and axle in order, turned over the wain, and drove home to iVIarket-Jew. The brewer was surprised and well pleased to see Tom back so early, and offered him good wages to stop for the year. " I must leave this very night," says Tom, " for my old granfer, who lived up in the high countries, is dead. I am his nearest re- lation. He lived all alone. He 's left me all his money and lands, so I must go and bury my old granfer this very night." The brewer was about to pay him for his day's work — " Oh, never mind that," says Tom ; " I '11 give up that for as much beer as I can drink with supper." After supper Tom went and took possession of the giant's castle and lands — nobody the wiser except a little woman, the giant's last wife, who came from some place not far from the castle. Some name Crowlas, some Tregender, others Bougiehere, as the place where she dwelt. Howbeit, she knew all about the giant's overthrow, and thought it the wisest course to " take up " at once with Tom ; and she being a tidy body, Tom was by no means unwilling. Tom and this woman took possession of the castle. They buried the giant down in the bottom, and placed a block of granite to keep him down. They gave the carcass of a sheep to Catchem and Tearem, visited the caves of the castle, found lots of treasure, and fairly got into the giant's shoes. 6o Romances of the Giants. TOM THE GIANT, HIS WIFE JANE, AND JACK THE TINKEARD, AS TOLD BY THE "DROLLS."* WHEN Tom and his wife had settled themselves in the giant's castle, they took good care not to allow any one to make a king's highway across their grounds. Tom made the hedges higher, and the gates stronger than ever, and he claimed all the run of land on the sea-side, and enclosed it. Tom's wife, Jane, was a wonderful cleanly body — the castle seemed to be always fresh swept and sanded, while all the pewter plates and platters shone like silver. She never quarrelled with Tom ; except when he came in from hedging covered with mud ; then in a pet she would threaten to go home to her mother. Jane was very famous for her butter and cheese, and Tom became no less so for his fine breed of cattle, so that he fared luxuriously, and all went on happily enough with Tom and his wife. They had plenty of children, and these were such fine healthy babies, that it took two or three of the best cows to feed them, when but a few weeks old. Tom and Jane thought that they had all that part of the world to themselves, and that no one could scale their hedges or break through their gates. They soon found their mistake. Tom was working one morning, not far from the gate, on the Market-Jew side of his pro- perty, when he heard a terrible rattle upon the bars. Running up, he saw a man with a hammer smashing away, and presently down went the bars, and in walked a travelling tinkeard, with his bag of tools on his back. " Holla ! where are you bound for ? " says Tom. " Bound to see if the giant, whom they say lives up here, wouldn't let a body pass through where the road ought to be," says the tinkeard. " Oh, ay ! are you ? " says Tom. " He must be a better man than I am who stops me," says the tinkeard. " As you are a fine stout chap, I expect you are the giant's eldest son. I see you are hedging. That 's what all the people complain of. You are hedging in all the country," -In ^"""e of the old geese dances (guise dances, from da,^se degnisC) the giant Blun- derbuss and Torn performed a very active part. Blunderbuss was always a big-bellied fellow-his smoke-frock bemg well stuffed with straw. He fought with a tree, and the other giant w;th the wheel and axle. The giant is destroyed, as in the story by fallins on the axle. The tinker, of whom we have yet to tell, with his unfailing coat of darkness, comes in and beats Tom, until Jane comes out with the broom and beats the tinker; and then.-as in nearly all these rude plays,-St George and the Turkish knight come in ; but they h,ive no part in the real story of the drama -See note na?e 66. Appendix E. ^ V ^ The Titikeard teaches Tom Single- stick. 6i " Well," says Tom, " if I am his son, I can take my dad's part any way ; and we '11 have fair play too. I don't desire better fun than to try my strength with somebody that is a man. Come on. Any way you like — naked fists, single-stick, wrestling, bowling, slinging, or throwing the quoits." " Very, well," says the tinkeard, " I '11 match my blackthorn stick against anything in the way of timber that you can raise on this place." Tom took the bar which the tinker had broken from the gate, and said, " I '11 try this piece of elm if you don't think it too heavy." " Don't care if it 's heavier. Come on !" The tinkeard took the thorn-stick in the middle, and made it fly round Tom's head so fast that he couldn't see it. It looked like a wheel whizzing round his ears, and Tom soon got a bloody nose and two black eyes. Tom's blov/s had no effect on the tinkeard, because he wore such a coat as was never seen in the West Coun- try before. It was made out of a shaggy black bull's hide, dressed whole with the hair on. The skin of the forelegs made the sleeves, the hind quarters only were cut, pieces being let in to make the spread of the skirts, while the neck and skin of the head formed a sort of hood. The whole appeared as hard as iron ; and when Tom hit- the tinkeard, it sounded, as if the coat roared, like thunder. They fought until Tom got very hungry, and he found he had the worst of it. " I believe thee art the devil, and no man," says Tom. " Let 's see thy feet before thee dost taste any more of my blood." The tinkeard showed Tom that he had no cloven foot, and told him that it depended more on handiness than strength to conquer with the single-stick ; and that a small man with science could beat a big man with none. The tinkeard then took the clumsy bar of the gate from Tom, gave him his own light and tough blackthorn, and proceeded to teach him to make the easiest passes, cuts, &c. Whilst the two men were thus engaged, Jane had prepared the dinner, and called her husband three times. She wondered what could be keeping Tom, as he was always ready to run to his dinner at the first call. At length she went out of the castle to seek for him, and surprised she was, and — if truth must be told— rather glad to see another man inside the gates, which no one had passed for years. Jane found Tom and the tinkeard tolerable friends by this time, and she begged them both to come into dinner, saying to the tinkeard that she wished she had some- thino- better to set before him. She was vexed that Tom hadn't sent her word, that she might have prepared something better 62 Romances of the Giants. than the everlasting beef and pease ; and vowed she would give him a more savoury mess for supper, if she had to go to the hills for a sheep or a kid herself. At length the men were seated at the board, which groaned beneath the huge piece of boiled beef, with mountains of pease- pudding, and they soon got fairly to work. Jane then went to the cellar, and tapped a barrel of the strongest beer, which was intended to have been kept for a tide (feast). Of the meat, Tom ate twice as much as the tinkeard, and from the caa of ale he took double draughts. The tinkeard ate heartily, but not voraciously ; and, for those days, he was no hard drinker. Consequently, as soon as dinner was over, Tom fell back against the wall, and was quickly snoring like a tempest. His custom was to sleep two or three hours after every meal. The tinkeard was no sleepy-head, so he told Jane to bring him all her pots and pans which required mending, and he would put them in order. He seated himself amidst a vast pile, and was soon at work. The louder Tom snored, the more Jack rattled and hammered away at the kettles ; and ere Tom was awake, he had restored Jane's cooking vessels to something like condition. At length Tom awoke, and, feeling very sore, he begged the tinkeard to put off until to-morrow a wrestling-match which they had talked of before diniier. The tinkeard, nothing loath, agreed ; so Tom took him up to the topmost tower of the castle, to show him his lands and his cattle. For miles and miles, farther over the hill than the eye could reach, except on the southern side, everything belonged to Tom. In this tower they found a long and strong bow. Tom said none but the old giant could bend it. He had often tried, and fretted because he could not bring the string to the notch. The tinkeard took the bow ; he placed one end to his toe, and, by what appeared like sleight-of-hand to Tom, he bent the bow, brought the string to the notch, sent the arrow off — thwang, — and shot a hare so far away that it could hardly be seen from the heath and ferns. Tom was surprised, until the tinkeard showed him how to bend the bow, more by handiness than strength, and again he killed a kid which was springing from rock to rock on the cairns far away. The hare and kid were brought home, cooked for supper, and the tinkeard was invited to stop all night. The story ordinarily rambles on, telling of the increasing friend- ship between the three, and giving the tinkeard's story of himself, which was so interesting to Tom and Jane that they stayed up nearly all night to hear it. He told how he was born and bred in Tom Wrestles with the Tinkeard. 63 a country far away — more than a score days' journey from this land, far to the north and east of this, from which it was divided by a large river. This river the tinkeard had swam across ; then there was a week's journey in a land of hills and cairns, which were covered with snow a great part of the year. In this land there were many giants, who digged for tin and other treasures. With these giants he had hved and worked, — they always treated him well ; indeed, he always found the bigger the man the more gentle. Half the evil that's told about them by the cowardly fools who fear to go near them is false. Many, many more strange things did the tinkeard tell. Amongst other matters, he spoke of wise men who came from a city at no great distance from this land of tin for the purpose of buying the tin from the giants, and they left them tools, and other things, that the diggers required in exchange. One of these merchants took a fancy to the tinkeard, named him Jack — he had no name previously — and removed him to the city, where Jack was taught his trade, and many other crafts. The tinkeard had left that city four months since, and worked his way down to Market -Jew. Being there, he heard of the giant, and he resolved to make his acquaint- ance. The rest has been told. While this, which was a long story, was being told, Jack the Tinkeard was enjoying Jane's new barley-bread, with honey and cream, which he moistened with metheglin. " Good night, Tom," says he at last ; " you see you have lived all your days like a lord on his lands, and know nothing. I never knew father or mother, never had a home to call my own. All the better for me, too. If I had possessed one, I would never have known one^thousandth part of what 1 have learned by wandering up and down in the world." Morning came ; and, after breakfast, Tom proposed to tiy " a hitch " on the grass in the castle court. Jack knew nothing of wrestling ; so he told Tom he had never practised, but still he would try his strength. Tom put the tinkeard on his back at every " hitch," but he took all the care he could not to hurt him. At last the tinkeard cried for quarter, and declared Tom to be- best man. Jane had made a veal-and-parsley pie, and put it down to bake, when, being at leisure, she came out to see the sport. Now, it must be remembered the tinkeard had broken down the gate, and no one had thought of repairing it, or closing the opening. Two men of Tregender were coming home from Bal,* and passing the * Popular name for a mine : " Bal, a place of digging— ^ People. Many of the good old people were permitted to witness their revels, and for years they have dehghted their grand- children with tales of the songs they have heard, and of the sights they have seen. To many of their friends those fairies have given small but valuable presents ; , but woe to the man or woman who would dare to intrude upon the ground occupied by them at the time of their high festivals. There was a covetous old hunks in St Just — never mind his name, he was severely punished, let that suffice — well, this old fellow had heard so much of the riches dis- played by the little people, when holding holiday on the Gump, that he resolved to get some of the treasures. He learned all he could learn from his neighbours, but kept his intention to himself. It was during the harvest-moon — the-night:was a softened d ay— and everything abroad on such a night should have been in harmony with its quiet brilliancy. But here was a dark soul passing along, making a small eclipse with his black shadow. The old man stole towards the rendezvous of the " good people,'' as some were fond of calling them, anxiously looking out for the treasures which he coveted. At length, when he had not advanced far on the Gump, he heard music of the most ravishing kind. Its influence was of a singularly mysterious character. As the riotes were The Fairy Revels on the "Gump" St Just. 99 solemn and slow, or quick and gay, the old man was moved from tears to laughter ; and on more than one occasion he was com- pelled to dance. in obedience to the time. Notwithstanding that he was almost bewildered by the whirling motion to which he was compelled, the old man " kept his wits awake," and waited his opportunity to seize some fairy treasure ; but as yet nothing remarkable had presented itself. The music appeared to surround him, and, as he thought, to come closer to him than it was at first ; and although its sound led him to believe that the musicians were on the surface, he was impressed with an idea that they were • really beneath the earth Eventually there was a crash of sound, startling beyond description, and the hill before him opened. All ■was now ablaze with variously-coloured lights. Every blade of grass was hung with lamps, and every furze bush was illuminated with stars Out from the opening in the hill marched a host of spriggans, as if to clear the road. Then came an immense num- ber of musicians playing on every kind of instrument. These were followed by troop after troop of soldiers, each troop bearing aloft their banner, which appeared to spread itself, to display its blazonry, without the assistance of any breeze. All these arranged themselves in order over the ground, some here and some there. One thing was not at all to our friend's liking ; several hundreds of the most grotesque of the spriggans placed themselves so as to enclose the spot on which he was standing. Yet, as they were none of them higher than his shoe-tie, he thought he could " squash " them easily with his foot if they were up to any mis- chief, and so he consoled himself This vast array having disposed of themselves, first came a crowd of servants bearing vessels of silver and vessels of gold, goblets cut out of diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones. There were others laden, almost to overflowing, with the richest meats, pastry, preserves, and fruits. Presently the ground was covered with tables and everything was arranged in the most systematic order, — each party falling back as they dis- posed of their burdens. The brilliancy of the scene nearly overpowered the old man ; but, when he was least prepared for it, the illumination became a thousand times more intense. Out of the hill were crowding thousands upon thousands of lovely ladies and gentlemen, arrayed in the most costly attire. He thought there would be no end to the coming crowd. By and by, however, the music suddenly changed, and the harmonious sounds which fell upon his ears appeared to give new life to every sense. His eyes were clearer, his ears quicker, and his sense of smell more exquisite. 100 Roma7tces of the Fairies, The odours of flowers, more delicious than any he had ever smelt, filled the air. He saw, without any disturbing medium, the brilliant beauty of the thousands of ladies who were now upon the Gump ; and their voices were united in one gush of song, which was clear as silver bells — a hymeneal ■ symphony of the utmost delicacy. The words were in a language unknown to him, but he saw they were directed towards a new group now emerging from the hill. First came a great number of female children clothed in the whitest gauze, strewing flowers on the Gump. These were not dead or cut flowers, for the moment they touched the ground they took root and grew. These were followed by an equally large number of boys, holding in their hands shells which appeared to be strung like harps, and from which they brought forth murmurs of melody, such as angels only could hope to hear and live. Then came — and there was no end to their coming — line upon line of little men clothed in green and gold, and by and by a forest of banners, which, at a signal, were all furled. Then, seated on thrones, carried upon a platform above the heads of the men, came a young prince^ and princess who blazed with beauty and jewels, as if they were suns amidst a skyey host of stars. There was much ceremonial marching to and fro, but eventually the platform was placed upon a mound on the Gump, which was now transformed into a hillock of roses and lilies ; and around this all the ladies and gentlemen walked, bowing, and each one saying some- thing to the princess and the prince, — passing onward and taking their seats at the tables. Although no man could count the number of this fairy host, there was no confusion ; all the ladies and gentle- men found, as if by instinct, their places. When all were seated, a signal was given by the prince ; servants in splendid liveries placed tables crowded with gold-plate and good things on the platform, and every one, the prince and princess included, began to feast with a will. Well, thought the old man, now is my time ; if I could only crawl up to the prince's table, I should have a catch sure enough, and become a rich man for life. With his greedy mind fixed on this one object, and unobservant of everything else, he crouched down, as though by so doing he could escape ob- servation, and very slowly and stealthily advanced amongst the revellers. He never saw that thousands of spriggans had thrown little strings about him, and that . they still held the ends of the threads. The presence of this selfish old mortal did not in any way discompose the assembly ; they ate and drank and were as merry as though no human eye was looking on them. The old The Fairy Revels on the "Gump" St Just. lox man was wondrous cautious lest lie should disturb the feasters, consequently a long time was spent in getting, as he desired, to the back of the mound. At length he reached the desired spot, and, to his surprise, all was dark and gloomy behind him, but in front of the mound all was a blaze of light. Crawling like a serpent on his belly, trembling with anxiety, the old man advanced close to the prince and princess. He was somewhat startled to find, as he looked out over the mound, that every one of the thousands of eyes in that multitude was fixed on his. He gazed a while, all the time screwing his courage up ; then, as a boy who would catch a butterfly, he took off his hat and carefully raised it, so as to cover the prince, the princess, and their costly table, and, when about to close it upon them, a shrill whistle was heard, the old man's hand was fixed powerless in the air, and everything be- came dark around him. Whir ! whir ! whir ! as if a flight of bees were passing him, buzzed in his ears. Every limb, from head to foot, was as if stuck full of pins and pinched with tweezers. He could not move, he was changed to the ground. By some means he had rolled down the mound, and lay on his back with his arms outstretched, arms and legs being secured by magic chains to the earth ; there- fore, although he suffered great agony, .he could not stir, and, strange enough, his tongue appeared tied by cords, so that he could not call. He had lain, no one can tell how long, in this sad plight, when he felt as if a number of insects were rimning over him, and by the light of the moon he saw standing on his nose one of the spriggans, who looked exceedingly like a small dragon-fly. This little monster stamped and jumped with great delight ; and having had his own fun upon the elevated piece of humanity, he laughed most outrageously, and shouted, " Away, away, I smell the day ! " Upon this the army of small people, who had taken possession of the old man's body, moved quickly away, and left our discomfited hero alone on the Gump. Be- wildered, or, as he said, bedevilled, he lay still to gather up his thoughts. At length the sun arose, and then he found that he had been tied to the ground by myriads of gossamer webs, which were now covered with dew, and glistened like diamonds in the sunshine. He shook himself, and was free. He rose wet, cold, and ashamed. Sulkily he made his way to his home. It was a long time before his friends could learn from the old man where he had passed the night, but, by slow degrees, they gathered the story I have related to you. 102 Romances of the Fairies. THE FAIRY FUNERAL. THIS and two or three other bits of folk-lore were communi- cated to the Athenaum by me, when Ambrose Merton (Mr Thoms) solicited such contributions. The parish church of Lelant is curiously situated amidst hills of blown sand, near the entrance of the creek of Hayle. The sandy waste around the church is called the Towen ; and this place was long the scene of the midnight gambols of the Small People. In the adjoining village — or, as it is called in Cornwall, the " church-town " — lived an old woman who had been, accord- ing to her own statement, a frequent witness to the use made by the fairies of the Towen. Her husband, also, had seen some extraordinary scenes on the same spot. From her — to me, oft- repeated description — I get the following tale : — It was the fish- ing season ; and Richard had been to St Ives for some fish. He was returning, laden with pilchards, on a beautiful moonlight night ; and as he ascended the hill from St Ives, he thought he heard the bell of Lelant Church tolling. Upon a nearer approach, he saw lights in the church-; and most distinctly did the bell toll — not with its usual clear sound, but duU and heavy, as if it had been muffled, scarcely awakening any echo. Richard walked towards the church, and cautiously, but not without fear, approaching one of the windows, looked in. At first he could not perceive any one within, nor discover whence the light came by which everything was so distinctly illuminated. At length he saw, moving along the centre aisle, a funeral' procession. The little people who crowded the aisle, although they all looked very sorrowful, were not dressed in any mourning gamients — so far from it, they wore wreaths of little roses, and carried branches of the blossoming myrtle. Richard beheld the bier borne between six — whether men or women he could not tell — but he saw that the face of the corpse was that of a beautiful female, smaller than the smallest child's doll. It was, Richard said, " as if it were a dead seraph," — so very lovely did it appear to him. The body was covered with white flowers, and its hair, like gold threads, was tangled amongst the blossoms. The body was placed within the altar ; and then a large party of men, with picks and spades, began to dig a little hole close by the sacramental table. Their task being completed, others, with great care, removed the body and placed it in the hole. The entire company crowded around, eager to catch a parting glimpse of that beautiful corpse, ere yet it was placed in the earth. As it was lowered into the ground, Betty Stags and Jan the Mounster. 103 they began to tear off their flowers and break their branches of myrtle, crying, " Our queen is dead ! our queen is dead ! " At length one of the men who had dug the grave threw a shovelful of earth upon the body ; and the shriek of the fairy host so alarmed Richard, that he involuntarily joined in it. In a moment, all the lights were extinguished, and the fairies were heard flying in great consternation in every direction. Many of them brushed past the terrified man, and, shrieking, pierced him with sharp instruments. He was compelled to save his life by the most rapid flight. THE FAIRY REVEL. RICHARD also once witnessed a fairy revel in the Towen — upon which tables were spread, with the utmost profusion of gold and silver ornaments, and fruits and flowers. Richard, however, according to the statement of " Aunt Alcey" (the name by which his wife was familiarly called), very foolishly interrupted the feast by some exclamation of surprise ; whereas, had he but touched the end of a table with his finger, it would have been impossible for the fairy host to have removed an article, as that which has been touched by mortal fingers becomes to them accursed. As it was, the lovely vision faded before the eyes of the astonished labourer. BETTY STOGS AND JAN THE MOUNSTER. IN the " high countries,'' as the parishes of Morva, Zennor, and Towednack are called, there has long existed a tradition that the children of dirty, lazy, " courseying " women are often taken away by the Small People, carefully cleansed, and then re- turned — of course all the more beautiful for being washed by the fairies in morning-dew. This notion has evidently prevailed for many ages, and, like many an old tradition, it has been remodelled in each generation to adapt it to the conditions of the time. The following is but slightly modified in its principal characteristics from a story somewhat coarsely told, and greatly extended, by an old woman in Morva. A woman, up the higher side, called Betty Stogs, very nearly lost her baby a few months ago. Stogs was only a nickname, but every one knew her by that and no other. It was given to her because she was so untidy about the feet and legs. She could not darn a hole in her stocking — the lazy slut could never knit one. Betty was always pulling the legs of her stockings down under her feet, that the .holes in her heels might not be seen — as long as the tops would come under the 104 Romances of the Fairies. garter — and she often gartered half-way down the leg to meet the necessities of the case. Betty was reared up in Towednack, at no great distance from Wheal Reeth, at which Bal the old man, her father, worked. He also farmed a few acres of land, and, " out of core," he and his daughter worked on it. The old people used to say — they wouldn't put the poor innocent chield to work to Bal, for fear the great rough heathens from Lelant might overcome her ; so they kept her at home, and the old man would brag how his Betty could cut furze and turf Instead of staying at home in the evenings, Betty was always racing round the lanes to class- meetings ; for she had been a " professor ever since she was a chield." Betty was an only child, and the old people had saved a little money, and they hoped some one " above the. common " would marry her. In Higher Side there lived a man called Jan the Mounster (monster), and, tempted by the bit of money, he resolved to lay himself out to catch Betty. Jan became a converted character — he met in the same class with Betty, and expressed himself as being "so fond of the means of grace." Things went on in this way for some time, and it was found that Betty " had met with a misfortune." The old people were now in a great hurry to marry their daughter, and promised Jan money enough to buy a set of cheene (china), and lots of beautiful dome (earthenware) ; but Mounster required more than this, and fought off. He left the "people," that he mightn't be read out. He said he was heartily sick of the lot, told strange stories about their doings, and became as bad a character as ever. Time advanced, and Betty's mother — who was herself a wretchedly dirty woman, and, as people said, too fond of the "drop of drink" — saw that she must lose no chance of making her daughter an honest woman. So she went to Penzance and bought a new bed — a real four-poster — a new dresser, painted bright lead and liver colour — an eight-day clock, in a painted mahogany case — a mass of beautiful dome — and a glass milk-cup. When all these things were ranged in a cottage, Jan was well enough pleased with them, and hung his " great turnip of a watch " up in the middle of the dresser, to see how it would look. Wlien he had satisfied himself, he told the old woman he would marry Betty out of hand,'if she would give them their great pretty, bright, warming-pan to hang opposite the door. This was soon settled, and Jan the Mounster and Betty Stogs were married. In a little time the voice of a baby was heard in Jan's cottage, but the poor child had no cradle, only a " costan" (a straw and bramble basket) ; and, in addition to the ordinary causes of neglect. Betty Stags and Jan tJie Mounsicr. 105 another cause was introduced — Betty took to drink. A great, nasty suss of a woman, who went about pretending to sell crochet- work, but in reality to sell gin — which she kept in a bottle under the dirty rags, which she called " the most beautiful croshar-work collars and cuffs, that all the ladies in the towns and up the country wear on Sundays and high holidays " — formed a dose acquaintance with Jan's wife. The result was, things went from bad to worse. Jan was discontented, and went to Bal, and returned from Bal always a sullen man. One day Betty had to bake some bread — she had never before done so, as her mother had always attended to that job. Jan had left his watch hanging to the dresser, that Betty might know the time. All went well till the middle of the day; and, just as the bread was ready to put down, in came the crochet-woman. First Betty had a noggin of gin — she then had her fortune told — and because she was promised no end of good luck and the handsomest children in the country, and Jan the best luck in tribute-pitches, the kettle was boiled, and some pork fried for the fortune-teller. All this time the dough was forgotten, and it was getting sour and heavy. At last, when the woman went away, the lump of sour " leven " was put down to bake. The neglected child got troublesome, and as Jan would be home early to supper, Betty was in a great hurry to get things done. To quiet the child, she gave it Jan's watch ; and, that it might be the better pleased, she opened it, " that the dear chield might see the pretty little wheels spinning round." In a short time the " machine " was thrown down in the ashes, and it, of course, stopped. Betty, at last, wished to know the time ; she then found the watch clogged full of dirt. To put the thing to rights she washed it out in the kettle of dish-water, which had not been changed for two or three days, and was thick with salt pilchard-bones, and potato-skins. She did her best to clean the watch, for she was now terribly afraid of Jan, and she wiped all the little wheels, as far as she could reach, with the corner of the dishcloth, but the confounded thing would not go. She had to bake the bread by guess ; and, therefore, when she took it up, it was as black as soot, and as hard as a stone. Jan came home ; and you may judge the temper he was in at finding things as they were, and his watch stopped. Betty swore to the deepest that she had never taken the thing into her hands. Next morning Jan got up early to go to Bal ; and taking the burnt loaf, he tried to cut it with a knife, but it was in vain — as well try to cut a stone ; next he tried the dag (axe), and Mounster said it strook fire, and the dag never made the least mark in the crust. io6 Romances of the Fairies. The poor fellow had to go to his work without his breakfast, and to depend upon the share of a comrade's fuggun for dinner. Next day, Friday, was pay-day, and Jan having got his pay, went to St Ives for bread, and took the precious watch with him to be set to rights. The watchmaker soon found out the complaint ; here was a bit of fish-bone, there a piece of potato-paring ; in one tooth a piece of worsted from a dishcloth, in another a particle of straw, and ashes everywhere. The murder was out ; and that night Jan, having first drunk to excess in St Ives, went home and nearly murdered his wife. From this time Jan was drunk every day, and Betty was so as often as she could get gin. The poor child was left half the day to suck his thumbs, and to tumble and toss on the filthy rags in the old costan, without any one to look after it. One day Betty was in a " courseying " mood, and went from house to house, wherever she could find a woman idle enough to gossip with her. Betty stayed away till dark — it was Jan's last core by day — and the poor child was left all alone. When she came home she was surprised not to hear the child, but she thought it might have cried itself to sleep, and was not concerned. At last, having lit the candle, she looked in the cos- tan, and there was no child to be seen. Betty searched about, in and out, every place she could think of ; still there were no signs of the child. This pretty well sobered Betty, and she remembered that she had to unlock the door to get into the cottage. While yet full of fear and trembling to meet her husband, Jan came home from Bal. He was, of course, told that his " croom of a chield was lost." He didn't believe a word of what Betty told him, but he went about and called up all the neighbours, who joined him in the search. They spent the night in examining every spot around the house and in the village — all in vain. After daybreak they were all assembled in deep and earnest consultation, when the cat came running into the house, with her tail on end, and mewing anxiously. She ran forth and back round a brake of furze, constantly crying, as if she wished the people to follow her. After a long time some one thought of going after the cat, and in the middle of the furze-brake, on a beautiful green, soft spot of mossy grass, was the baby sleeping, " as sweet as a little nut," wrapped carefully up in some old dry gowns, and all its clothes clean and dry. When they unwrapped the child, they found he was covered over with bright flowers, as we place them round a babe in the coffin. He had a bunch of violets in his dear little hands, and there were wallflowers and primroses, TIic Four-Lcavcd Clover. 107 and balm and mint spread over his body. Tlie furze was high all around, so that no cold wind could reach the infant. Every .one declared that the child never looked so handsome before. It was plain enough, said the old women, that the Small People had taken the child and washed it from top to toe ; that their task of cleansing the babe was a long one, and that the sun arose before they could finish it ; that they had placed the child where it was found, intending to take it away the next night. They were never known to come for the babe, but every one said that this affair worked a great change in Betty Stogs and in Jan the Mounster. The cottage was kept tidy, the child clean ; and its father and mother drank less, and lived happier, for ever afterwards. THE FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER. NOT many years since a farmer lived in Bosfrancan in St Burrien, who had a very fine red-and-white cow called Daisey. The cow was always fat, with her dewlaps and udder sweeping the grass. Daisey held her milk from calf to calf; had an udder like a bucket, yet she would never yield more than a gallon or so of milk, when one might plainly see that she had still at least two gallons more in her udder. All at once, when the milk was in full flow, she would give a gentle bleat, cock up her ears, and the milk would stop at once. If the milkmaid tried to get any more from her after that, she would up foot, kick the bucket, and spill all the milk, yet stand as still as a stock, and keep chewing her cud all the time. Everybody would have thought the cow bewitched, if she hadn't been always fat and held her milk all the year round ; besides, everything prospered with the farmer, and all the other cows had more milk than any of the neighbours'. No one could tell what the deuce could be the matter with Daisey ; and they tried to drive her to Burrien Cliurch-town fair, that they might be rid of her, as she was always fit for the butchers. All the men and boys on the farm couldn't get her to Church-town. As fast as they drove her up Alsie Lane, she would take down Cotneywilley, through by the Crean, down the Bottoms, and up the Gilley, and be in the field again before the men and boys would be half way home. One midsummer's day in the evening, the maid was later than usual milking, as she had been down to Penberth to the games. The stars were beginning to blink when she finished her task. Daisey was the last cow milked, and the bucket was so full she could scarcely lift it to her head. Before rising from the io8 Roma7ices of the Fairies. milking-stool, the maid plucked up a handful of grass and clover to put in the head of her hat, that she might carry the bucket the steadier. She had no sooner placed the hat on her head, than she saw hundreds and thousands of Small People swarming in all directions about the cow, and dipping their hands into the milk, taking it out on the clover blossoms and sucking them. The grass and clover, all in blossom, reached to the cow's belly. Hundreds of the little creatures ran up the long grass and clover stems, with buttercups, lady's smocks, convolvuluses, and foxglove flowers, to catch the milk that Daisey let flow from her four teats, like a shower, among them. Right under the cow's udder the maid saw one much larger than the others lying on his back, with his heels cocked up to the cow's belly. She knew he must be a Piskie, because he was laughing, with his mouth open from ear to ear. The little ones were running up and down his legs, filling their cups, and emptying them into the Piskie's mouth. Hundreds of others were on Daisey's back, scratching her rump, and tickling her round the horns and behind the ears. Others were smooth- ing down eveiy hair of her shining coat into its place. The milkmaid wasn't much startled to see them, as she had so often heard of fairies, and rather wished to see them. She could have stayed for hours, she said, to look at them dancing about among the clover, which they hardly bent any more than the dew-drops. The cows were in the field called Park-an-Ventan, close under the house. Her mistress came out into the garden between the field and the house, and called to know what was keeping the maid so long. When thfe maid told what she had seen, her mis- tress said she couldn't believe her unless she had found a four-leaved grass. Then the maid thought of the handful of grass in the head of her hat. In looking it over by the candlelight, she found a bunch of three-leaved grass, and one stem with four leaves. They knew that it was nothing strange that she should see the Small People, but they didn't know what plan to take to get rid of them, so that they might have the whole of Daisey's milk, till the mistress told her mother about it. Her mother was a very notable old dame, who lived in Church-town. The old woman knew all about witches, fairies, and such things ; was noted for being a sharp, careful old body ; for when she happened to break the eye of her stocking darning-needle, she would take it to the blacksmith that he might put a new eye to it. The smith always charged her twopence. She would rather pay that than throw it away. Our Betty told her daughter that everybody knowed that the The Fairy Ointment. 109 Small People couldn't abide the smell of fish, nor the savour of salt or grease ; and advised her to rub the cow's udder with fish brine to drive the Small People away. Well, she did what her mammy told her to do. Better she had let it alone. From that time Daisey would yield all her milk, but she hadn't the half, nor quarter, so much as before, but took up her udder, so that one could hardly see it below her flanks. Every evening-, as soon as the stars began to twinkle, the cow would go round the fields bleating and crying as if she had lost her calf; she became hair- pitched, and pined away to skin and bone before the next Burrien fair, when she was driven to Church-town and sold for next to nothing. I don't know what became of her afterwards ; but nothing throve with the farmer, after his wife had driven the Small People away, as it did before. THE FAIRY OINTMENT. MANY years since, there lived as housekeeper with a cele- brated squire, whose name is associated with the history of his native country, one Nancy Tregier. There were many peculiarities about Nancy ; and she was, being a favourite with her master, allowed to do much as she pleased. She was in fact a petted, and, consequently, a spoiled servant. Nancy left Pen- deen one Saturday afternoon to walk to Penzance, for the purpose of buying a pair of shoes. There was an old woman, Jenny Trayer, living in Pendeen Cove — who had the reputation of being a witch — or, as some people mildly put it, " who had strange dealings ; " and with her Nancy desired, for sundry reasons best known to herself, to keep on the closest of terms. So on this Saturday, Nancy first called on the old woman to inquire if she wished to have anything brought home from Penzance. Tom, the husband of Nancy's friend, did no work ; but now and then he would go to sea for an hour or two and fish. It is true everybody gave Jenny just what she asked for her fish, out of pure fear. Sometimes they had a "venture" with the smugglers, who, in those days, carried on a roaring trade in Pendeen Cove. The old Squire was a justice ; but he winked very hard, and didn't know anything about the smugglers. Indeed, some ill-natured people — ■ and there are always such to be found in any nook or corner — said Nancy often took her master home a choice bottle of Cogniac ; even a case of " Hollands " now and then ; and, especially when there was to be a particularly " great run," there were some beau- tiful silk handkerchiefs to be seen at the Squire's. But this is I lo Romances of the Fairies. beyond our story. When Nancy went into Jenny's cottage, Tom was there, and right busy was she in preparing some ointment, and touching her husband's eyes with it : this Jenny tried to hide in the mouth of the oven at the side of the chimney. Tom got up and said he must be off, and left the two women together. After a few idle compliments, Jenny said that Nancy must have some- thing to drink before she started for Penzance, and she went to the spence for the bottles. Nancy, ever curious, seized the moment, dipped her finger into the pot of green ointment, and, thinking it was good for the eyes, she just touched her right eye with it before Jenny returned. They then took a horn or two together, and being thus spliced, Nancy started for Penzance. Penzance Market was in those days entirely in the street ; even the old market-house had not yet an existence. Nancy walked about doing a little business and a great deal of gossiping ; when amongst the standings in Market-Jew Street, whom should Nancy see but Tom Trayer, picking off the standings, shoes, stockings, hanks of yarn, and pewter spoons — indeed, sgme of all the sorts of things which were for sale. Nancy walked up to him, and, taking him by the arm, said, " Tom ! ar'then't ashamed to be here carrying on such a game .' However thee canst have the im- pudence, I can't think, to be picking the things from the standings and putting them in thy pocket in broad daylight, and the people all around thee." Tom looked very much surprised when Nancy spoke to him. At last he said, " Is that you, Nancy ? — which eye can you see me upon ? " Nancy shut her left eye, this made no difference ; she then shut her right eye, and, greatly to her sur- prise, she saw all the people, but she no longer saw Tom. She opened her right eye, and there was Tom as before. She winked, and winked, and was surprised, you may be sure, to find that she could not see Tom with either eye. " Now, Nancy," said Tom, " right or left." " Well," said Nancy, " 'tis strange ; but there is something wrong with my left eye." * " Oh, then, you see me with the right, do you ? " Then Tom put his finger on her right eye, and from that moment she was blind on that side. On her way home, Nancy was always going off the road on. her blind side ; but the hedges kept her from wandering far away. On the downs near Pendeen there were no hedges, so Nancy wandered into a furze brake, — night came on, she could not find her way out, and she was found in it the next morning fast asleep. * The tale, " Nursing a Fairy," p. 83, where a similar incident occurs, will be remembered. Hczv Joan Lost the Sight of her Eye. 1 1 1 The old Squire was out hunting in the early morning, according to his usual custom. In passing along the road leading to Carn- yorth, he saw a woman's knitting-work hanging on a bramble, and the yarn from the stocking leading away into the brake. He took the yarn in his hand and followed it until he came to the old woman, who had the ball in her pocket. When the Squire awakened the old woman, she told him the story which I have told you. Her master, however, said that he didn't . believe she had been into Penzance at all, but that she had stayed in the Cove and got drunk : that when dark night came, she had endea- voured to find her way home, — lost her road, — fallen down, and probed her eye out on a furze bush, and then gone off in drunken unconsciousness. Nancy told her master that he was no better than an unbelieving heathen ; and to the day of her death she protested that Tom Trayer put her ijye out. Jenny's ointment is said to have been made with a four-leaved clover, gathered at a certain time of the moon. This rendered Faiiyland visible, and made men invisible. Another version of this story, varying in a few details, was given me by a gentleman, a native of St Levan. It is as follows : — HOW JOAN LOST THE SIGHT OF HER EYE. JOAN was housekeeper to Squire Lovell, and was celebrated for her beautiful knitting. One Saturday afternxjon Joan wished to go to Penzance to buy a pair of shoes for herself, and some things for the Squire. So the weather beiijg particularly fine, away she trudged. Joan dearly loved a bit of gossip, and always sought for company. She knew Betty Trenance was always ready for a jaunt : to be sure, everybody said Betty was a witch ; but, says Joan, " Witch or no witch, she shall go ; bad company is better than none." Away went Joan to Lemorna, where Betty lived. Arrived at Betty's cottage, she peeped through the latch-hole (the finger-hole), and saw Betty rubbing some green ointment on the children's eyes. She watched till Betty Trenance had finished, and noticed that she put the salve on the inner end of the chimney stool, and covered it over with a rag. Joan went in, and Betty was delighted, sure enough, to see her, and sent the children out of the way. But Betty couldn't walk to Penzance, she was suffering pain, and she had been taking milk and suet, and brandy and rue, and she must have some more. So away went Betty to the other room for the bottle. Joan seized the moment, and taking a vei-y small bit of the ointment on her finger, she touched her right eye with it. Betty came with the bottle. 1 1 2 Romances of the Fairies. and Joan had a drink ; when she looked round she was surprised to see the house swarming with small people. They were playing all sorts of pranks on tlie key-beams and rafters. Some were swinging on cobwebs, some were riding the mice, and others were chasing them into and out of the holes in the thatch. Joan was surprised at the sight, and thought she must have a four-leaved clover about her. However, without stopping to take much drink, she started alone for Penzance. She had wasted, as it was, so much time, that it was nearly dark when she reached the market. After having made her purchases, and as she was about to leave the market, who should Joan spy but Betty's husband, Tom Trenance. There he was, stealing about in the sliadows, picking from the standings, shoes and stockings from one, hanks of yarn from another, pewter spoons from a third, and so on. He stuffed these things into capacious pockets, and yet no one appeared to notice Tom. Joan went forth to him. ' ' Areii't ye ashamed to be here in the dark carrying on such a game ? " "Is that you. Dame Joan," says Tom; "which eye can you see me upon?" After winking, Joan said she could see Tom plain enough with her right eye. She had no sooner said the word than Tom Trenance pointed his finger to her eye, and she lost the sight of it from that hour. " The work of the world " had Joan to find her way out of Penzance. She couldn't keep the road, she was always tumbling into the ditch on her blind side. When near the Fawgan, poor Joan, who was so weary that she could scarcely drag one leg after the other, prayed that she might find a quiet old horse on which she might ride home. Her desire was instantly granted. There, by the roadside, stood an old, bony white horse, spanned with its halter. Joan untied the halter from the legs and placed it on the head of the horse ; she got on the hedge, and seated herself on the horse's back. There she was mounted, "Gee wup, gee wup ; k'up, k'up, k'up." The horse would not budge. Busy were Joan's heels rattling against the ribs of the poor horse, and thwack, thwack went a thom-stick over his tail, and by and by the old blind brute began to walk. Joan beat, and kicked, and k'uped, and coaxed, the horse went but little faster until it got to the top of the hill. Then away, away, like the wind it went through Toldava Lanes, and it swelled out until the horse became as high as the tower. Over hedges and ditches, across all the corners that came into the road, on went the horse. Joan held on by the mane with both hands, and shouted, " Woa ! woa ! woey ! " until she could shout no longer. At length they came to Toldava Moor; the "ugly brute" took right Tlie Old Woman who Ttirned her Shift. 113 away down towards the fowling-pool, when Joan, fearing he might plunge in and drown her, let go her hold. The wind was blowing so strong, and the pair were going so fast against it, that Joan was lifted off, over the hindquarters of the horse, and by luck she fell soft on the rushes at the very edge of the fowling-pool. When she looked up, Joan saw whatever she had been riding going down the " bottom " in a blaze of fire, and the devil riding after, with lots of men, horses, and hounds, all without heads. All the marketing was lost ; and in getting through the bogs, Joan had her shoes dragged from her feet. At last she got to Trove Bottoms, and seeing the Bouge (sheep-house), she clambered over the hedge as she best could ; got into it, and laying herself down amongst the sheep, she soon fell fast asleep, thoroughly wearied out. She would have slept for a week, I believe, if she had not been disturbed. But, according to custom on Sunday morning, the Squire and his boys came out to the Downs to span the sheep, and there, greatly to their sur- prise, they found her. They got the miserable woman home between them. The Squire charged her with having got drunk, and said her eye had been scratched out by a furze-bush ; but Joan never wandered from her story, and to the day of her death she told it to all young women, warning them never to meddle with " Fairy Salve." THE OLD WOMAN WHO TURNED HER SHIFT. IN a lone house — situated not far from the hill on which now stands Knill's Steeple, as it is called — which was then known as Chyanwheal, or the House on the Mine, lived a lone woman, the widow of a miner, said to have been killed in one of the very ancient " coffens," as the open mine-workings existing in this hill are termed. A village now bears this name, but it has derived it from this lone house. Whether it was that they presumed upon her solitude, or whether the old lady had given them some induce- ment, is not now known, but the spriggans of Trencrom Hill were in the habit of meeting almost every night in her cottage to divide their plunder. The old woman usually slept, or at least she pretended to sleep, during the visit of the spriggans. When they left, they always placed a small coin on the table by her bedside, and with this indeed the old woman was enabled to provide herself with not merely the necessaries of life, but to add thereto a few of those things which were luxuries to one in her position. The old lady, however, was not satisfied with this. She resolved to bide her time, and when the spriggans had an unusually large amount II 114 Romances of the Fairies. of plunder, to make herself rich at once and for ever at their expense. Such a time at last arrived. The spriggans had' gath- ered, vjre know not how much valuable gold and jewellery. It gleamed and glistened on the floor, and the old woman in bed looked on with a most covetous eye. After a while, it appears, the sprigg3.ns were not able to settle the question of division with their usual amicability. The little thieves began to quarrel amongst themselves. Now, thought the old woman, is my time. Therefore huddling herself up under the bedclothes, she very adroitly contrived to turn her shift, and having completed the unfailing charm, she jumped from her bed, placed her hand on a gold cup, and ex- claimed, " Thee shusn't hae one on 'em ! " In affright the spriggans all scampered away, leaving their stolen treasure behind them. The last and boldest of the sprig- gans, however, swept his hand over the old woman's only garment as he left the house. The old woman, now wealthy, removed in a little time from Chyanwheal to St Ives, and, to the surprise of every one, purchased property and lived like a gentlewoman. Whenever, however, she put on the shift which had secured her her wealth, she was tortured beyond endurance. The doctors and all the learned people used hard names to describe her pains, but the wise women knew all along that they came of the spriggans. THE FAIRY WIDOWER. NOT many years since a very pretty girl called Jenny Permuen lived in Towednack. She was of poor parents, and lived in service. There was a good deal of romance, or what the old people called nonsense, in Jenny. She was always smartly dressed, and she would arrange wildflowers very gracefully in her hair. As a consequence, Jenny attracted much of the attention of the young men, and again, as a consequence, a great deal of envy from the young women. Jenny was, no doubt, vain ; and her vanity, which most vain persons will say is not usual, was ac- companied by a considerable amount of weakness on any point connected with her person. Jenny loved flattery, and being a poor, uneducated girl, she had not the genius necessary to disguise her frailty. When any man told her she was lovely, she quite admitted the truth of the assertion by her pleased looks. When any woman told her not to be such a fool as to believe such non- sense, her lips, and eyes too, seemed to say you are only jealous of me, and if there was a pool of water near, nature's mirror was TJie Fairy Widower. 1 1 5 speedily consulted to prove to herself that she was really the best- looking girl in the parish. Well, one day Jenny, who had been for some time out of a situation, was sent by her mother down to the lower parishes to " look for a place." Jenny went on merrily enough until she came to the four cross roads on the Lady Downs, when she discovered that she knew not which road to take. She looked first one way and then another, and she felt fairly puzzled, so she sat down on a boulder of granite, and began, in pure want of thought, to break off the beautiful fronds of ferns which grew abundantly around the spot she had chosen. It is hard to say what her intentions were, whether to go on, to return, or to remain where she was, so utterly indifferent did Jenny appear. Some say she was entirely lost in wild dreams of self-glorification. How- ever, she had not sat long on this granite stone, when hearing a voice near her, she turned round and saw a young man. " Well, young woman," says he, " and what are you after } " " I am after a place, sir," says she. "And what kind of a place do you want, my pretty young woman ? " says he, with the most winning smile in the world. " I am not particular, sir," says Jenny ; " I can make myself generally useful." " Indeed," says the stranger ; " do you think you could look after a widower with one little boy ? " " I am very fond of children," says Jenny. " Well, then," says the widower, " I wish to hire for a year and a day a young woman of your age, to take charge of my little boy." " And where do you live ? " inquired Jenny. " Not far from here," said the man ; " will you go with me and see ? " " An it please you to show me," said Jenny. " But first, Jenny Permuen," — Jenny stared when she found the stranger knew her name. He was evidently an entire stranger in the parish, and how could he have learnt her name, she thought. So she looked at him somewhat astonished. " Oh ! I see, you suppose I didn't know you ; but do you think a young widower could pass through Towednack and not be struck with such a pretty girl ? Beside," he said, " I watched you one day dressing your hair in one of my ponds, and stealing some of my sweet- scented violets to put in those lovely tresses. Now, Jenny Per- muen, will you take the place ? " " For a year and a day ? " asked Jenny. " Yes, and if we are pleased with each other then, we can renew the engagement." 1 1 6 Romances of the Fairies. " Wages,'' said Jenny. The widower rattled the gold in his breeches-pocket. " Wages I well, whatever you like to ask," said the man. Jenny was charmed ; all sorts of visions rose before her eyes, and without hesitation she said — " Well, 1 11 take the place, sir ; when must I come ? " " I require you now — my little boy is very unhappy, and I think you can make him happy again. You '11 come at once ? " " But mother " " Never mind mother, I '11 send word to her.'' " But my clothes " " The clothes you have will be all you require, and I '11 put you in a much gayer livery soon." " Well, then," says Jane, " 'tis a bargain '' " Not yet," says the man ; I 've got a way of my own, and you must swear my oath." Jenny looked frightened. " You need not be alarmed," said the man, very kindly ; " I only wish you to kiss that fern-leaf which you have in your hand, and say, ' For a year and a day I promise to stay.'" " Is that all ? " said Jenny ; so she kissed the fern-leaf and said — " For a year and a day I promise to stay." Without another word he walked forward on the road leading eastward. Jenny followed him — she thought it strange that her new master never opened his lips to her all the way, and she grew very tired with walking. Still onward and onward he went, and Jenny was sadly weary and her feet dreadfully sore. At last poor Jenny began to cry. He heard her sob and looked round. " Tired are you, poor girl? Sit down — sit down," says the man, and he took her by the hand and led her to a mossy bank. His kindness completely overcame her, and she burst into a flood of tears. He allowed her to cry for a few minutes, then taking a bunch of leaves from the bottom of the bank, he said, " Now I must dry your eyes, Jenny." He passed the bunch of leaves rapidly first over one and then over the other eye. The tears were gone. Her weariness had departed. She felt herself moving, yet she did not know that she had moved from the bank. The ground appeared to open, and they were passing very rapidly under the earth. At last there was a pause. The Fairy Widower. 1 1 7 " Here we are, Jenny," said he, " there is yet a tear of sorrow on your eyehds, and no human tears can enter our homes, let me wipe tliem away." Again Jenny's eyes were bruslied with the small leaves as before, and, lo ! before her was such a country as she had never seen previously. Hill and valley were covered with flowers, strangely varied in colour, but combining into a most harmonious whole ; so that the region appeared sown with gems which glittered in a light as brilliant as that of the summer sun, yet as mild as the moonlight. There were rivers clearer than any water she had ever seen on the granite hills, and waterfalls and fountains ; while everywhere ladies and gentlemen dressed in green and gold were walking, or sporting, or reposing on banks of flowers, singing songs or telling stories. Oh ! it was a beautiful world. " Here we are at home," said Jenny's master ; and strangely enough he too was changed ; he was the most beautiful little man she had ever seen, and he wore a green silken coat covered with ornaments of gold. " Now," said he again, " I must introduce you to your little charge." He led Jenny into a noble mansion in which all the furniture was of pearl and ivory, inlaid with gold and silver, and studded with emeralds. After passing through many rooms, they came at length to one which was hung all over with lace, as fine as the finest cobweb, most beautifully worked with flowers ; and, in the middle of this room was a little cot made out of some beautiful sea-shell, which reflected so many colours that Jenny could scarcely bear to look at it. She was led to the side of this, and she saw, as she said, " One of God's sweetest angels sleeping there." The little boy was so beautiful that she was ravished with delight. " This is your charge," said the father ; " I am the king in this land, and I have my own reasons for wishing my boy to know something of human nature. Now you have nothing to do but to wash and dress the boy when he wakes, to take him to walk in the garden, and to put him to bed when he is weary." Jenny entered on her duties, and gave, and continued to give, satisfaction. She loved the darling little boy, and he appeared to love her, and the time passed away with astonishing rapidity. Somehow or other she had never thought of her mother. She had never thought of her home at all. She was happy and in luxury, and never reckoned the passing of time. Howsoever happiness may blind us to the fact, the hours and days move onward. The period for which Jenny had bound her- self was gone, and one morning she awoke and all was changed. She was sleeping in her own bed in her mother's cottage. Every- 1 1 8 Romances of the Fairies. thing was strange to her, and she appeared strange to everybody. Numerous old gossips were called in to see Jenny, and to all Jenny told her strange tale alike. One day, old Mary Calineck of Zennor came, and she heard, as all the others had done, the story of the widower, and the baby, and the beautiful country. Some of the old crones who were there at the time said the girl was " gone clean daft." Mary looked very wise — " Crook your arm, Jenny," said she. Jenny sat up in the bed and bent her arm, resting her hand on her hip. " Now say, I hope my arm may never come uncrooked if I have told ye a word of a lie." " I hope my arm may never come uncrooked if I have told ye a word of a lie," repeated Jenny. " Uncrook your arm," said Maiy. Jenny stretched out her arm. " It is truth the girl is telling," said Mary ; " and she has been carried by the Small People to some of their countries under the hills." " Will the girl ever come right in her mind .'' " asked her mother. " All in good time," said Mary; " and if she will but be honest, I have no doubt but her master will take care that she never wants." . Howbeit, Jenny did not get on very well in the world. She married and was discontented and far from happy. Some said she always pined after the fairy widower. Others said they were sure she had misbehaved herself, or she would have brought back lots of gold. If Jenny had not dreamt all this, while she was sitting picking ferns on the granite boulder, she had certainly had a very strange adventure. THE SMALL PEOPLE'S GARDENS. IF the adventurous traveller who visits the Land's End district will go down as far as he can on the south-west side of the Logan Rock Cairn, and look over, he will see, in little sheltered places between the cairns, close down to the water's edge, beauti- fully green spots, with here and there some ferns and cliff-pinks. These are the gardens of the Small People, or, as they are. called by the natives, Small Folk. They are beautiful little creatures, who appear to pass a life of constant enjoyment amongst their own favourite flowers. They are harmless ; and if man does not St Lev an Fairies. 1 19 meddle with them when they are holding their fairs — which are indeed high festivals — the Small Folk never interfere with man or anything belonging to him. They are known • to do much good, especially when they discover a case of oppressed poverty; but they do it in their own way. They love to do good for its own sake, and the publication of it in any way draws down their cen- sure, and sometimes severe anger, on the object whom it was their purpose to serve. To provis that those lovely little creatures are no dream, I may quote the words of a native of St Levan : — "As I was saying, when I have been to sea close under the cliffs, of a fine summer's night, I have heard the sweetest of music, and seen hundreds of little lights moving about amongst what looked like flowers. Ay ! and they are flowers too, for you may smell the sweet scent far out at sea. Indeed, I have heard many of the old men say, that they have smelt the sweet perfume, and heard the music firom the fairy gardens of the Castle, when more than a mile from the shore." Strangely enough, you can find no flowers but the sea-pinks in these lovely green places by day, yet they have been described by those who have seen them in the midsummer moonlight as being covered with flowers of every colour, all of them far more brilliant than any blossoms seen in any mortal garden. ST LEVAN FAIRIES. YEARS since — the time is past now-^the green outside the gate at the end of Trezidder Lane was a favourite place with the Small Folks on which to hold their fairs. One might often see the rings in ■ the grass which they made in dancing, where they footed it. Mr Trezillian was returning late one night from Penzance ; when he came near the gate, he saw a number of little creatures spinning round and round. The sight made him light- headed, but he could not resist the desire to be amongst them, so he got off his horse. In a moment they were all over him like a swarm of bees, and he felt as if they were sticking needles and pins into him. His horse ran off, and he didn't know what to do, till, by good luck, he thought .of what he had often heard, so he turned his glove inside out, threw it amongst the Small Folk, and ere the glove reached the ground they were all gone. Mr Trezillian had now to find his horse,' and the Small Folk, still determining to lead him a dance, bewildered him. He was piskie-led, and he could not find out where he was until broad daylight. Then he gaw he was not a hundred yards from the place at which he had I20 Romances of the Fairies. left his horse. On looking round the spot where he had seen the Small Folk dancing, he found a pair of very small silver knee- buckles of a most ancient shape, which, no doubt, some little gentleman must have lost when he was punishing the farmer. Those who knew the families will well remember the little silver buckles, which were kept for some time at Trezidder and some time at Raftra. Down in Penberth Cove lived an old woman who was an espe- cial favourite with these little people. She was a good old crea- ture, and had been for many years bedridden. These Small Folk were her only company. Her relations dropped in once a day, rendered her the little aid she required, and left food by the bed- side. But day by day, and all the day long, the Small Folk vied with each other to amuse her. The men, she related, were for the most part dressed in green, with a red or a blue cap and a feather — " They look for all the world hke little sodgers." As for the ladies — you should have heard the old woman tell of the gay ladies, with their feathers, hooped petticoats with furbelows, trains, and fans, and what saucy little creatures they were with the men ! No sooner was the old woman left alone than in they came and began their frolics, dancing over the rafters and key-beams, swinging by the cobwebs like rope-dancers, catching the mice and riding them in and out through the holes in the thatch. When one party got tired another party came, and by daylight, and even by moonlight, the old bedridden creature never wanted amuse- ment. THE ADVENTURE OF CHERRY OF ZENNOR. THIS may be regarded as another version of the story of the Fairy Widower : — Old Honey hved with his wife and family in a little hut of two rooms and a " talfat," * on the cliff side of Trereen in Zennor. The old couple had half-a-score of children, who were all reared in this place. They lived as they best could on the produce of a few acres of ground, which were too poor to keep even a goat in good heart. The heaps of crogans (limpet- shells) about the hut, led one to believe that their chief food was limpets and gweans (periwinkles). They had, however, fish and potatoes most days, and pork and broth now and then of a Sun- day. At Christmas and the Feast they had white bread. There was not a healthier nor a handsomer family in the parish than Old Honey's. We are, however, only concerned with one of them — his * Tal/at is a half-floor at one end of a cottage on which a bed is placed. The Adventure of Cherry of Zcnnor. 1 2 1 daughter Cherry. Cherry could run as fast as a hare, and was ever full of frolic and mischief. Whenever the miller's boy came into the " town,'' tied his horse to the furze-rick and called in to see if any one desired to send corn to the mill, Cherry would jump on to its back and gallop off to the cliff. When the miller's boy gave chase, and she could ride no further over the edge of that rocky coast, she would take to the cairns, and the swiftest dog could not catch her, much less the miller's boy. Soon after Cherry got into her teens she became very discon- tented, because year after year her mother had been promising her a new frock that she might go off as smart as the rest, " three on one horse to Morva Fair."* As certain as the time came round the money was wanting, so Cherry had nothing decent. She could neither go to fair, nor to church, nor to meeting. Cherry was sixteen. One of her playmates had a new dress smartly trimmed with ribbons, and she told Cherry how she had been to Nancledry to the preaching, and how she had ever so many sweethearts who brought her home. This put the volatile Cherry in a fever of desire. She declared to her mother she would go off to the " low countries "+ to seek for service, that she might get some clothes like other girls. Her mother wished her to go to Towednack, that she might have the chance of seeing her now and then of a Sunday. " No, no ! " said Cherry, " I '11 never go to live in the parish where the cow ate the bell-rope, and where they have fish and taties (potatoes) every day, and conger-pie of a Sunday for a change." One fine morning Cherry tied up a few things in a bundle and prepared to start. She promised her father that she would get service as near home as she could,, and come home at the earliest opportunity. The old man said she was bewitched, charged her to take care she wasn't carried away by either the sailors or pirates, and allowed her to depart. Cherry took the road leading to Ludgvan and Gulval. When she lost sight of the chimneys of Trereen, she go out of heart, and had a great mind to go home again. But she went on. At length she came to the four cross roads on the Lady Downs, sat herself down on a stone by the roadside, and cried to think of her home, which she might never see again. * A Cornish proverb. t The terms " high " and " low countries," are applied respectively to the hills and the valleys of the country about Towednack and Zennor. 122 Romances of the Fairies. Her crying at last came to an end, and she resolved to go home and make the best of it. When she dried her eyes and held up her head she was sur- prised to see a gentleman coming towards her ; — for she couldn't think where he came from ; no one was to be seen on the Downs a few minutes before. The gentleman wished her " Good morning," inquired the road to Towednack, and asked Cherry where she was going. Cheriy told the gentleman that she had left home that morning to look for service, but that her heart had failed her, and she was going back over the hills to Zennor again. " I never expected to meet with such luck as this," said the gen- tleman. " I left home this morning to seek for a nice clean girl to keep house for me, and here you are." He then told Cherry that he had been recently left a widower, and that he had one dear little boy, of whom Cherry might have charge. Cherry was the very girl that would suit him. She was handsome and cleanly. He could see that her clothes were so mended that the first piece could not be discovered ; yet she was as sweet as a rose, and all the water in the sea could not make her cleaner. Poor Cherry said " Yes, sir," to everything, yet she did not understand one quarter part of what the gentleman said. Her mother had instructed her to say " Yes, sir," to the parson, or any gentleman, when, like herself, she did not understand them. The gentleman told her he lived but a short way off, down in the low countries ; that she would have very little to do but milk the cow and look after the baby ; so Cherry consented to go with him. Away they went, he talking so kindly that Cherry had no notion how time was moving, and she quite forgot the distance she had walked. At length they were in lanes, so shaded with trees that a checker of sunshine scarcely gleamed on the road. As far as she could see, all was trees and flowers. Sweetbriars and honey- suckles perfumed the air, and the reddest of ripe apples hung from the trees over the lane. Then they came to a steam of water as clear as ciystal, which ran across the lane. It was, however, very dark, and Cherry paused to see how she should cross the river. The gentleman put his arm around her waist and carried her over, so that she did not wet her feet. The lane was getting darker and darker, and narrower and narrower, and they seemed to be going rapidly down-hill. The A dventtire of Cherry of Zennor. 123 Cherry took firm hold of the gentleman's arm, and thought, as he had been so kind to her, she could go with him to the world's end. After walking a little farther, the gentleman opened a gate which led into a beautiful garden, and said, " Cherry, my dear, this is the place we live in." Cherry could scarcely believe her eyes. She had never seen anything approaching this place for beauty. Flowers of every dye were around her ; fruits of all kinds hung above her ; and the birds, sweeter of song than any she had ever heard, burst out into a chorus of rejoicing. She had heard gi'anny tell of enchanted places. Could this be one of them ? No. The gentleman was as big as the parson ; and now a little boy came running down the garden-walk shouting, " Papa, papa." The child appeared, from his size, to be about two or three years of age ; but there was a singular look of age about him. His eyes were brilliant and piercing, and he had a crafty expression. As Cherry said, " He could look anybody down." Before Cherry could speak to the child, a very old, dry-boned, ugly-looking woman made her appearance, and seizing the child by the arm, dragged him into the house, mumbling and scolding. Before, however, she was lost sight of, the old hag cast one look at Cherry, which shot through her heart " like a gimblet." Seeing Cherry somewhat disconcerted, the master explained that the old woman was his late wife's grandmother ; that she would remain with them until Cherry knew her work, and no longer, for she was old and ill-tempered, and must go. At length, having feasted her eyes on the garden. Cherry was taken into the house, and this was yet more beautiful. Flowers of every kind grew everywhere, and the sun seemed to shine everywhere, and yet she did not see the sun. Aunt Pinidence — so was the old woman named — spread a table in a moment with a great variety of nice things, and Cherry made a hearty supper. She was now directed to go to bed, in a cham- ber at the top of the house, in which the child was to sleep also. Prudence directed Cherry to keep her eyes closed, whether she could sleep or not, as she might, perchance, see things which she would not like. She was not to speak to the child all night. She was to rise at break of day ; then take the boy to a spring in the garden, wash him, and anoint his eyes with an ointment, which she would find in a crystal box in a cleft of the rock, but she was not, on any account, to touch her own eyes with it. Then Cherry was to call the cow ; and having taken a bucket full of milk, to 124 Romances of the Fairies. draw a bowl of the last milk for the boy's breakfast. Cherry was dying with curiosity. She several times began to question the child, but he always stopped her with, " I '11 tell Aunt Prudence." According to her orders. Cherry was up in the morning early. The little boy conducted the girl to the spring, which flowed in crystal purity from a granite rock, which was covered with ivy and beautiful mosses. The child was duly washed, and his eyes duly anointed. Cherry saw no cow, but her little charge said she must call the cow. " Pruit ! pruit ! pruit ! " called Cherry, just as she would call the cows at home ; when, lo ! a beautiful great cow came from amongst the trees, and stood on the bank beside Cherry. Cherry had no sooner placed her hands on the cow's teats than four streams of milk flowed down and soon filled the bucket. The boy's bowl was then filled, and he drank it. This being done, the cow quietly walked away, and Cherry returned to the house to be instructed in her daily work. The old woman. Prudence, gave Cherry a capital breakfast, and then informed her that she must keep to the kitchen, and attend to her work there — to scald the milk, make the butter, and clean all the platters and bowls with water and gard (gravel sand). Cherry was charged to avoid curiosity. She was not to go into any other part of the house ; she was not to try and open any locked doors. After her ordinary work was done on the second day, her master required Cherry to help him in the garden, to pick the apples and pears, and to weed the leeks and onions. Glad was Cherry to get out of the old woman's sight. Aunt Prudence always sat with one eye on her knitting, and the other boring through poor Cherry. Now and then she 'd grumble, " I knew Robin would bring down some fool from Zennor — better for both that she had tarried away." Cheriy and her master got on famously, and whenever Cherry had finished weeding a bed, her master would give her a kiss to show her how pleased he was. After a few days, old Aunt Prudence took Cherry into those parts of the house which she had never seen. They passed through a long dark passage. Cherry was then made to take off her shoes ; and they entered a room, the floor of which was like glass, and all round, perched on the shelves, and on the floor, were people, big and small, turned to stone. Of some, there were .only the head and shoulders, the arms being cut off ; others were perfect. Cherry told the old woman she " wouldn't cum ony The Adventure of Cherry of Zennor. 1 25 furder for the wurld." She thought from the first she was got into a land of Small People underground, only master was like other men ; but now she know'd she was with the conjurors, who had turned all these people to stone. She had heard talk on 'em up in Zennor, and she knew they might at any moment wake up and eat her. Old Prudence laughed at Cherry, and drove her on, insisted upon her rubbing up a box, " like a coffin on six legs," until she could see her face in it. Well, Cherry did not want for courage, so she began to rub with a will ; the old woman standing by, knitting all the time, calling out every now and then, " Rub ! rub ! rub ! harder and faster ! " At length Cheny got des- perate, and giving a violent rub at one of the comers, she nearly upset the box. When, O Lor 1 it gave out such a doleful, un- earthly sound, that Cherry thought all the stone-people were coming to life, and with her fright she fell down in a fit. The master heard all this noise, and came in to inquire into the cause of the hubbub. He was in great wrath, kicked old Prudence out of the house for taking Cherry into that shut-up room, carried Cherry into the kitchen, and soon, with some cordial, recovered her senses. Cherry could not remember what had happened ; but she knew there was something fearful in the other part of the house. But Cherry was mistress now — old Aunt Prudence was gone. Her master was so kind and loving that a year passed by like a summer day. Occasionally her master left home for a season ; then he would return and spend much time in the en- chanted apartments, and Cherry was certain she had heard him talking to the stone-people. Cherry had everything the human heart could desire, but she was not happy; she would know more of the place and the people. Cherry had discovered that the oint- ment made the little boy's eyes bright and strange, and she thought often that he saw more than she did ; she would try ; yes, she would ! Well, next morning the child was washed, his eyes anointed, and the cow milked ; she sent the boy to gather her some flowers in the garden, and taking a " crum " of ointment, she put it into her eye. Oh, her eye would be burned out of her head ! Cherry ran to the pool beneath the rock to wash her burning eye ; when lo ! she saw at the bottom of the water, hundreds of little people, mostly ladies, playing, — and there was her master, as small as the others, playing with them. Everything now looked different about the place. Small people were everywhere, hiding in the flowers sparkling with diamonds, swinging in the trees, and run- 126 Romances of the Fairies, ning and leaping under and over the blades of grass. The master never showed himself above the vfater all day ; but at night he rode up to the house like the handsome gentleman she had seen before. He went to the enchanted chamber and Cherry soon heard the most beautiful music. In the morning, her master was off, dressed as if to follow the hounds. He returned at night, left Cherry to herself, and pro- ceeded at once to his private apartments. Thus it was day after day, until Cherry could stand it no longer. So she peeped through the keyhole, and saw her master with lots of ladies, singing ; while one dressed like a queen was playing on the cofSn. Oh, how madly jealous Cherry became when she saw her master kiss this lovely lady ! However, the next day, the master remained at home to gather fruit. Cherry was to help him, and when, as usual, he looked to kiss her, she slapped his face, and told him to kiss the Small People, like himself, with whom he played under the water. So he found out that Cherry had used the ointment. With much sorrow he told her she must go home, — that he would have no spy on his actions, and that Aunt Prudence must come back. Long before day, Cherry was called by her master. He gave her lots of clothes and other things ; — took her bundle in one hand, and a lantern in the other, and bade her follow him. They went on for miles on miles, all the time going up hill, through lanes, and narrow passages. When they canje at last on level ground, it was near daybreak. He kissed Cherry, told her she was punished for her idle curiosity ; but that he would, if she be- haved well, come sometimes on the Lady Downs to see her. Say- ing this, he disappeared. The sun rose, and there was Cherry seated on a granite stone, without a soul within miles of her, — a desolate moor having taken the place of a smiling garden. Long, long did Cherry sit in sorrow, but at last she thought she would go home. Her parents had supposed her dead, and when they saw her, they believed her to be her own ghost. Cherry told her story, which every one doubted, but Cherry never varied her tale, and at last every one believed it. They say Cherry was never after- wards right in her head, and on moonlight nights, until she died, she would wander on to the Lady Downs to look for her master. Anne Jcfferies and the Fairies. 1 27 ANNE JEFFERIES AND THE FAIRIES. ANNE JEFFERIES was the daughter of a poor labouring man, who hved in the parish of St Teath. She was born in 1626, and is supposed to have died in 1698. When she was nineteen years old, Anne, who was a remarkably sharp and clever girl, went to live as a servant in the family of Mr Moses Pitt. Anne was an unusually bold girl, and would do things which even boys feared to attempt. Of course, in those days every one believed in fairies, and everybody feared those little airy beings. They were constantly the talk of the people, and this set Anne longing anxiously to have an interview with some of them. So Anne was often abroad after sundown, turn- ing up the fern leaves, and looking into the bells of the foxglove to find a fairy, singing all the time — ' ' Fairy fair and fairy bright ; Come and be my chosen sprite." She never allowed a moonlight night to pass without going down into the valley, and walking against the stream, singing — " Moon shines bright, waters run clear, I am here, but where 's my fairy dear ? " The fairies were a long time trying this poor girl ; for, as they told her afterwards, they never lost sight of her ; but there they would be, looking on when she was seeking them, and they would run from frond to frond of the ferns, when she was turning them up in her anxious search. One day Anne, having finished her morning's work, was sitting in the arbour in her master's garden, when she fancied she heard some one moving aside the branches, as though endeavouring to look in upon her ; and she thought it must be her sweetheart, so she resolved to take no notice. Anne went on steadily with her work, no sound was heard but the regular beat of the knitting- needles one upon the other. Presendy she heard a suppressed laugh, and then again a rustle amidst the branches. The back of the arbour was towards the lane, and to enter the garden it was necessary to walk down the lane to the gate, which was, however, not many yards off. Chck, click went the needles, click, click, click. At last Anne began to feel vexed that the intruder did not show himself, and she pettishly said, half aloud — 128 Romances of the Fairies. " You may stay there till the kueney * grows on the gate, ere I '11 come to 'ee." There was immediately a peculiar ringing and very musical laugh. Anne knew this was not her lover's laugh, and she felt afraid. But it was bright day, and she assured herself that no one would do her any mischief, as she knew herself to be a general favourite in the parish. Presently Anne felt assured that the garden gate had been carefully opened and again closed, so she waited anxiously the result. In a few moments she perceived at the entrance of the arbour six little men, all clothed very handsomely in green. They were beautiful Httle figures, and had very charm- ing faces, and such bright eyes. The grandest of these little visitors, who wore a red feather in his cap, advanced in front of the others, and, making a most polite bow to Anne, addressed her familiarly in the kindest words. This gentleman looked so sweetly on Anne that she was charmed beyond measure, and she put down her hand as if to shake hands with her little friend, when he jumped into her palm, and she lifted him into her lap. He then, without any more ado, clambered upon her bosom and neck, and began kissing her. Anne never felt so charmed in her life as while this one little gentle- man was playing with her ; but presently he called his companions, and they all clambered up by her dress as best they could, and kissed her neck, her lips, and her eyes. One of them ran his fingers over her eyes, and she felt as if they had been pricked with a pin. Suddenly Anne became blind, and she felt herself whirled through the air at a great rate. By and by, one of her little companions said something which sounded like " Tear away," and lo ! Anne had her sight at once restored. She was in one of the most beautiful places — temples and palaces of gold and silver. Trees laden with fruits and flowers. Lakes full of gold and silver fish, and the air full of birds of the sweetest song, and the most brilliant colours. Hundreds of ladies and gentlemen were walk- ing about. Hundreds more were idling in the most luxuriant bowers, the fragrance of the flowers oppressing them with a sense of delicious repose. Hundreds were also dancing, or engaged in sports of various kinds. Anne was, however, sur- prised to find that these happy people were no longer the small people she had previously seen. There was now no more than the difference usually seen in a crowd, between their height and her own. Anne found herself arrayed in the most highly-decorated clothes. So grand, indeed, did she appear, that she doubted her * Moss, or mildew ; properly, ciiiicy. The Piskie Threshers. 129 identity. Anne was constantly attended by her six friends ; but the finest gentleman, who was the first to address her, continued her favourite, at which the others appeared to be very jealous. Eventually Anne and her favourite contrived to separate themselves, and they retired into some most lovely gardens, where they were hidden by the luxuriance of the flowers. Lovingly did they pass the time, and Anne desired that this should continue for ever. However, when they were at the happiest, there was heard a great noise, and presently the five other fairies at the head of a great crowd came after them in a violent rage. Her lover drew his sword to defend her, but this was soon beaten down, and he lay wounded at her feet. Then the fairy who had blinded her again placed his hands upon her eyes, and all was dark. She heard strange noises, and felt herself whirled about and about, and as if a thousand flies were buzzing around her. At length her eyes were opened, and Anne found herself on the ground in the arbour where she had been sitting in the morning, and many anxious faces were around her, all conceiving that she was recovering from a convulsion fit.* THE PISKIE THRESHERS. MANY an industrious farmer can speak of the assistance which he has received from the piskies. Mr T. Q. Couch tells a story of this kind so well that no other is required, f Long, long ago, before threshing-machines were thought of, the farmer who resided at C , in going to his barn one day, was surprised at the extraordinary quantity of corn that had been threshed the previous night, as well as to discover the mysterious agency by which it was effected. His curiosity led him to inquire into the matter ; so at night, when the moon was up, he crept stealthily to the barn-door, and looking through a chink, saw a little fellow, clad in a tattered suit of green, wielding the " dreshel " (flail) with astonishing vigour, and beating the floor with blows so rapid that the eye could not follow the motion of the implement. The farmer slunk away unperceived, and went to bed, where he lay a long while awake, thinking in what way he could best show his gratitude to the piskie for such an important service. He came to the conclusion at length, that, as the little fellow's clothes were getting very old and ragged, the gift of a new suit would be a proper way to lessen the obligation ; and, accordingly, on the morrow he had a suit of green made, of what was supposed to be the proper * See Bloses Pitt's Letter, Appendix K. t See Notes and Queries. I 1 30 Romances of the Fairies, size, which he carfied early in the evening to the bam, and left for the piskie's acceptance. At night the farmer stole to the door again to see how his gift was taken. He was just in time to see the elf put on the suit, which was no sooner accomplished than, looking down on himself admiringly, he sung — " Piskie fine, and piskie gay, Piskie now will fly away." THE MUR VANS' BANK.* THE ant is called by the peasantry a Muryan. Believing that they are the Small People in their state of decay from off the earth, it is deemed most unlucky to destroy a colony of ants. If you place a piece of tin in a bank of Muryans at a certain age of the moon, it will be turned into silver. * Murrian, Welsh, " Crig-muniaD," the hill of ants. TREGEAGLE. " In Cornwaile's fair land, bye the pooIe on the moore, Tregeagle the wicked did dwell." — Tregeagle ; or, Dozmare Pool. By John Penwarne. ^ ROMANCES OF TREGEAGLE. THE DEMON TREGEAGLE. " Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale, And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice,'' — Thomas Sackville. WHO has not heard of the wild spirit Tregeagle ? He haunts equally the moor, the rocky coasts, and the blovm sand- hills of Cornwall. From north to south, from east to west, this doomed spirit is heard of, and to the day of judgment he is doomed to wander, pursued by avenging fiends. For ever endeavouring to perform some task by which he hopes to secure repose, and being for ever defeated. Who has not heard the howling of Tregeagle ? When the storms come with all their strength from the Atlantic, and urge themselves upon the rocks around the Land's End, the howls of the spirit are louder than the roaring of the winds. When calms rest upon the ocean, and the waves can scarcely form upon the resting waters, low wait- ings creep along the coast. These are the wailings of this wander- ing soul. When midnight is on the moor or on the mountains, and the night winds whistle amidst the rugged cairns, the shrieks of Tregeagle are distinctly heard. We Icnow, then, that he is pursued by the demon dogs, and that till daybreak he must fly with all speed before them. The voice of Tregeagle is every- where, and jet he is unseen by human eye. Every reader will at once perceive that Tregeagle belongs to the mythologies of the oldest nations, and that the traditions of this wandering spirit in Cornwall, which centre upon one tyrannical magistrate, are but the appropriation of stories which belong to every age and country. Tradition thus tells Tregeagle's tale. There are some men who appear to be from their births given over to the will of tormenting demons. Such a man was Tre- geagle. He is as old as the hills, yet there are many circum- stances in the story of his life which appear to remove him from The Dead Tregeagle. 133 this remote antiquity. Modern legends assert him to belong to comparatively modern times, and say that, without doubt, he was one of the Tregeagles who once owned Treyorder near Bodmin. We have not, however, much occas'ion to trouble ourselves with the man or his life ; it is with the death and the subsequent exist- ence of a myth that we are concerned. Certain it is that the man Tregeagle was diabolically wicked. He seems to have been urged on from one crime to another until the cup of sin was overflowing. Tregeagle was wealthy beyond most men of his time, and his wealth purchased for him that immunity, which the Church, in her degenerate days, too often accorded to those who could aid, with their gold or power, the sensual priesthood. As a magis- trate, he was tyrannical and unjust, and many an innocent man was wantonly sacrificed by him for the purpose of hiding his own dark deeds. As a landlord, he was rapacious and unscrupulous, and frequently so involved his tenants in his toils, that they could not escape his grasp. The stain of secret murder clings to his memory, and he is said to have sacrificed a sister whose good- ness stood between him and his demon passions ; his wife and children perished victims to his cruelties. At length death drew near to relieve the land of a monster whpse name was a terror to all who heard it. Devils waited to secure the soul they had won, and Tregeagle in terror gave to the priesthood wealth, that they might fight with them and save his soul from eternal fire. Des- perate was the struggle, but the powerful exorcisms of the banded brotherhood of a neighbouring monastery, drove back the evil ones, and Tregeagle slept with his fathers, safe in the custody of the churchmen, who buried him with high honours in St Breock Church. They sang chants and read prayers above his grave, to secure the soul which they thought they had saved. But Tregeagle was not fated to rest. Satan desired still to gain possession of such a gigantic sinner, and we can only refer what ensued to the influence of the wicked spiritings of his ministers. A dispute arose between two wealthy families respecting the ownership of extensive lands around Bodmin. The question had been rendered more difficult by the nefarious conduct of Tregeagle, who had acted as steward to one of the claimants, and who had destroyed ancient deeds, forged others, and indeed made it appear that he was the real proprietor of the domain. Large portions of the land Tregeagle had sold, and other parts were leased upon long terms, he having received all the money and appropriated it. His death led to inquiries, and then the transactions were gradually 134 Romances of Tregeagle. brought to light. Involving, as this did, large sums of money — and indeed it was a question upon which turned the future well- doing or ruin of a family — it was fought by the lawyers with great pertinacity. The legal questions had been argued several times before the judges at the assizes. The trials had been deferred, new trials had been sought for and granted, and every possible plan known to the lawyers for postponing the settlement of a suit had been tried. A day was at length fixed, upon which a final decision must be come to, and a special jury was sworn to admin- ister justice between the contending parties. Witnesses innumer- able were examined as to the validity of a certain deed, and the balance of evidence was equally suspended. The judge was about to sum up the case and refer the question to the jury, when the defendant in the case, coming into court, proclaimed aloud that he had yet another witness to produce. There was a strange silence in the judgment-hall. It was felt that something chilling to the soul was amongst them, and there was a simultaneous throb of terror as Tregeagle was led into the witness-box. When the awe-struck assembly had recovered, the lawyers for the defendant commenced their examination, which was long and terrible. The result, however, was the disclosure of an involved system of fraud, of which the honest defendant had been the victim, and the jury unhesitatingly gave a verdict in his favour. The trial over, every one expected to see the spectre-witness removed. There, however, he stood, powerless to fly, although he evidently desired to do so. Spirits of darkness were waiting to bear him away, but some spell of holiness prevented them from touching him. There was a struggle with the good and the evil angels for this sinner's soul, and the assembled court appeared frozen with horror. At length the judge with dignity commanded the defendant to remove his witness. " To bring him from the grave has been to me so dreadful a task, that I leave him to your care, and that of the Prior's, by whom he was so beloved." Having said this, the defendant left the court. The churchmen were called in, and long were the dehberations between them and the lawyers, as to the best mode of disposing of Tregeagle. They could resign him to the devil at once, but by long trial the worst of crimes might be absolved, and as good churchmen they could not sacrifice a human soul. The only thing was to give the spirit some task, difficult beyond the power of human nature, which might be extended far into eternity. Time might Tregeagle at Dosmery Pool. 135 thus gradually soften the obdurate soul, which still retained all the black dyes of the sins done in the flesh, that by infinitely slow degrees repentance might exert its softening power. The spell therefore put upon Tregeagle was, that as long as he was employed on some endless assigned task, there should be hope of salvation, and that he should be secure from the assaults of the devil as long as he laboured steadily. A moment's rest was fatal — labour unresting, and for ever, was his doom. One of the lawyers, remembering that Dosmery Pool* was bottomless, and that a thorn-bush which had been flung into it, but a few weeks before, had made its appearance in Falmouth Harbour, proposed that Tregeagle might be employed to empty this profound lake. Then one of the churchmen, to make the task yet more enduring, proposed that it should be performed by the aid of a limpet-shell having a hole in it. This was agreed to, and the required incantations were duly made. Bound by mystical spells, Tregeagle was removed to the dark moors and duly set to work. Year after year passed by, and there, day and night, summer and winter, storm and shine, Tregeagle was bending over the dark water, working hard with his perforated shell ; yet the pool remained at the same level. His old enemy the devil kept a careful eye on the doomed one, resolving, if possible, to secure so choice an example of evil. Often did he raise tempests sufficiently wild, as he supposed, to drive Tregeagle from his work, knowing that if he failed for a season to labour, he could seize and secure him. These were long tried in vain ; but at length an auspicious hour presented itself. Nature was at war with herself, the elements had lost their balance, and there was a terrific struggle to recover it. Light- nings flashed and coiled like fiery snakes around the rocks of Roughtor. Fire-balls fell on the desert moors and hissed in the accursed lake. Thunders peeled through the heavens, and .echoed from hill to hill ; an earthquake shook the solid earth, and terror was on all living. The winds arose and raged with a fury which was irresistible, and hail beat so mercilessly on all things, that it spread death around. Long did Tregeagle stand the " pelting of the pitiless storm," but at length he yielded to its force and fled. The demons in crowds were at his heels. He doubled, however, on his pursuers, and returned to the lake ; but so rapid were they, that he could not rest the required moment to dip his shell in the- now seething waters. * Or Dozmare. Unfortunately for its bottomless character, in a recent hot and rainless summer, this little lake became dry. 1 36 Romances of Tregeagle. Three times he fled round the lake, and the evil ones pursued him. Then, feeling that there was no safety for him near Dosmery Pool, he sprang swifter than the wind across it, shrieking with agony, and thus, — since the devils cannot cross water, and were obliged to go round the lake, — he gained on them and fled over the moor. Away, away went Tregeagle, faster and faster the dark spirits pursuing, and they had nearly overtaken him, when he saw Roach Rock and its chapel before him. He rushed up the rocks, with giant power clambered to the eastern window, and dashed his head through it, thus securing the shelter of its sanctity. The defeated demons retired, and long and loud were their wildwail- ings in the air. The inhabitants of the moors and of the neigh- bouring towns slept not a wink that night. Tregeagle was safe, his head was within the holy church, though his body was exposed on a bare rock to the storm. Earnest were the prayers of the blessed hermit in his cell on the rock to be relieved from his nocturnal and sinful visitor. In vain were the recluse's prayers. Day after day, as he knelt at the altar, the ghastly head of the doomed sinner grinned horridly down upon him. Every holy ejaculation fell upon Tregeagle's ear like molten iron. He writhed and shrieked under- the torture ; but legions of devils filled the air, ready to seize him, if for a moment he withdrew his head from the sanctuary. Sabbath after Sabbath the little chapel on the rock was rendered a scene of sad confusion by the interruptions which Tregeagle caused. Men trembled with fear at his agonising cries, and women swooned. At length the place was deserted, and even the saint of the rock was wasting to death by the constant perturba- tion in which he was kept by the unholy spirit, and the demons who, like carrion birds, swarmed around the holy cairn. Things could not go on thus. The monks of Bodmin and the priests from the neighbouring churches gathered together, and the result of their long and anxious deliberations was, that Tregeagle, guarded by two saints, should be taken to the north coast, near Padstow, and employed in making trusses of sand, and ropes of sand with ■which to bind them. By powerful spell, Tregeagle was removed from Roach, and fixed upon the sandy shores of the Padstow dis- trict. Sinners are seldom permitted to enjoy any peace of soul. As the ball of sand grew into form, the tides rose, and the breakers spread out the sands again a- level sheet ; again was it packed together and again washed away. Toil 1 toil ! toil I day and night unrestingly, sand on sand grew with each hour, and ruth- lessly the ball was swept, by one blow of a sea wave, along the shore. Tregeagle at Loo Pool 137 The cries of Tregeagle were dreadful ; and as the destruction of the sand heap was constantly recurring, a constantly increasing despair gained the mastery over hope, and the ravings of the baffled soul were louder than the roarings of the winter tempest. Baffled in making trusses of sand, Tregeagle seized upon the loose particles and began to spin them into a rope. Long and patiently did he pursue his task, and hope once more rose like a star out of the midnight darkness of despair. A rope was forming, when a storm came up with all its fury from the Atlantic, and swept the particles of sand away over the hills. The inhabitants of Padstow had seldom any rest. At every ■ tide the howUngs of Tregeagle banished sleep from each eye. But now so fearful were the sounds of the doomed soul, in the mad- ness of the struggle between hope and despair, that the people fled the town, and clustered upon the neighbouring plains, praying, as with one voice, to be relieved from the sad presence of this monster. St Petroc, moved by the tears and petitions of the people, resolved to remove the spirit ; and by the intense earnestness of his prayers, after long wrestling, he subdued Tregeagle to his will. Having chained him with the bonds which the saint had forged with his own hands, every link of which had been welded with a prayer, St Petroc led the spirit away from the north coast, and stealthily placed him on the southern shores. In those days Ella's Town, now Helston, was a flourishing port. Ships sailed into the estuary, up to the town, and they brought all sorts of merchandise, and returned with cargoes of tin from the mines of Breage and Wendron. The wily monk placed his charge at Bareppa, and there con- demned him to carry sacks of sand across the estuary of the Loo, and to empty them at Porthleven, until the beach was clean down to the rocks. The priest was a good observer. He knew that the sweep of the tide was from Trewavas Head round the coast towards the Lizard, and that the sand would be carried back steadily and speedily as fast as the spirit could remove it. Long did Tregeagle labour ; and, of course, in vain. His struggles were giant-like to perform his task, but he saw the sands return as regularly as he removed them. The sufferings of the poor fishermen who inhabited the coast around Porthleven were great. As the bowlings of Tregeagle disturbed the dwellers in Padstow, so did they now distress those toil-worn men. " When sorrow is highest, Relief is nighest." 138 Romances of Tregeagle. And a mischievous demon-watcher, in pure wantonness, brought that relief to those fishers of the sea. Tregeagle was laden with a sack of sand of enormous size, and was wading across the mouth of the estuary, when one of those wicked devils, who were kept ever near Tregeagle, in very idleness tripped up the heavily-laden spirit. The sea was raging with the irritation of a passing storm ; and as Tregeagle fell, the sack was seized by the waves, and its contents poured out across this arm of the sea. There, to this day, it rests a bar of sand, fatally destroying the harbour of Ella's Town. The rage of the inhabitants of this sea- port, — now destroyed, — was great ; and with all their priests, away they went to the Loo Bar, and assailed their destroyer. Against human anger Tregeagle was proof The shock of tongues feU harmlessly on his ear, and the assault of human weapons was unavailing. By the aid of the priests, and faith-inspired prayers, the bonds were once more placed upon Tregeagle ; and he was, by the force of bell, book, and candle, sent to the Land's End. There he would find no harbour to destroy, and but few people to terrify. His task was to sweep the sands from Porthcurnow Cove round the head- land called Tol-Peden-Penwith, into Nanjisal Cove. Those who know that rugged headland, with its cubical masses of granite, piled in Titanic grandeur one upon another, will appreciate the task ; and when to all the difficulties are added the strong sweep of the Atlantic current, — that portion of the Gulf-stream which washes our southern shores, — it will be evident that the melancholy spirit has, indeed, a task which must endure until the world shall end. Even until to-day is Tregeagle labouring at his task. In calms his wailing is heard ; and those sounds which some call the " soughing of the wind," are known to be the meanings of Tre- geagle ; while the coming storms are predicated by the fearful roarings of this condemned mortal. JAHN TERGAGLE THE STEWARD. THERE are numerous versions of this legend, and sundry statements made as to the man who is supposed to have achieved the no very envious immortality which he enjoys. One or two of these may interest the reader. The following very characteristic narrative, irom a much-esteemed cor- Jahn Tergagle the Steward. 1 39 respondent, gives several incidents wliicli have not a place in the legend as I have related it, which comprehends the explanation given for the appear- ance of Tregeagle at so many different parts of the county. The Tregeagle, of whom mention occurs in the writings of Cornish legendary authors, was a real person ; u member of a respectable family, resident during the seventeenth century at Trevorder, in the parish of St Breock, and identical probably with a John Tregeagle whose tombstone may yet be seen in the parish church there, close to the chancel. Lingering one day amid the venerable arches of that same church, the narrator, a native of the parish, encountered, near a small transept called the Trevorder aisle, the sexton, a man then perhaps of about eighty years of age. The conversation turning not unnaturally on the " illustrious dead," the narrator was gratified in receiving from the lips of the old man the following characteristic specimen of folk-lore, the greater part of which has remained clearly imprinted in his memory after a lapse of many years ; though [he thinks he has had to supply the very last sentence of all from the general popular tradition] here and there he may have had to supply a few expressions : — " Theess Jahn Tergagle, I 've a heerd mun tell, sir, he was a steward to a lord.* " And a man came fore to the court and paid az rent : and Jahn Ter- gagle didn't put no cross to az name in the books. " And after that Tergagle daied : and the lord came down to look after az rents : and when he zeed the books, he zeed this man's name that there wasn't no cross to ut. ' ' And he zent for the man, and axed 'n for az rent : and the man zaid he 'd apaid az rent : and the lord said he hadn't, there warn't no cross to az name in the books, and he tould 'n that he 'd have the law for 'n if he didn't pay. ' ' And the man, he didn't know what to do : and he went vore to the minister of Simonward ; + and the minister axed 'n if he 'd a got faith : and the man, he hadn't got faith, and he was obliged for to come homewards again. "And after that the 'Zaizes was coming naigh, and he was becoming afeerd, sure enough : and he went vore to the minister again, and tould 'n he 'd a got faith ; the minister might do whatever a laiked. " And the minister draed a ring out on the floor : and he caaled out dree times, Jahn Tergagle, Jahn Tergagle, Jahn Tergagle ! and (I 've a heerd the ould men tell ut, sir) theess Jahn Tergagle stood before mun in the middle of the ring. ' ' And he went vore wi' mun to the Ezaizes, and gave az evidence and tould how this man had a paid az rent ; and the lord he was cast. " And after that they was come back to their own house, theess Jahn * Lord — i.e., a landlord. t St Breward. 140 Romances of Tregeagle. Tergagle he gave mun a brave deal of trouble ; he was knackiu' about the place, and vi'ouldn't laive mun alone at all. "And they went vore to the minister, and axed he for to lay un. " And the minister zaid, tliicky* was their look-out ; they'd a b/ought'n up, and they was to gett 'n down again the best way they could. And I 've a lieerd the ould men tell ut, sir. The minister he got dree hunderd pound for a la3an' of un again. " And first, a was bound to the old epping-stock t up to Churchtown ; J and after that a was bound to the ould oven in T'evurder ; James Wyatt down to Wadebridge, he was there when they did open ut. "And after that a was bound to Dozmary Pool ; and they do say that there he ez now emptying of it out with a lampet-shell, with a hole in the bottom of ut." This is a very ancient idea, and was one of the torments of the classical Tartarus. The treacherous daughters of Danaus being condemned therein to empty Lethe with a bottomless vessel : — " Et Danai proles Veneris quae numma lassit. In cava Lethxas solia portat aquas," Dosmare Pool is a small lake or tarn on the Bodmin Moors, a fit repre- sentative of Lethe, with its black water and desolate environs. — ^J. C. H. Another correspondent to whom I am much indebted for valuable notes on the folk-lore of the Land's End district, sends me the following version : — You may know the story better than I do ; however, I '11 give you the west-country version. A man in the neighbourhood of Redruth, 'I think (I have almost forgotten the story), lent a sum of money to another without receiving bond or note, and the transaction was witnessed by Tregagle, who died before the money was paid back. When the lender demanded the money, the borrower denied having received it. He was brought into a court of justice, when the man denied on oath that he ever borrowed the money, and declared that if Tregagle saw any such thing take place, he wished that Tregagle would come and declare it. The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Tregagle stood before him, and told him that it was easy to bring him, but that he should not find it so easy to put him away. Tregagle followed the man day and night, wouldn't let him have a moment's rest, until he got all the parsons, conjurors, and other wise men together, to lay him. The wise ones accomplished this for a short time by binding the spirit to empty Dosmery (or Dorsmery) Pool with a crogan (limpet-shell). He soon finished the job and came to the man * Thicky, correctly written thiike — i.e., the ilka, a true word frequent in Chaucer, t Perliaps Uppingstock, an erection of stone steps for the farmers' wives to get on their horses by. X Not Churchtown, but Churchtdwn. Tregeagle at Genvor Cove. 141 again, who sent for Parson Corker, of Burrian, who was a noted hand for laying spirits, driving the devil from the bedside of old villains, and other kinds of jobs of the same kind. When the parson came into the room with the spirit and the man, the first thing the parson did was to draw a circle and place the man to stand within it ; the spirit took the form of a black bull, and (roared as you may still hear Tregagle roar in Genvor Cove before a northerly storm) did all he could to get at the man with his horns and hoofs. The parson continued reading all the time. At first the read- ing seemed to make him more furious, but little by little he became as gentle as a lamb, and allowed the parson to do what he would with him, and consented at last to go to Genvor Cove (in Escols Cliff), and make a truss of sand, which he was to carry above a certain rock in Escols Cliff. He was many years trying, without being able to accomplish this piece of work, until it came to a very cold winter, when Tregagle, by taking water from the stream near by, and pouring over the sand, caused it to freeze together, so that he finished the task, came back to the man, and would have torn him in pieces, but the man happened to have a child in his arms, so the spirit couldn't harm him. The man sent for the parson without delay ; Parson Corker couldn't manage him alone, this time ; had to get some more parsons to help, — very difficult job ; — bound Tregagle at last to the same task, and not to go near the fresh water. He is still there, making his truss of sand and spinning sand ropes to bind it. What some people take to be the " calling of the northern cleves" (cliffs) is the roaring of Tregagle because there is a storm coming from the north to scatter his sand.* W, B. * In connection with the incident given of Tregeagle and the child, the following is interesting : — I find in the Temjile Bar Magazine for January 1862, "The Autobiography of an Evil Spirit," professing to be an examination of a strange story related by Dr Justinus Kerner. In this a woman is possessed by a devil or sometimes by devils. '* Sometimes a legion of fiends appeared to take possession of her, and the clamour on such occasions is compared to that of a pack of hounds. Amid all these horrors her confinement oc- curred, which was the means of procuring her some respite, as the demon'appeared to have no power over her while her innocent babe was in her arms." To this the author adds the following note :— This ancient general and beautiful superstition is graphically illustrated in the legend of Swardowski, the Polish Faust. Satan, weary of the services the magician is continually requiring at his hands, decoys him to a house in Cracow, where, for some unexplained reason he expects to have him at a disadvantage. Put on his guard by the indiscretion of a flock of ravens and owls, who cannot suppress their satisfaction at seeing him enter the house, Swardowski snatches a new-born child from the cradle and paces the room with it in his arms. In rushes the devil, as terrible as horns, tail, and hoofs can make him ; but confronted with the infant, recoils and collapses instanter. This suggests to him the propriety of resorting to " moral suasion ;" and after a while he thus addresses the magician, "Thou art a gentleman and knowcst that verhim nobile debet esse slahite." Swardowski feels that he cannot break his word of honour as a gentleman, replaces the child in the cradle, and flies up the chimney with his companion. In the confusion of his faculties, however, the demon would seem to have mistaken the way ; 143 Romances of Tregeagle, DOSMERY POOL. MR BOND, in his "Topographical and Historical Sketches of the Boroughs of East and West Looe," writes — " This pool is distant from Looe about twelve miles off. Mr Carew says : — ' Dosmery Pool amid the moores, On top stands of a hill ; More than a mile about, no streams It empt, nor any fill.' It is a lake of fresh water about a mile in circumference, the only one in Cornwall (unless the Loe Pool near Helston may be deemed such), and probably takes its name from Dome-Mer, sweet or fresh-water sea. It is about eight or ten feet deep in many parts. The notion entertained by some, of there being a whirlpool in its middle, I can contradict, having, some years ago, passed all over in a boat then kept there." Such is Mr Bond's evidence ; but this is nothing compared with the popular belief, which declares the pool to be bottomless ; and beyond this, is it not known to every man of faith, that a thorn- bush thrown into Dosmery Pool has sunk in the middle of it, and after some time has come up in Falmouth Harbour ? Notwithstanding that Carew says that " no streams it empt, nor any fill," James Michell, in his parochial history of St Neot's, says, — " It is situate on a small stream called St Neot's River, a branch of the Fowey, which rises in Dosmare Pool." There is a ballad, " Tregeagle; or, Dozmare Poole: an Anciente Cornishe Legende, in two parts" by John Penwarne. He has given a somewhat different version of the legend from any I have heard, and in the ballad very considerable liberties have been taken. It must, -however, be admitted, that nearly all the incidents intro- duced in the poem are to be found in some of the many stories current amongst the peasantry. Speaking of Dozmard Pool, Mr Penwarne says : — " There is a popular story attached to this lake, ridiculous enough, as most of those tales are. It is, that a person of the name ■ of Tregeagle, who had been a rich and powerful man, but very at all events the pair fly upwards instead of downwards,— Swardowski lustily intoning a hymn till suddenly he finds his companion gone, and himself fixed at an immeasurable height in the air, and hears a voice above him saying, " Thus shalt thou hang until the day of judgment 1" He has, however, changed one of his disciples into a spider, and is in the habit of letting him down to collect the news of earth. When, therefore, we see any floating threads of gossamer, we may suspect that "a chiel's amang us taking notes," though it is not equally probable that he will ever "prent them." Dosmery Pool. 143 wicked, guilty of murder and other heinous crimes, lived near this place ; and that, after his death, his spirit haunted the neighbour- hood, but was at length exorcised and laid to rest in Dozmarg Pool. But having in his lifetime, in order to enjoy the good things of this world, disposed of his soul and body to the devil, his infernal majesty takes great pleasure in tormenting him, by imposing on him difficult tasks ; such as spinning a rope of sand, dipping out the pool with a limpet-shell, &c., and at times amuses himself with hunting him over the moors with his hell-hounds, at which time Tregeagle is heard to roar and howl in a most dreadful manner, so that ' roaring or howling like Tregeagle,' is a common expression amongst the vulgar in Cornwall. Such is the foundation on which is built the following tale. The author has given it an ancient dress, as best suited to the subject." Tregeagle, in the ballad, is a shepherd dwelling " by the poole on the moore." He was ambitious and unscrupulous. " I wish for all that I see ! " was his exclamation, when " a figure gigan- tick" is seen " midst the gloom of the night." This spirit offers Tregeagle, in exchange for his soul, all that he desires for one hundred years. Tregeagle does not hesitate : — ' ' 'A bargaine ! a bargaine ! ' he said aloude ; ' At my lot I will never repine ; I sweare to observe it, I sweare by the roode. And am readye to seale and to sygne with my bloode, Both my soul and my body are thine. ' " Tregeagle is thrown into a trance, from which he awakes to find himself " cloathed in gorgeous attyre," and master of a wide do- main of great beauty : — " Where Dozmare lake its darke waters did roll, A castle now reared its heade, Wythe manye a turrete soe statelye and talle ; And many a warden dyd walke on its walle, All splendidly cloathed in redde." Surrounded with all that is supposed to minister to the enjoyment of a sensual life, time passes on, and " Tregeagle ne'er notyc'd its flyghte." Yet we are told " he marked each day with some damn- aisle deed." In the midst of his vicious career he is returning home through a violent storm, and he is accosted by a damsel on a white horse and a littlfe page by her side, who craves his protec- tion. Trfegeagle takes this beautiful maiden to his castle. The page is made to tell the lady's story ; she is called Goonhylda, 144 Romances of Tregeagle. and is the daughter of " Earl Comwaill," living in Launceston, or, as it was then called, " Dunevyd Castle." Engaged in the plea- sures of the hunt, the lady and her page are lost and overtaken by the storm. Tregeagle, as the storm rages savagely, makes them his " guests for the nyghte," promising to send a " quicke messenger " to inform her father of her whereabouts. At the same time — * " If that the countenance speaketh the mynde, Dark deeds he revolved in hys breaste." The earl hears nothing of his daughter ; and having passed a miserable night, he sets forth in the morning, "wyth hys knyghtes, and esquyers, and serving-men all," in search of his child ; and — " At length to the plaine he emerged from the woode, For a father, alas, what a syghte ! There lay her fayre garments all drenched in blood, Her palfreye all torn in the dark crimson floode, By the ravenous beasts of the nyghte. " This is a delusion caused by enchantment ; Goonhylda still lives. Tregeagle offers himself to Goonhylda, who rejects his suit with scorn, and desires to leave the castle. Tregeagle coolly informs her that she cannot quit the place ; Goonhylda threatens him with her father's vengeance. She is a prisoner, but her page contrives to make his escape, and in the evening arrives at Launceston Castle gate. The Earl of Cornwall, hearing from the page that his daughter lives and is a prisoner, arms himseU and all his re- tainers — " And ere the gi'eye mome peep'd the eastern hills o'er, At Tregeagle's gate sounded hys home. " Tregeagle will not obey the summons, but suddenly " they hearde the Black Hunter's dread voyce in the wynde ! " " They heard hys curste hell-houndes runn yelping behynde, And his steede thundered loude'on the eare ! " This gentleman in black shakes the castle with his cry, " Come forth, Sir Tregeagle ! come foith and submit to thy fate!" Of course he comes forth, and " the rede bolte of vengeaunce shot forth wyth a glare, and strooke him a corpse to the grounde ! " " Then from the black corpse a pale spectre appear'd, And hyed him away through the night. " Goonhylda is of course found uninjured, and taken home by the earl. The castle disappears and Dozmare Pool re-appears ; but — The Wish Hounds. 145 ' Stylle as the traveller pursues hys lone waye, In horroure at nyglite o'er the waste, He hears Syr Tregeagle with shrieks ruslie awaye, He hears the Black Hunter pursuing his preye, And shrynkes at hys bugle's dread blaste." THE WISH HOUNDS. THE tradition of the Midnight Hunter and his headless hounds — always, in Cornwall, associated with Tregeagle — prevails everywhere. The Abbot's Way on Dartmoor, an ancient road which extends into Cornwall, is said to be the favourite coursing ground of " the wish or wisked hounds of Dartmoor," called also the "yell- hounds," and the " yeth-hounds." The valley of the Dewerstone is also the place of their midnight meetings. Once I was told at Jump, that Sir Francis Drake drove a hearse into Plymouth at night with headless horses, and that he was followed by a pack of " yelling hounds " without heads. If dogs hear the cry of the wish hounds they all die. May it not be that "wish" is connected with the west-country word " whist," meaning more than ordinary melancholy, a sorrow which has something weird surrounding it ? " And then he sought the dark -green lane, Whose willows mourn'd the faded year, Sighing (I heard the love-lorn swain), * Wishness 1 oh, wishness ! walketh here.' " — The Wishful Swain of Devon. By POLWHELE. The author adds in a note, " An expression used by the vulgar in the north of Devon to express local melancholy. There is something sublime in this impersonation of wishness.'' The ex- pression is as common in Cornwall as it is in Devonshire. ■ Mr Kemble has the following incorrect remarks on this word : — " In Devonshire to this day all magical or supernatural dealings go under the common name of wishtness. Can this have any reference to Woden's name 'wyse?'" Mr Polwhele's note gives the true meaning of the word. Still Mr Kemble's idea is supported by the fact that " there are Wishanger (Wisehangre or Woden's Meadow), one about four miles south-west of Wanborough in Surrey, and another near Gloucester." * And we find also, "south- * Kemble's " Saxons in England," vol. i., p. 346. Wistman's Wood on Dartmoor, no K 146 Rommtces of Tregeagle. east of Pixhill in Tedstone, Delamere, there are Wishnoor and Inksmoor near Sapey Bridge in Whitbourn."* CHENEY'S HOUNDS, IN the parish of St Teath, a pack of hounds was once kept by an old squire named Cheney. How he or they died I cannot learn ; but on " Cheney Downs '' the ghosts of the dogs are some- times seen, and often heard, in rough weather. In the western parishes of the county, I can name several places which are said to be haunted by the " wish hounds." f doubt derives it name from its extraordinary character. Carrington, in his *' Dartmoor," well describes its oaks : — " But of this grove, This pigmy grove, not one has cHmb'd the air. So emulously that its loftiest branch May brush the traveller's brow. The twisted roots Have clasp'd, in search of nourishment, the rocks, And straggled wide, and pierced the stony soil." "Around the boughs. Hoary and feebly, and around the trunks With grasp destructive feeding on the life That lingers yet, the ivy winds, and moss Of growth enormous." — Dartmoor, a dgscriptive poem. By N. T, Carrington, 1826. Murray. * " The British, Roman, and Saxon Antiquities and Folk-lore of Worcestershire.'' By Jabez Allies. t See AihencEum, No. 1013, March 27, 1847. See Appendix L for Notes on the Bargest. THE MERMAIDS. " One Friday morning we set sail, And -when not far from land, We all espied a fair mermaid With a comb and glass in her hand. The stormy winds they did blow," &c. — Old Song. ROMANCES OF THE MERMAIDS. MORVA OR MORVETH {Sea-daughters). " You dwell not on land, but in the flood. Which would not with me agree." — Duke Magnus and the Mermaid. — Smaland. THE parish of this name is situated on the north-west coast ot Cornwall, — the parish of St Just being on its western borders, and that of Zennor on the east, between it and St Ives. The Cornish historian Tonkin says, " Morva signifies Locus Maritimus, a place near the sea, as this parish is. The name is sometimes written Morveth, implying much the same sense." The similarity of this name to " Morgan," sea-women, and " Morverch," sea-daughters, which Mr Keightley has shown us is applied to the mermaids of the Breton ballads, is not a little curious. There are several stories current in this parish of ladies seen on the rocks, of ladies going off from the shofe to peculiar isolated rocks at special seasons, and of ladies sitting weeping ana wailing on the shore. Mr Blight, in his " Week at the Land's End," speaking of the church in the adjoining parish, Zennor, which still remains in nearly its primitive condition, whereas Morva church is a modern structure, says — " Some of the bench ends were carved ; on one is a strange figure of a mermaid, which to many might seem out of character in a church." (Mr Blight gives a drawing of this bench end. ) This is followed by a quota- tion bearing the initials R. S. H., which, it is presumed, are those of the Rev. R. S. Hawker, of Morwenstow : — • " The fishermen who were the ancestors of the Church, came from the Galilean waters to haul for men. We, born to God at the font, are children of the water. Therefore, all the early symbolism of the Church was of and from the sea. The carvure of the early arches was taken from the. sea and its creatures. Fish, dolphins, mermen, and mermaids abound in the early types, trans- ferred to wood and stone." Merrymaids and Merry men. 149 Surely the poet of " the Western Shore " might have explained the fact of the figures of mermaids being carved on the bench ends of some of the old churches with less difficulty, had he remembered that nearly all the churches on the coast of Cornwall were built by and for fishermen, to whom the superstitions of mermen and mer- maidens had the familiarity of a creed. The intimate connection between the inhabitants of Brittany, of Cornwall, and of Wales, would appear to lead to the conclusion that the Breton word Morverch, or mermaid, had much to do with the name of this parish, Morva, — of Morvel, near Liskeard, — and probably of Morwenstow, of which the vicar, Mr Hawker, writes — " My glebe occupies a position of wild and singular beauty. Its western boundary is the sea, skirted by tall and tremendous cliffs, and near their brink, with the exquisite taste of ecclesiastical anti- quity, is placed the church. The original and proper designation of the parish is Morwen-sto-vi — that is, Morwenna's Stow, or station ; but it has been corrupted by recent usage, like many other local names." MERRYMAIDS AND MERRY MEN. THE " merry-maids " of the Cornish fishermen and sailors possess the well-recognised features of the mermaid. The Breton ballad, quoted by Mr Keightley, relating to the Morgan {sea-womeii) and the Morverch (sea-daughters), peculiarly adapts itself to the Cornish merry-maid. " Fisher, hast thou seen the mermaid combing her hair, yellow as gold, by the noontide sun, at the edge of the water ? " " I have seen the fair mennaid ; I have also heard her singing her songs plaintive as the waves." The Irish legends make us acquainted with the amours of men with those sea-sirens. We learn that the Merrows, or Moruachs, came occasionally from the sea, and interested themselves in the affairs of man. Amongst the fragments which have been gathered, here a pebble and there a pebble, along the Western coast, will be found similar narratives. The sirens of the jEgean Sea — probably the parents of the mediaeval mermaid — possess in a pre-eminent degree the beauty and the falsehood of all the race. Like all other things, even those mythical creations take colour from that they work in, like the dyer's hand. The Italian mermaid is the true creature of the romance of the sunny South ; while the lady of our own southern seas, although she possesses much in common with her Mediter- ISO Romances of the Mermaids. ranean sister, has less poetry, but more human sympathy. The following stories, read in connection with those given by Mr Keightley and by Mr Croker, will show this.* When, five-and-thirty years since, I spent several nights in a fisherman's cottage on a south-western coast, I was treated to many a " long yarn " respecting mermaids seen by the father and his sons in the southern ocean. The appearance of those creatures on our own shores, they said, was rare ; but still they knew they had been seen. From them I learned of more than one family who have received mysterious powers from the sea-nymphs ; and I have since heard that members of those families still live, and that they intimate to their credulous friends their firm belief that this power, which they say has been transmitted to them, was derived, by some one of their ancestors, from merman or mer- maiden. Usually those creatures are associated with some catastrophe ; but they are now and then spoken of as the benefactors of man. One word more. The story of " The Mermaid's Vengeance " has been produced from three versions of evidently the same legend, which differed in many respects one from the other, yet ' agreeing in the main with each other. The first I heard at the Lizard, or rather at Coverach ; the second in Sennen Cove, near the Land's End ; the third at Perranzabaloe. I have preferred the last locality, as being peculiarly fitted for the home of a mermaid story, and because the old man who told the tale there was far more graphic in his incidents ; and these were strung more closely together than either of the other stories.f * See "The Fairy Family: a' Series of Ballads and Metrical Tales Illustrating the Fairy Mythology of Europe," Longman, 1857 ; " The Fairy Mythology, Illustrative of the Romance and Superstitions of Various Countries," by Thomas Keightley; and "Irish F.Tiry Legends," by Crofton Croker. t The following extract from a letter from an esteemed correspondent shows the exist- ence of a belief in those fabled creations of the ocean amongst an extensive class of the labouring population of Cornwall. There is so much that is characteristic in my corre- spondent's letter that it is worth preserving as supporting the evidence of the existing belief; — " I had the chance of seeingwhat many of our natives firmly believed to be that family. Some fourteen years ago I found myself, with about fifty emigrants, in the Gulf of St Lawrence, on board the old tub Resolution^ Captain Davies, commander. We were shrouded in a fog so thick that you might cut it like a cheese, almost all the way from the Banks to Anticosti. One morning, soon after sunrise, when near that island, the fog as thick as night overhead, at times would rise and fall on the shore like the tantalising stage curtain. All at once there was a clear opening right through the dense clouds which rested on the water, that gave us a glimpse of the shore, with the rocks covered with what to us appeared very strange creatures. In a minute, the hue and cry from yl The Mermaid V Rock. i < i THE MERMAID OF PADSTOW. 'HE port of Padstow lias a good natural harbour, so far as rocky area goes, but it is so choked up with drifting sands as to be nearly useless. A peasant recently thus explained the cause. He told how " it was once deep water for the largest vessel, and under the care of a merry -maid — as he called her ; but one day, as she was sporting on the surface, a fellow with a gun shot at her. " She dived for a moment ; but re-appearing, raised her right arm, and vowed that henceforth the harbour should be desolate." " And," added the old man, " it always will be so. We have had commissions, and I know not what, about con- verting this place into a harbour of refuge. A harbour of refuge would be a great blessing, but not all the Government commis- sions in the world could keep the sand out, or make the harbour deep enough to swim a frigate, unless the parsons can find out the way to take up the merry-maid's curse." Another tale refers the choking up of this harbour to the bad spirit Tregeagle. THE MERMAID'S ROCK. TO the westward of the beautiful Cove of Lemoma is a rock which has through all time borne the above name. I have never been enabled to learn any special story in connection with this rock. There exists the popular fancy of a lady showing her- self here previous to a storm — with, of course, the invariable comb and glass. She is said to have been heard singing most plaintively before a wreck, and that, all along the shore, the spirits have echoed her in low moaning voices.'"' Young men are stem to stern, among all the cousin Johnnys, was ' What are they, you ? What are they, you V Somebody gave the word mermaids. Old men, women, and children, that hadn't been out of their bunks for weeks, tore on deck to see the mermaids, when, alas ! the curtain dropped, or rather closed, and the fair were lost to sight, but to memory dear; for, all the way to Quebec, those not lucky enough to see the sight bothered the others out of their lives to know how they looked, and if we saw the comb and glass in their hands. The captain might as well save his breath as tell them that the creatures they saw on the rocks were seals, walruses, and sea-calves. ' Not yet, Captain dear, you won't come that over me at all ; no, not by a long chalk ! no, not at all, I can tell'e ! I know there are mermaids in the sea ; have heard many say so who have seen them too ! but as for sea-calves, I ain't such a calf nor donkey neither as to believe ut. There may be a few of what we call soils (seals) for all I know ; perhaps so, but the rest were mer- maidens.' No doubt, centuries hence, this story of the mermaidens will be handed down with many additions, in the log-huts of the Western States." * The undulations of the air, travelling with more rapidity than the currents, reach our shores long before the tempest by which they have been established in the centre of 152 Romances of the Mermaids. said to have swam off to the rock, lured by the songs which they heard, but they have never returned. Have we not in this a dim shadow of the story of the Sirens ? THE MERMAID OF SEATON. NEAR Looe, — that is, between Down Derry and Looe, — there is a little sand-beach called " Seaton." Tradition tells us that here once stood a goodly commercial town bearing this name, and that when it was in its pride, Ply- mouth was but a small fishing -village. The town of Seaton is said to have been overwhelmed with sand at an early period, the catastrophe having been brought about, — as in the case of the filling up of Padstow harbour, — by the curse of a mermaid, who had suffered some injury from the sailors who belonged to this port. Beyond this I have been unable to glean any story worth preserving. THE OLD MAN OF CURY. MORE than a hundred years since, on a fine summer day, when the sun shone brilliantly from a cloudless sky, an old man from the parish of Cury, or, as it was called in olden time, Corantyn, was walking on the sands in one of the coves near the Lizard Point. The old man was' meditating, or at least he was walking onward, either thinking deeply, or not thinking at all-^that is, he was " lost in thought " — when suddenly he came upon a rock on which was sitting a beautiful girl with fair hair, so long that it covered her entire person. On the in-shore side of the rock was a pool of the most transparent water, which had been left by the receding tide in the sandy hollow the waters had scooped out. This young creature was so absorbed in her occupation, — arranging her hair in the watery mirror, or in admiration of her own lovely face, that she was unconscious of an intruder. The old man stood looking at her for some time ere he made up his mind how to act. At length he resolved to speak to the maiden. " What cheer, young one ? " he said ; " what art thee doing there by thyself, then, this time o' day .? " As soon as she heard the voice, she slid off the rock entirely under the water. the Atlantic, and by producing a low moaning sound, " the soughing of the wind," predicates the storms. The "moans of Tregcagle " is another expression indicating the same phenomenon. The Old Man of Cury. 153 The old man could not tell what to make of it. He thought the girl would drown herself, so he ran on to the rock to render her assistance, conceiving that in her fright at being found naked by a man she had fallen into the pool, and possibly it was deep enough to drown her. He looked into the water, and, sure enough, he could make out the head and shoulders of a woman, and long hair floating like fine sea-weeds all over the pond, hiding what appeared to him to be a fish's tail. He could not, however, see anything distinctly, owing to the abundance of hair floating around the figure. The old man had heard of mermaids from the fishermen of Gunwalloe ; so he conceived this lady must be one, and he was at first very much frightened. He saw that the young lady was quite as much terrified as he was, and that, from shame or fear, she endeavoured to hide herself in the crevices of the rock, and bury herself under the sea-weeds. Summoning courage, at last the old man addressed her, " Don't 'e be afraid, my dear. You needn't mind me. I wouldn't do ye any harm. I 'm an old man, and wouldn't hurt ye any more than your grandfather." After he had talked in this soothing strain for some time, the young lady took courage, and raised her head above the water. She was crying bitterly, and, as soon as she could speak, she begged the old man to go away. " I must know, my dearie, something about ye, now I have caught ye. It is not eveiy day that an old man catches a merry- maid, and I have heard some strange tales of you water-ladies. Now, my dear, don't 'e be afraid, I would not hurt a single hair of that beautiful head. How came ye here ? " After some further coaxing she told the old man the following story : — She and her husband and little ones had been busy at sea all the morning, and they were very tired with swimming in the hot sun ; so- the merman proposed that they should retire to a cavern, which they were in the habit of visiting in Kynance Cove. Away they all swam, and entered the cavern at mid-tide. As there was some nice soft weed, and the cave was deliciously cool, the merman was disposed to sleep, and told them not to wake him until the rise of the tide. He was soon fast asleep, snoring most lustily. The children crept out and were playing on the lovely sands ; so the mermaid thought she should like to look at the world a little. She looked with delight on the children rolling to and fro in the shallow waves, and she laughed heartily at the crabs fighting in their own funny way. " The scent from the flowers came down over the cliffs so sweetly," said she, " that I 154 Romances of the Mermaids. longed to get nearer the lovely things which yielded those rich odours, and I floated on from rock to rock until I came to this one ; and finding that I could not proceed any further, I thought I would seize the opportunity of dressing my hair." She passed her fingers through those beautiful locks, and shook out a number of small crabs, and much broken sea-weed. She went on to say that she had sat on the rock amusing herself, until the voice of a mortal terrified her, and until then she had no idea that the sea was so far out, and a long dry bar of sand between her and it. " What shall I do ? what shall I do .? Oh ! I 'd give the world to get out to sea ! Oh ! oh I what shall I do ? " The old man endeavoured to console her ; but his attempts were in vain. She told him her husband would " carry on " most dreadfully if he awoke and found her absent, and he would be certain of awaking at the turn of the tide, as that was his 'dinner- time. He was very savage when he was hungry, and would as soon eat the children as not, if there was no other food at hand. He was also dreadfully jealous, and if she was not at his side when he awoke, he would at once suspect her of having run off with some other merman. She begged the old man to bear her out to sea. If he would but do so, she would procure him any three things he would wish for. Her entreaties at length pre- vailed ; and, according to her desire, the old man knelt down on the rock with his back towards her. She clasped her fair arms around his neck, and locked her long finny fingers together on his throat. He got up from the rock with his burthen, and carried the mermaid thus across the sands. As she rode in this way, she asked the old man to tell her what he desired. " I will not wish," said he, " for silver and gold, but give me the power to do good to my neighbours : first, to break the spells of witchcraft ; next, to charm [away diseases ; and thirdly, to dis- cover thieves, and restore stolen goods." All this she promised he should possess ; but he must come to a half-tide rock on another day, and she would instruct him how to accomplish the three things he desired. They had reached the water, and taking her comb from her hair, she gave it to the old man, telling him he had but to comb the water and call her at any time, and she would come to him. The mermaid loosened her grasp, and sliding off the old man's back into the sea, she waved him a kiss and disappeared. At the appointed time the old man was at the half-tide rock, — known to the present time as the Mermaid's Rock,— and duly was he instructed in many mys- teries. Amongst others, he learned to break the spells of witches The Mermaid 's Vengeance. 1 5 5 from man or beast ; to prepare a vessel of water, in which to show to any one who had property stolen the face of the thief ; to charm shingles, tetters, St Antony's fire, and St Vitus's dance ; and he learnt also all the mysteries of bramble leaves, and the like. The mermaid had a woman's curiosity, and she persuaded her old friend to take her to some secret place, from which she could see more of the dry land, and of the funny people who lived on it, " and had their tails split, so that they could walk." On taking the mermaid back to the sea, she wished her friend to visit her abode, and promised even to make him young if he would do so, which favour the old gentleman respectfully declined. A family, well known in Cornwall, have for some generations exercised the power of charming, &c. They account for the possession of this power in the manner related. Some remote great-grandfather was the individual who received the mermaid's comb, which they re- tain to the present day, and show us evidence of the truth of their being supernaturaUy endowed. Some people are unbelieving enough to say the comb is only a part of a shark's jaw. Scepti- cal people are never lovable people. THE MERMAID 'S VENGEANCE* IN one of the deep valleys of the parish of Perranzabuloe, which are remarkable for their fertility, and especially for the abundance of fruit which the orchards produce, lived in days long ago, amidst a rudely-civilised people, a farmer's labourer, his wife, with one child, a daughter. The man and woman were equally industrious. The neatly white -washed walls of their mud- built cottage, the well-kept gravelled paths, and carefully-weeded beds of their small garden, in which flowers were cultivated for ornament, and vegetables for use, proclaimed at once the character of the inmates. In contrast with the neighbouring cottages, this one, although smaller than many others, had a superior aspect, and the occupiers of it exhibited a strong contrast to those pea- sants and miners amidst whom they dwelt. Pennaluna, as the man was called, or Penna the Proud, as he was, in no very friendly spirit, named by his less thoughtful and more impulsive fellows, was, as we have said, a fanner's labourer. * Several versions of the following story have been given me. The general idea of the tale belongs to the north coast ; but the fact of mermaidens taking innocents under their charge- was common around the Lizard, and in some of the coves near the Land's End. 156 Romances of the Mermaids. His master was a wealthy yeoman, and he, after many years' ex- perience, was so convinced of the exceeding industry and sterhng honesty of Penna, that he made him the manager of an outlying farm in this parish, under the hind (or hine— the Saxon pronun- ciation is still retained in the West of England), or general super- visor of this and numerous other extensive farms. Penna was too great a favourite with the Squire to be a favourite of the hind's ; he was evidently jealous of him, and from not being himself a man of very strict principles, he hated the unobtrusive goodness of his underling, and was constantly on the watch to dis- cover some cause of complaint. It was not, however, often that he was successful in this. Every task committed to the care of Penna, — and he was often purposely overtasked, — was executed with great care and despatch. With the wife of Penna, however, the case was unfortunately different. Honour Penna was as industrious as her husband, and to him she was in all respects a helpmate. She had, however, naturally a proud spirit, and this had been en- couraged in her youth by her parents. Honour was very pretty as a girl, and, indeed, she retained much beauty as a woman. The only education she received was the wild one of experience, and this within a very narrow circle. She grew an ignorant girl, amongst 'ignorant men and women, few of them being able to write their names, and scarcely any of them to read. There was much native grace about her, and she was flattered by the young men, and envied by the young women, of the village, — the envy and the flattery being equally pleasant to her. In the same village was born, and brought up, Tom Chenalls, who had, in the course of years, become hind to the Squire. Tom, as a young man, had often expressed himself fond of Honour, but he v/as always distasteful to the village maiden, and eventually, while yet young, she was married to Pennaluna, who came from the southern coast, bringing with him the recommendation of being a stranger, and an exceedingly hard-working man, who was certain to earn bread, and something more, for his wife and family. In the relations in which these people were now placed towards each other, Chenalls had the opportunity of acting ungenerously towards the Pennas. The man bore this uncomplainingly, but the woman frequently quarrelled with him whom she felt was an enemy, and whom she still regarded but as her equal. Chenalls was a skilled farmer, and hence was of considerable value to the Squire ; but although he was endured for his farming knowledge and his business habits, he was never a favourite with his employer. Penna, on the con- trary, was an especial favourite, and the evidences of this were so The Mermaid's Vengeance. 157 often brought strikingly under the observation of Chenalls, that it increased the irritation of his hate, for it amounted to that. For years things went on thus. There was the tranquil suffering of an oppressed spirit manifested in Penna— the angry words and actions of his wife towards the oppressor, — and, at the same time, as she with much fondness studied to make their humble home comfortable for her husband, she reviled him not unfre- quently for the meek spirit with which he endured his petty, but still trying, wrongs. The hind dared not venture on any positive act of wrong towards those people, yet he lost no chance of an- noying them, knowing that the Squire's partiality for Penna would not allow him to venture beyond certain bounds, even in this direction. Penna's solace was his daughter. She had now reached her eighteenth year, and with the well-developed form of a woman, she united the simplicity of a child. Selina, as she was named, was in many respects beautiful. Her features were regular, and had they been lighted up with more mental fire, they would have been beautiful ; but the constant repose, the want of animation, left her face merely a pretty one. Her skin was beautifully white, and transparent to the blue veins which traced their ways beneath it, to the verge of that delicacy which indicates disease ; but it did not pass that verge. Selina was full of health, as her well- moulded form at once showed, and her clear blue eye distinctly told. At times there was a lovely tint upon the cheek-.-not the hectic of consumptive beauty, — but a pure rosy dye, suifused by the healthy life stream, when it flowed the fastest. The village gossips, who were always busy with their neigh- bours, said strange things of this girl. Indeed, it was commonly reported that the real child of the Pennas was a remarkably plain child, in every respect a different being from Selina. The striking difference between the infant and the woman was variously ex- plained by the knowing ones. Two stories were, however, current for miles around the country. One was, that Selina's mother was constantly seen gathering dew in the morning, with which to wash her child, and that the fairies on the Towens had, in pure malice, aided her in giving a temporary beauty to the girl, that it might lead to her betrayal into crime. Why this malice, was never clearly made out. The other story was, that Honour Penna constantly bathed the child in a certain pool, amidst the arched rocks of Perran, which was a favourite resort of the mermaids ; that on one occasion the child, as if in a paroxysm of joy, leapt from her amns into the 1 5 8 Romances of the Mermaids. water, and disappeared. The mother, as may well be supposed, suffered a momentary agony of terror ; but presently the babe swam up to the surface of the water, its little face more bright and beautiful than it had ever been before. Great was the mother's joy, and also — as the gossips say — great her surprise at the sudden change in the appearance of her offspring. The mother knew no difference in the child whom she pressed lovingly to her bosom, but. all the aged crones in the parish declared it to be a change- ling. This tale lived its day ; but, as the girl grew on to woman- hood, and showed none of the special qualifications belonging either to fairies or mermaids, it was almost forgotten. The un- complaining father had solace for all his sufferings in wandering over the beautiful sands with his daughter. Whether it was when the summer seas fell in musical undulations on the shore, or when, stirred by the winter tempests, the great Atlantic waves came up in grandeur, and lashed the resisting sands in giant rage, those two enjoyed the solitude. Hour after hour, from the setting sun time, until the clear cold moon flooded the ocean with her smiles of light, would the father and child walk these sands. They seemed never to weary of them and the ocean. Almost every morning, throughout the milder seasons, Selina was in the habit of bathing, and wild tales were told of the frantic joy with which she would play with the breaking billows. Some- . times floating over, and almost dancing on the crests of the waves, at other times rushing under them, and allowing the breaking waters to beat her to the sands, as though they were loving arms, endeav- ouring to encircle her form. Certain it is, that Selina greatly enjoyed her bath, but all the rest must be regarded as the creations of the imagination. The most eager to give a construction unfav- ourable to the simple mortality of the maiden was, however, com- pelled to acknowledge that there was no evidence in her general con- duct to support their surmises. Selina, as an only child, fared the fate of others who are unfortunately so placed, and was, as the phrase is, spoiled. She certainly was allowed to follow her own inclinations without any check. Still her inclinations were bounded to work- ing in the garden, and to leading her father to the sea-shore. Honour Penna, sometimes, it is true, did complain that Selina could not be trusted with the most ordinary domestic duty. Be- yond this, there was one other cause of grief, that was, the increas- ing dislike which Selina exhibited towards entering a church. The girl, notwithstanding the constant excuses of being sick, suffering from headache, having a pain in her side, and the hke, was often taken, notwithstanding, by her mother to the church. It is said The Mermaid's Vengeance. 159 ■ that she Jilways shuddered as she passed the church-stile, and again on stepping from the porch into the church itself. When once within the house of prayer she evinced no peculiar liking or disliking, observing respectfully all the rules during the perform- ance of the church-service, and generally sleeping, or seeming to sleep, , during the sermon. Selina Pennaluna had reached her eighteenth year ; she vfas admired by many of the young men of the parish, but, as if surrounded by a spell, she appeared to keep them all at a distance from her. About this time, a nephew to the Squire, a young soldier, — who had been wounded in the wars, — came into Cornwall to heal his wounds, and recover health, which had suffered in a trying campaign. This young man, Walter Trewoofe, was a rare specimen of man- hood. Even now, shattered as he was by the combined influences of wounds, an unhealthy climate, and dissipation, he could not but be admired for fineness of form, dignity of carriage, and masculine beauty. It was, however, but too evident, that this young man was his own idol, and that he expected every one to bow down with him, and worship it. His uncle was proud of Walter, and although the old gentleman could not fail to see many faults, yet he regarded them as the follies of youth, and trusted to their correction with the increase of years and experience. Walter, who was really suffering severely, was ordered by his surgeon, at first, to take short walks on the sea-shore, and, as he gained strength, to bathe. He was usually driven in his uncle's pony- carriage to the edge of the sands. Then dismounting he would walk for a short time, and quickly wearing, return in his carriage to the luxuriant couches at the manor-house. On some of those occasions Walter had observed the father and daughter taking their solitary ramble. He was struck with the quiet beauty of the girl, and seized an early opportunity of stopping Penna to make some general inquiry respecting the bold and beau- tiful coast. From time to time they thus met, and it would have been evident to any observer that Walter did not so soon weary of the sands as formerljr, and that Selina was not displeased with the flattering things he said to her. Although the young soldier had hitherto led a wild life, it would appear as if for a considerable period the presence of goodness had repressed every tendency to evil in his ill-regulated heart. He continued, therefore, for some time playing with his own feelings and those of the childlike being who presented so much of romance, combined with the most homely lameness, of character. Selina, it is true, had never yet seen Walter except in the presence of her father, and it is questionable i6o Romances of the Mermaids. if she had ever for one moment had a warmer feehng than that of the mere pleasure — a silent pride — that a gentleman, at once so handsome, so refined, and the nephew of her father's master, should pay her any attention. Evil eyes were watching with wicked earnestness the growth of passion, and designing hearts were beating quicker with a consciousness that they should event- ually rejoice in the downfall of innocence. Tom Chenalls hoped that he might achieve a triumph, if he could but once asperse the character of Selina. He took his measures accordingly. Having noticed the change in the general conduct of his master's nephew, he argued that this was due to the refining influence of a pure mind, acting on one more than ordinarily impressionable to either evil or good. Walter rapidly recovered health, and with renewed strength the manly energy of his character began to develop itself. He de- lighted in horse-exercise, and Chenalls had always the best horse on the farms at his disposal. He was a good shot, and Chenalls was his guide to the best shooting-grounds. He sometimes fished, and Chenalls knew exactly where the choicest trout and the richest salmon were to be found. In fact, Chenalls entered so fully into the tastes of the young man, that Walter found him absolutely necessary to him to secure the enjoyments of a country life. Having established this close intimacy, Chenalls never lost an opportunity of talking with Walter respecting Selina Penna. He soon satisfied himself that Walter, like most other young men who had led a dissipated life, had but a very low estimate of women generally. Acting upon this, he at first insinuated that Selina's innocence was but a mask, and at length he boldly assured Walter that the cottage girl was to be won by him with a few words, and that then he might put her aside at any time as a prize to some low-born peasant. Chenalls never failed to impress on Walter the necessity of keeping his uncle in the most perfect darkness, and of blinding the eyes of Selina's parents. Penna was,-^so thought Chenalls, — easily managed, but there was more to be feared from the wife. Walter, however, with much artifice, having introduced himself to Honour Penna, employed the magic of that flattery, which, being properly applied, seldom fails to work its way to the heart of a weak-minded woman. He became an especial favourite with Honour, and the blinded mother was ever pleased at the attention bestowed with so little assumption, — as she thought, — of pride, on her daughter, by one so much above them. Walter eventually succeeded in separating occasionally, though not often, Penna and his daughter. The witching whispers of unholy love The Mermaid's Vengeance. i6i were poured into the trusting ear. Guileless herself, this child- woman suspected no guile in others, least of all in one whom she had been taught to look upon as a superior being to herself. Amongst the villagers, the constant attention of WaUer Trewoofe was the subject of gossip, and many an old proverb was quoted by the elder women, ill-naturedly, and implying that evil must come of this intimacy. Tom Chenalls was now employed by Walter to contrive some means by which he could remove Penna for a period from home. He was not long in doing this. He lent every power of his wicked nature to aid the evil designs of the young soldier, and thus he brought about that separation of father and child which ended in her ruin. Near the Land's End the squire possessed some farms, and one of them was reported to be in such a state of extreme neglect, through the drunkenness and consequent idleness of the tenant, that Chenalls soon obtained permission to take the farm from this occupier, which he did in the most unscrupulous disregard for law or right. It was then suggested that the only plan by which a desirable occupier could be found, would be to get the farm and farm-buildings into good condition, and that Penna, of all men, would be the man to bring this quickly about. The squire was pleased with the plan. Penna was sent for by him, and was proud of the confidence which his master reposed in him. There was some sorrow on his leaving home. He subsequently said that he had had many warnings not to go, but he felt that he dared not disoblige a master who had trusted him so far — so he went. Walter needed not any urging on the part of Chenalls, though he was always ready to apply the spur when there was the least evidence of the sense of right asserting itself in the young man's bosom. Week after week passed on.- Walter had rendered him- self a necessity to Selina. Without her admirer the. world was cold and colourless. With him all was sunshine and glowing tints. Three months passed thus away, and during that period it had only been possible for Penna to visit his home twice. The father felt that something like a spirit of evil stood between him and his • daughter. There was no outward evidence of any change, but there was an inward sense — undefined, yet deeply felt — like an overpowering fear — that some wrong had been done. On part- ing, Penna silently but earnestly prayed that the deep dread might be removed from his mind. There was an aged fisherman, who resided in a small cottage built on the sands, who possessed all the superstitions of his class. This old man had formed a father's liking for the simple-hearted maiden, and he had persuaded L 1 62 Romances of the Mermaids. himself that there really was some foundation for the tales which the gossips told. To the fisherman, Walter Trewoofe was an evil genius. He declared that no good ever came to him, if he met Walter when he was about to go to sea. With this feeling he curiously watched the young man and maiden, and he, in after days, stated his conviction that he had -seen " merry maidens " rising from the depth of the waters, and floating under the billows, to watch Selina and her lover. He has also been heard to say, that on more than one occasion Walter himself had been terrified by sights and sounds. Certain, however, it is, these were insufficient, and the might of evil passions were more powerful than any of the protecting influences of the unseen world. Another three months had gone by, and Walter Trewoofe had disappeared from Perranzabuloe. He had launched into the gay world of the metropolis, and rarely, if ever, dreamed of the deep sorrow which was weighing down the heart he had betrayed. Penna returned home — his task was done^and Chenalls had no reason for keeping him any longer from his wife and daughter. Clouds gathered slowly but unremittingly around him. His daughter retired into herself, no longer as of old reposing her whole soul on her father's heart. His wife was somewhat changed too — she had some secret in her heart which she feared to tell. The home he had left was not the home to which he had returned. It soon became evident that some shock had shaken the delicate frame of his daughter. She pined rapidly ; and Penna was awakened to a knowledge of the cause by the rude rejoicing of Chenalls, who declared " that aU people who kept themselves so much above other people were sure to be pulled down." On one. occasion he so far tempted Penna with sneers, at his having hoped to secure the young squire for a son-in-law, that the long-enduring man broke forth and administered a severe blow upon his tor- mentor. This was duly reported to the squire, and added thereto was a magnified story of a trap which had been set by the Pennas to catch young Walter ; it was represented that even now they in- tended to press their claims, on account of grievous wrongs upon them, whereas it could be proved that Walter was guiltless — that he was indeed the innocent victim of designing people, who thought to make money out of their assumed misfortune. The squire made his inquiries, and there were not a few who eagerly seized the opportunity to gain the friendship of Chenalls by representing this family to have been hypocrites of .the deepest dye ; and the poor girl especially was now loaded with a weight of iniquities of which she had no knowledge. All this ended in the dismissal of Penna The Mermaid's Vengeance. 163 from the Squire's service, and in his being deprived of the cottage in which he had taken so much pride. Although thrown out upon the world a disgraced man, Penna faced his ' difficulties manfully. He cast off, as it were, the primitive simplicity of his character, and evidently worked with a firm resolve to beat down his sorrows. He was too good' a workman to remain long unemployed ; and although his new home was not his happy home as of old, there was no repining heard from his lips. Weaker and weaker grew Selina, and it soon became evident to all, that if she came from a spirit-world, to a spirit-world she must soon return. Grief filled the hearts of her parents — it prostrated har mother, but the effects of severe labour, and the efforts of a settled mind, appeared to tranquillise the breast of her father. Time passed on, the wounds of the soul grew deeper, and there lay, on a low bed, from which she had not strength to move, the fragile form of youth with the countenance of age. The body was almost powerless, but there beamed from the eye the evidences of a spirit getting free from the chains of clay. The dying girl was sensible of the presence . of creations other than mortal, and with these she appeared to hold converse, and ■ to derive solace from the communion. Penna and his wife alter- nately watched through the night hours by the side of their loved child, and anxiously did they-mark the moment when the tide turned, in the full belief that she would be taken from them when the waters of the ocean began to recede from the shore. Thus days passed on, and eventually the sunlight of a summer morning shone in through the small window of this humble cottage, — on a dead mother — and a living babe. The dead was buried in the churchyard on the sands, and the living went on their ways, some rejoicingly and some in sorrow. Once more Walter Trewoofe appeared in Perran-on-the-sands. Penna would have sacrificed him to his hatred ; he emphatically protested that he had lived only to do so ; but the good priest of the Oratory contrived to lay the devil who had possession, and to convince Penna that the Lord would, in His own good time, and in His own way, avenge the bitter wrong. Tom Chenalls had his hour of triumph ; but from the day on which Selina died every- thing went wrong. The crops failed, the cattle died, hay-stacks and corn-ricks caught fire, cows slipped their calves, horses fell lame, or stumbled and broke their knees, — a succession of evils steadily pursued him. Trials find but a short resting-place with the good ; they may be bowed to the earth with the weight of a sudden sorrow, but they look to heaven, and their elasticity is 164 Romances of the Mermaids, restored. The evil-minded are crushed at once, and grovel on the ground in irremediable misery. That Chenalls fled to drink in his troubles appeared but the natural result to a man of his character. This unfitted him for his duties, and he was eventually dismissed from his situation. Notwithstanding that the Squire refused to listen to the appeals in favour of Chenalls, which were urged upon him by Walter, and that indeed he forbade his nephew to countenance " the scoundrel " in any way, Walter still con- tinued his friend. By his means Tom Chenalls secured a small cottage on the cliff, and around it a little cultivated ground, the produce of which was his only visible means of support. That lonely cottage was the scene, however, of drunken carousals, and there the vicious young men, and the no less vicious young women, of the district, went after nightfall, and kept " high carnival " of sin. Walter Trewoofe came frequently amongst them ; and as his purse usually defrayed the costs of a debauch, he was regarded by all with especial favour. One midnight, Walter, who had been dancing and drinking for some hours, left the cottage wearied with his excesses, and although not drunk, he was much excited with wine. His path- way lay along the edge of the cliffs, amidst bushes of furze and heath, and through several irregular, zigzag ways. There were lateral paths striking off from one side of the main path, and leading down to the sea-shore. Although it was moonlight, with- out being actually aware of the error, Walter wandered into one of those ; and before he was awake to his mistake, he found him- self on the sands. He cursed his stupidity, and, uttering a blasphe- mous oath, he turned to retrace his steps. The most exquisite music which ever flowed from human lips fell on his ear ; he paused to listen, and collecting his unbalanced thoughts, he discovered that it was the voice of a woman singing a melancholy dirge : — " The stars are beautiful, when bright They are mirror'd in the sea ; But they are pale beside that light Which was so beautiful to me. My angel child, my earth-born girl, From all your kindred riven, By the base deeds of a selfish churl, And to a sand-grave driven ! How shall I win thee back to ocean? How canst thou quit thy grave, To share again the sweet emotion Of gliding through the wave ? " The Mermaid's Vengeance. 165 Walter, led by the melancholy song, advanced slowly along the sands. He discovered that the svifeet, soft sounds proceeded from the other side of a mass of rocks, vi^hich project far out over the sands, and that now, at low-water, there was no difficulty in walking around it. Without hesitation he did so, and he beheld, sitting at the mouth of a cavern, one of the most beautiful women he had ever beheld. She continued her song, looking upwards to the stars, not appearing to notice the intrusion of a stranger. Walter stopped, and gazed on the lovely image before him with admiration and wonder, mingled with something of terror. He dared not • speak, but fixed, as if by magic, he stood gazing on. After a few minutes, the maiden, suddenly perceiving that a man was near her, uttered a piercing shriek, and made as if to fly into the cavern. Walter sprang forward and seized her by the arm, exclaiming, " Not yet, my pretty maiden, not yet." She stood still in the- position of flight, with one arm behind her, grasped by Walter, and turning round her head, her dark eyes beamed with unnatural lustre upon him. Impressionable he had ever been, but never had he experienced anything so entrancing, and at the same time so painful, as that gaze. It was Selina's face looking lovingly upon him, but it seemed to possess some new power — a might of mind from' which he felt it was im- possible for him to escape. Walter slackened his hold, and slovifly allowed the arm to fall from his hand. The maiden turned fully round upon him. " Go ! " she said. He could not move. " Go, man ! " she repeated. He was powerless. " Go to the grave where the sinless one sleepeth ! Bring her cold corse where her guarding one weepeth ; Look on her, love her again, ay ! betray her, And wreath with false smiles the pale face of her slayer ! Go, go ! now, and feel the full force of my sorrow ! For the glut of my vengeance there cometh a morrow." Walter was statue-like, and he awoke from this trance-like state only when the waves washed his feet, and he became aware that .even now it was only by wading through the waters that he could return around the point of rocks. He was alone. He called ; no one answered. He sought wildly, as far as he now dared, amidst the rocks, but the lovely woman was nowhere to be dis- covered. There was no real danger on such a night as this ; therefore Walter walked fearlessly through the gentle waves, and recovered the pathway up from the sands. More than once he thought he heard a rejoicing laugh, which was echoed in the rocks, but no 1 66 Romances of the Mermaids.^ one was to be seen. Walter reached his home and bed, but he found no sleep ; and in the morning he arose with a sense of wretchedness which was entirely new to him. He feared to make any^one of his rough companions a confidant, although he felt this would have relieved his heart. He therefore nursed the wound which he now felt, ujitil a bitter remorse clouded his existence. After Some days, 'he was impelled to visit the grave of the lost one, and in the fulness of the most selfish' sorrow, he sat on the sands and shed tears. The priest of the Oratory observed him, and knowing Walter Trewoofe, hesitated not to inquire into his cause of sorrow. His heart was opened to the holy man, and the strange tale was told^the only result being, that the priest felt satisfied it was but a vivid dream, which had resulted from a brain over-excited by drink. He, however, counselled the young man, giving him some religious instruction, and dismissed him with his blessing. There was relief in this. For some days Walter di'd not venture to visit his old haunt, the cottage of Chenalls. Since he could not be lost to his companions without greatly curtailing their vicious enjoyments, he was hunted up by Chenalls, and again .enticed within the circle. His absence was explained on the plea of illness. Walter was, however, an altered man ; there was not the same boisterous hilarity as formerly. He no longer abandoned himself without restraint to the enjoyments of the time. If he ever, led on by his thoughtless and rough- natured friends, assumed for a moment his usual mirth, it was checked by some invisible power. On such occasions he would turn deadly pale, look anxiously around, and fall back, as if ready to faint, on tht nearest seat. Under these influences, he lost health. "His uncle, who was really attached to his nephew, although he regretted his dissolute conduct, became now seriously alarmed. Physicians were consulted in vain ; the young man pined, and the old gossips came to the conclusion that Walter Trewoofe was ill-wished, and thfere was a general feeling that Penna or his wife was at the bottom of it. Walter, Hving really on one idea, and that one the beautiful face which was, and yet was not, that of Selina, resolved again to explore the spot on which he had met this strange being, of whom nothing could be learned by any of the covert inquiries he made. He lingered long ere he could resolve on the task ; but wearied, worn by the oppression of one undefined idea, in which an intensity of love was mixed with a shuddering fear, he at last gathered sufficient courage to seize an opportunity for again going to the cavern. On this occasion, there being . no moon, the night was dark, but The Mermaid' s Vengeance. 167 the stars shone brightly from a sky, cloudless, save a dark mist which hung heavily over the western horizon. Every spot of ground being familiar to him, who, boy and man, had traced it over many times, the partial darkness presented no difficulty. Walter had scarcely reached the level sands, which were left hard by the retiring tide, than he heard again the same magical voice as before. But now the song was a joyous one, the burthen of it being — " Join all hands — Might and main, Weave the sands, Form a chain. He, my lover, Comes again ! " He could not entirely dissuade himself but that he heard this re- peated by many voices ; but he put the thought aside, referring it, as well he might, to the numerous echoes from the cavernous openings in the cliffs. He reached the eastern side of the dark mass of rocks, from the point of which the tide was slowly subsiding. The song had ceased, and a low moaning sound — the soughing of the wind — passed along the shore. Walter trembled with fear, and was on the point of re- turning, when a most flute-like murmur rose from the other side of the rocky barrier, which was presently moulded into words : — " From your couch of glistering pearl. Slowly, softly, come away ; Our sweet earth-child, lovely girl, Died this day, — died this day." Memory told Walter that truly was it the anniversary of Selina Pennaluna's death, and to him every gentle wave falling on the shore sang, or murmured — " Died this day, — died this day." The sand was left dry around the point of the rocks, and Walter, impelled by a power which he could not control, walked onward. The moment he appeared on the western side of the rock, a wild laugh burst into the air, as if from the deep cavern before him, at the entrance of which sat the same beautiful being -whom he had formerly met. There was now an expression of rare joy on her face, her eyes glistened with delight, and she extended, her arms, as if to welcome him. " Was it ever your wont to move so slowly towards 'your loved one ? " 1 68 Romances of the Mermaids. Walter heard it was Selina's voice. He saw it was Selina's features ; but he was conscious it was not Selina's form. " Come, sit beside me, Walter, and let us talk of love." He sat down without a word, and looked into the maiden's face with a vacant expression of fondness. Presently she placed her hand upon his heart ; a shudder passed through his frame ; but having passed, he felt no more pain, but a rare intensity of delight. The maiden wreathed her arm around his neck, drew Walter towards her, and then he remembered how often he had acted thus towards SeKna. She bent over him and looked into his eyes. In his mind's mirror he saw himself looking thus into the eyes of his be- trayed one. " You loved her once ?" said the maiden. " I did indeed," answered Walter, with a sigh. " As you loved her, so I love you," said the maiden^ with a smile which shot like a poisoned dart through Walter's heart. She lifted the young man's head lovingly between her hands, and bending over him, pressed her lips upon and kissed his forehead, Walter curiously felt that although he was the kissed, yet that he was the kisser. " Kisses," she said, " are as true at sea as they are false on land. You men kiss the earth-bom maidens to betray them. The kiss of a sea-child is the seal of constancy. You are mine till death." " Death ! " almost shrieked Walter. A full consciousness of his situation now broke upon Walter. He had heard the tales of the gossips respecting the mermaid origin of Selina ; but he had laughed at them as an idle fancy. We now felt they were true. For hours Walter was compelled to sit by the side of his beautiful tormentor, every word of assumed love and rapture being a torture of the most exquisite kind to him. He could not escape from the arms which were wound around hirii. He saw the tide rising rapidly. He heard the deep voice of the winds coming over the sea from the far west. He saw that which appeared at first as a dark mist, shape itself into a dense black mass of cloud, and rise rapidly over the star-bedecked space above, him. He saw by the brilliant edge of light which occasion?''De fringed the clouds that they were deeply charged with thv. long There was something sublime in the steady motion of the oy the and now the roll of the waves, which had been disturV.cy of love Atlantic, reached our shores, and the breakers fell.;red sufficient within a few feet of Walter and his companion^' to the cavern, terror shook him, and with each convulsion le night was dark, but The Mermaid's Vengeance. 169 with still more ardour, and pressed so closely to the maiden's bosom, that he heard her heart dancing of joy. At length his terrors gave birth to words, and he implored her to let him go. " The kiss of the sea-child is the seal of constancy." Walter vehemently implored forgiveness. He confessed his deep iniquity. He promised a life of penitence. " Give me back the dead," said the maiden bitterly, and she planted another kiss, which seemed to pierce his brain by its coldness, upon his forehead. The waves rolled around the rock on which they sat ; they washed their seat. Walter was still in the female's grasp, and she lifted him to a higher ledge. The storm approached. Lightnings struck down from the heavens into the sands, and thunders roared along the iron cliffs. The mighty waves grew yet more rash, and washed up to this strange pair, who now sat on the highest pinnacle of the pile of rocks. Walter's terrors nearly overcame him ; but he was roused by a liquid stream of fire, which positively hissed by him, followed immediately by a crash of thunder, which shook the solid earth. Tom Chenall's cottage on the cliff burst into a blaze, and Walter Saw, from his place amidst the raging waters, a crowd of male and female roisterers rush terrified out upon the heath, to be driven back by the pelting storm. The climax of horrors appeared to surround Walter. He longed to end it in death, but he could not die. His senses were quickened. He saw his wicked companion and evil adviser struck to the ground, a blasted heap of ashes, by a lightning stroke, and at the same moment he and his companion were borne off the rock on the top of a mountainous wave, on which he floated ; the woman holding him by the hair of his head, and singing in a rejoicing voice, which was like a silver bell heard amidst the deep base bellowings of the storm — "Come away, come away, O'er the waters wild ! Our earth-bom child Died this day, died this day. lau " Come away, come away ! jjjg' |_ The tempest loud , - Weaves the shroud torme. p^j. j^jj^j ^j^^ ^j;^ betray. as if to weict. " Come away come away ! ci itr -i ^ beneath the wave "Was It ever ^_ th the grave one ? " -^1 we slay, him we slay. 1 70 _ Romances of the Mermaids. " Come away, come away 1 He shall not rest In earth's own breast For many a day, many a day. " Come away, c6me away ! By billows -tost From coast to coast, Like deserted boat His corse shall float Aromid the bay, around the bay. " Myriads of voices on that wretched night were heard amidst the roar of the storm. The waves were seen covered with a multi- tudinous host, who were tossing from one to the other the dying Walter Trewoofe, whose false heart thus endured the vengeance of the mermaid, who had, in the fondness of her soul, made the innocent child of humble parents the child of her adoption. Appendix M. THE ROCKS. " Among these rocks and stones, methinks I see More than the heedless impress that belongs To lonely nature's casual work : they bear A semblance strange of power intelligent, And of design not wholly worn away." — The Excursio)!. —'WoKDSWOKTa. ROMANCES OF THE ROCKS. CROMLECH AND DRUID STONES. " Surely there is a hidden power that reigns. 'Mid the lone majesty of untamed nature. Controlling sober reason." — Caractacjts. — William Mason. IT is a common belief amongst the peasantry over every part of Cornvi^all, that no human povi^er can remove any of those stones which have been rendered sacred to them by traditionary romance. Many a time have I been told that certain stones had been removed by day, but that they always returned by night to their original positions, and that the parties who had dared to tamper with those sacred stones were punished in some way. When the rash commander of a revenue cutter landed with a party of his men and overturned the Logan Rock, to prove the folly of the prevalent superstition, he did but little service in dis- pelling an old belief, but proved himself to be a fool for his pains. I could desire, for the preservation of many of our Celtic re- mains, that we could impress the educated classes with a similar reverence for the few relics which are left to us of an ancient and a peculiar people, of whose history we know so little, and from whose remains we might, by careful study, learn so much. Those poised stones and perforated rocks must be of high antiquity, for we find the Anglo-Saxons making laws to prevent the British people from pursuing their old pagan practices.* The geologist," looking upon the Logan stones and other curiously-formed rock masses, dismisses at once from his mind the idea of their having been formed by the hand of man, and hastily sets aside the tradition that the Druid ever employed them, or that the old Celt ever regarded them with reverence. There * *' Perforated stones must once have been common in England, and probably in Scotland also, as the Anglo-Saxon laws repeatedly denounce similar superstitious practices."— T'Af Archaolo[y and Prehistoric Annals of Scotland, p. 97. Daniel Wilson. Cromlech and Druid Stones. 173 cannot be a doubt but that many huge masses of granite are, by atmospheric causes, now slowly passing into the condition required for the formation of a Logan rock. It is possible that in some cases the " weathering " may have gone on so uniformly around . the stone, as to poise it so exactly that the thrust of a child will shake a mass many tons in weight. The result, however, of my own observations, made with much curiosity and considerable care, has been to convince me, that in by far the greatest number of instances the disintegration, though general around the line of a " bed-way " or horizontal joint, has gone on rapidly on the side exposed to the beat of the weather, while the opposite extremity has been but slightly worn ; con- sequently, the stones have a tendency to be depressed on the sheltered side. With a little labour man could correct this natural defect, and with a little skill make a poised stone. We have in- controvertible evidence that certain poised stones have been re- garded, through long periods of time, as of a sacred character. Whether these stones were used by the Druids, or merely that the ignorant people supposed them to have some peculiar virtue, I care not. The earliest inhabitants of Cornwall, probably Celts,* were possessed with some idea that these stones were connected with the mysteries of existence ; and from father to son, for centuries, notwithstanding the introduction of Christianity, these stones have maintained their sacred character. Therefore, may we not infer that the leaders of the people availed themselves of this feeling ; and finding many rocks of a gigantic size, upon which nature had begun the work, they completed them, and used the mighty moving masses to impress with terror — the principle by which they ruled — the untaught, but poetically constituted, minds of the people. Dr Borlase has been laughed at for finding rock-basins, the works of the Druids, in every granitic mass. At the same time,' those who laugh have failed to examine those rock-masses with unprejudiced care, and hence they have erred as wildly as did the Cornish antiquary, but in a contrary direction. Hundreds of depressions are being formed by the winds and rains upon the faces of the granite rocks. With these no Druid ever perplexed himself or his people. But there are numerous hollows to be found in large flat rocks which have unmistakably been formed, if not entirely, partly by the hands of man. The Sacri- ficing Rock, or Carn Brea, is a remarkable example. The larger * "A Celtic race, however, contlnuea to occupy the primeval districts of Cornwall, and preserved, almost to our own day, a distinct dialect of the Celtic tongue. "^/"rf- ^istoric Annals oj Scotland, -g. 195. Daniel Wilson. .S"^^ Appendix N, The Celts. 174 Romances of the Rocks. hollows on the Men-rock, in Constantine, several basins in the Logan Rock group, and at Cam Boscawen, may be referred to as other examples. With these remarks, I proceed to notice a few of the most remarkable rock-masses with which tradition has associated some tale. M THE LOGAN OR LOGING ROCK.* ODRED, in Mason's " Caractacus," addressing Vellinus and • Elidurus, says — "Thither, youths, Turn your ustonish'd eyes ; behold yon huge And unhewn sphere of living adamant, Which, poised by magic, rests its central weight On yonder pointed rock : firm as it seems. Such is the strange and virtuous property. It moves obsequious to the gentlest touch Of him whose breath is pure ; but to a traitor, Though even a giant's prowess nerved his arm, It stands as fixed as Snowdon." This faithfully preserves the traditionary idea of the purposes to which this in every way remarkable rock was devoted. Up to the time when Lieutenant Goldsmith, on the 8th of April 1824, slid the rock off from its support, to prove the falsehood of Dr Borlase's statement, that ".it is morally impossible that any lever, or, indeed, force, however applied in a mechanical way, can remove it from its present position," the Logan Rock was be- liex'ed to cure children, who were rocked upon it at certain seasons, of several diseases ; but the charm is broken, although the rock is restored.t * " It may be observed that I have always used the words Loging Rock for the cele- brated stone at Trereen Dinas. Much learned research seems to have been idly expended on the supposed name, ' Logan Rock.' To log is a verb ih general use throughout Cornwall for vibrating or rolling like a drunken man ; and an is frequently heard in provincial pronunciation for iitg^ characteristic of the modern present participle. The Loging Rock is, therefore, strictly