Chapter VIII: Part 8

One Sunday, a dog belonging to a farmer who sat near the chancel, seemed inclined to come nearer the parson’s ground than he liked. Both dogs then said as plain as looks could express, “Come then, to decide which shall look the biggest; let’s try our right, down in the belfry, by a quiet bit of a fight.” Off walked the two dogs, began and continued their fight without making much noise, until the parson was in the midst of reading the second lesson. Then Sport gave some dreadful yells, which so much alarmed his master, that he stopped reading, bundled up his surplice under his arm, ran in all haste down to the belfry, drove out the country dog, and shut in his own by way of penance among the shovels, brooms, pickaxes, bell-ropes, planks, and other lumber. When the parson returned to the reading-desk, he leaned over towards the old clerk, and asked “Where was I, Josey?” meaning the verse of the lesson at which he left off. Uncle Josey, the clerk, being rather deaf, like most deaf people spoke rather loud—loud enough to be heard all over the church—when he intended only to whisper “Where war ’e? What do ’e mean, master? Why down in the belfry, parting the dogs to be sure!” Sport took it in high dudgeon, to be imprisoned like a felon. When he found barking and howling of no use towards procuring his release from durance vile, he contrived to entangle himself in the bell-rope (left dangling up and down) by getting his head into the running noose, made by the sexton for his foot, to assist in tolling the great bell, which Sport set a ringing and soon rung himself out.

Another day, whilst the parson was reading the burial service over the defunct, his dog Sport behaved himself in a very unseemly manner, for such a solemn occasion, by kicking up a dust among the dry-bones, howling at the mourners, catching their dresses in his mouth, and renting off yards of the deepest affliction or crape from the young widow, and other such like pranks. The parson, reading, with one eye on the book, the other on his dog, at the end of every portion where the clerk had to respond Amen, called “Sport!” and Sport replied with a bark. At the conclusion, in the same breath with the words, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, I commit this body to the ground,” the parson called out louder than ever “Sport! Sport! Come here;” turning quickly round at the same time as if to catch the dog and bury him.

There is much more told by good folks of the two most western parishes about the freaks of this reverend gentleman who had the cure of their souls half a century ago; but enough has been related to give some idea of the greater simplicity of those times, when there certainly was not the same sourness, and disposition to magnify faults and failings into mortal sins, as there is now by the rampant religionists, who display their ferocious virtue principally by circulating slander, under the guise of pity for those who do not choose to adopt their morbid notions, whining cant, and grimace.

A short time after the velocipede adventure, Mr. Spry removed hence to Morwelham, and soon became as well known on the Tamar as here, for his eccentric freaks.

THE REV. JAMES BEVAN.

A little more than sixty years ago, the Rev. James Bevan, of Glamorganshire, died at St. Levan. This gentleman lived amongst his parishioners, and served as curate in the two western parishes, nearly half a century. Old folks of the West always speak with great respect of this venerable clergyman and his family, who were regarded by the people with as much affection as if they had been their near relatives. A handsome tablet has recently been erected to the memory of this gentleman in St. Levan church, as also one to Miss Thomazine Dennis. This lady was born at Sawah, and noted for her literary and scientific acquirements, which were the more notable in one brought up in that remote part of the world. We hope these memorials, and many other objects of interest in the remarkable old church, will long remain undisturbed in spite of the contemplated destruction of one of the most interesting monuments of ecclesiastical architecture to be found in the county, and which is hallowed by traditions dear to the people who properly belong to the place.

COUNTRY CLERKS AND COUNTRY CHOIRS.

In conjunction with the good parsons, we have a pleasing remembrance of the respectable, unaffected old clerks, to be found in most of the country churches half a century ago. In general, the clerks were small farmers sufficiently well educated to be able to read the Bible and church service fluently (occasionally passing over hard words); but, from their having no other books to read in country schools than the universal spelling-book, psalter, and Bible, they were incapable of understanding any work of general literature (as a great part of our agricultural population are now, in fact.)

OLD CHRISTMAS CAROLS.

Our clerks were mostly the leaders of the choir, if such a term may be applied to the four or five old men who droned out the psalms from the singing-loft, where every Sunday one or two psalms from the old version were sung in parts, much after the manner of the old three-man’s-songs. One might often hear the old clerk in Sennen give out the lines beginning with, “My saule is like a timmersone bur-r-d-e, &c.” Then, after he had made the pitch-pipe produce a shrieking squeak, the three or four old souls, accompanied by their bass-viol, would quaver on, making such shrill and startling sounds as would set your hair on end and shake your teeth loose. Down in St. Levan, Uncle Josey, the clerk, would always have his own way about the singing, in spite of the parson and everybody else. His favourite psalm was all about “the precious ointment running from Aaron’s beard down unto the skirts of his raiment.” From the old man’s admiration of this odorous and unctuous song of praise, one seldom had any other than what were known as the Aaron psalm and “t’other.” In the carol singing, on Christmas eve at night, the old men sang, and their brass buttons shone in all their glory, when, with heart and soul, they were ringing out such joyous strains as “Now let us be merry, and set sorrow aside,” &c.

Another favourite was an older carol, with the chorus of “Noel, noel, noel, born is the king of Israel.” There were often sung still older ones, which contain many such old catholic traditions as are found in the apocryphal gospel of St. Nichodemus and Lives of the Saints, such as one about the blessed Mary walking through the orchard, when she longed for a red ripe apple far above her reach, “Then up spoke the babe in blessed Mary’s womb; bow down, apple tree, bow down, apple tree, that mother may have some.”

These simple ditties were then regarded with much reverence for their high antiquity. Some of the old manuscript carol-books, formerly used in churches at Christmas-tide, are still preserved with religious care by old folks of the West.

ANCIENT MODE OF CONDUCTING FUNERALS.

At this time, and long before, the men of Zennor were noticeable for their singing and other musical attainments, which they made a source of pleasure and profit, to themselves at least, from their being often asked to parish-feasts from a good distance off, especially down West (the wise folk live t’other side) that the feasters might be gratified by their harmonious strains in church on the Sunday, and brisk dancing tunes on their fiddles to set their heels a-shaking on other nights of the feasten week, besides for the sake of the new songs they often contrived to learn from the show people in Corpus Christi fair. But they were not often asked two years following, because when they once got into comfortable quarters, it was no easy matter to get rid of them until long after servy-day, [20] when they had more than eaten their welcome. For the sake of their psalm-singing they used also to be often asked to attend funerals round about, when the friends wished to show more than ordinary respect to the deceased or themselves, and have the disconsolate widows cheered. The Zennor men, with their wives and children, never failed to come, with half a word’s asking, from miles away, and they have the same fondness for funerals still; whether seed-time or harvest, sunshine or rainy day, Zennor folks, old and young, will leave their work and scamper over hills and moors miles away to “a good buryal” (burying), where there is likely to be plenty of toddy and tobacco, cake and biscuit, provided for all comers. But their room is often better liked than their company; for, after the men have smoked and pocketed up as much good shag as opportunity would favour them to take, by stuffing into the palm of the hand instead of the bowl of the pipe, drunk as much toddy as they could possibly contrive to get hold of by shifting about from place to place, so as to be always near the jug of hot liquor as it is carried round for the people who remain outside, the women and children all push indoors that can, to look sharp after the cake and biscuits, of which they contrive to pocket up a good store for the children left home, and don’t forget the toddy, believe me, even if they have a “dish of nice, sweet, strong tea, shure enough.” After having stuffed and quaffed till near bursting point, they will scamper away home like prall’d [21] dogs, and the devil a finger will they lend to help take the poor defunct to his last home, often miles away, leave alone the singing. They are often too drunk to raise the funeral note, and make some fun, which serves just as well, by getting into an old ballad-tune by mistake. Zennor folks are not often asked to parish feasts for the sake of their singing now: they may stay home and bleat to Carn Galver for what anyone cares about the greedy goats.

FORMER MEANS OF INFORMATION AMONG THE PEOPLE.

We may here take leave of our old clerks, observing that they were in general better educated, or at least better informed, than the rest of the community, few of whom knew anything about what might be regarded as the current literature of the time. Yet, with all their ignorance of every work of fiction, except Robinson Crusoe and the Pilgrim’s Progress (the former always regarded as literally true), the oldest of old folks of fifty years ago knew many scraps of Grecian and Roman lore, as well as rare legends of ordinary saints, besides all those of our local ones. The story of the taking of Troytown was as well known to many as the game of that name. I well remember an old farm labourer who did not know his a, b, c; yet he would tell you much about the principal heroes of mythic history, and acquired the nickname of Plato from his always going about singing, when alone, the old song almost worthy of the sage, “Says Plato, why should man be vain, since bounteous heaven has made him great?” &c., or another about Aurora and Flora.

How came these uneducated and poor folks to get hold of so much of the old world lore? It may partly be accounted for by the more gregarious, or sociable, customs of the olden times, when there was much less to do in the winter season, before turnips were introduced into the west country (in a great measure by the example of the late Colonel Scobell), there being then but few cattle housed. Great part of the winter’s day was passed in hunting, in which sport one and all joined. After the substantial supper—no slops of tea then, but good home-brewed, with bread and cheese, beef, mutton, or bacon—the mistress and her maids spun, whilst the men carded the wool, song-singing and story-telling going on all the time, or the master read from their favourite Robinson Crusoe, or from Moore’s Almanack, which was also a great resource, or recited some drolls which all knew by heart; yet they never tire of hearing them repeated, with such variations and embellishments as some recent occurrence might often suggest.

A vast amount of curious information may also be traced to the sociable and beloved old parson, who kept up such familiar intercourse with his flock as to sympathise with all their joys and griefs, and to join in all their sports and pastimes during nearly half a century.

THE ASTROLOGERS OF THE WEST.

We are long lingering amongst those old folks whom we are much inclined to regard as rude and uncouth. Yet our vaunted refinement has not discovered anything much better to supply the loss of the honest simplicity and the all-above board character of people of the last century.

We may observe that the foregoing remarks, with respect to the restricted education of the generality of people of the west, do not apply to many who were regarded as the bettermost class of farmers, or rather gentlemen-farmers, as they all resided on, and farmed their own estates. Many of this class were kept long enough at a grammar-school, in Penzance, or elsewhere, to learn a little Latin and mathematics; at least they acquired a sufficient knowledge of mensuration to enable them to measure their own fields. Many of those gentlemen were so much given to the study of astrology that they were regarded as conjurors by their domestics and more ignorant neighbours, who, seeing the horoscopes and schemes in the gentlemen’s old books, believed these strange-looking figures to be the secret signs of the means used for dealing with the invisible world, or for commanding the spirits of light and darkness, over whom it was devoutly believed that many skilful astrologers of the west had (by means of their books) perfect control. Among the most noted adepts in this science, the best known were Parson Corker, of Buryan; Mr. Jenkyn, of Trezidder, or Alverton; Dr. Maddron, of St. Just; Mr. Ustick, of Morvah; and Mr. Matthew Williams, of Mayon.

Some of the stories still related of this gentleman will serve as examples of the light in which he, and others of his class, were regarded by the more ignorant:—

One Sunday morning, whilst this gentleman was in Sennen church (which is only a few minutes’ walk from his house) he felt very uncomfortable. Something told him that all was not right at home. He left the church in the midst of the service, and ran home just in time to find that his over-curious old housekeeper had taken one of the conjuring-books out of the chest, the key of which he had missed and which she had stolen that morning for the sake of satisfying her itching curiosity. When he entered the room, he found her transfixed in her master’s arm-chair looking like death in a fright, the book open before her in the place of some of the most powerful spells for calling up the worst of evil spirits. The woman appeared like one in a fit, without the power to speak or move, until her master came in the very nick of time to prevent the spirits (that she had unwittingly summoned by reading the words, and tracing over the signs in the book with her finger) from carrying her off bodily. Some of the spirits became visible; others lifted her, chair and all, off the floor when she stopped reading; and her fright made her fall into a fit. Mr. Williams read and read till the sweat boiled from his body, before he had the power to drive the evil spirits from the room, and the old housekeeper had to undergo a severe penance before she could be free of all danger from them.

Another time it was found that the gentleman’s furze rick was diminishing much faster than could be accounted for, for the consumption of fuel in his own house. He consulted his books, and discovered by his art that some women from the Cove made a practice of carrying away the furze every night. The very next night, after all honest folks should be in their beds, an old woman of the Cove came as usual to the rick for a burn of furze. She made one of no more than the usual size, which she tried to lift on to her back, but found that she could not move it. Then she took out half the furze, but was still unable to lift the faggot or so left in the rope. Becoming frightened, she tried to get out the rope and run, but found that she had neither the power to draw out the rope, nor move from the spot herself. Of course, the conjuror had put a spell on her, and there she had to remain throughout the cold winter’s night, until Mr. Williams came out and released her in the morning from the spell, and as she was a very poor old soul let her have a burn of furze, but she took good care never to come any more, nor any of the rest of the women, who soon found out how she had been served.

These puerile stories, and many more of the same class, often recounted about Mr. Williams, and many other gentlemen comparatively well educated for those times, are not without some significance, as they denote the power that in all times and places may be acquired by the learned over the minds of the ignorant, through their fears of the mystical and unknown.

It has been said that Miss Dennis (the learned lady before spoken of) caught the disorder, which was the cause of her slow but premature decease, by watching the courses of the stars during cold winter’s nights, for the sake of making calculations. This lady corresponded with many of the learned of her time. As these old astrologers had perfect faith in the principles of their ancient science, Astrology with them was not such mere imposition as it is generally supposed to have been.

CONJURORS AND THEIR SPELLS.

They were consulted, not only with regard to the fortunes of those whose exact time of coming to light was known (the time of birth was then carefully registered, even to a minute, to serve as data on which to construct the horoscope), but were relied on for raising the spells of witchcraft, and often by their hints, advice, or threats of exposure, procured the restoration of stolen property. They were generally believed to have the same faculty of divination as is now assumed by the Pellar of Redruth, who is making a fortune out of the credulity of people in our enlightened times.

We will now however leave them, and (by way of change) endeavour, after a few more tales, to get back to town by the usual mode of travelling in the last century.

OLD JUSTICE JONES AND CHEAP LABOUR.

As the notion of the transmigration of souls is not at all new to Cornish people, you may imagine that, in some former state of existence, you lived out west about the time that old Justice Jones resided in Penrose, and was long the unquestioned tyrant of that part of the country. In complaisance with the good pleasure of the justice, many old men in the parish, even farmers, did the work on his farms of Penrose and Brew, for no other payment than his worthless promise that their sons should not be impressed and sent off to serve the king on board a man-of-war. It seems that in the time of this ancient edition of Colonel Peard, the magistrates were intrusted with warrants which empowered them to draft off whomsoever they pleased for the king’s service, and to gratify their ill-will they had only to intimate to the press-gang that the disliked were eligible men.

THE VINGOES OF TREVILLE.—THE JUSTICE’S PUNISHMENT.

Old Jones’s usual mode of proceeding was to compel all the labouring class to go to church every Sunday (in case of non-attendance these guardians of the law might also fine or imprison.) The justice would be first to leave the church, and would remain in the churchyard (where those who feared him were collected to learn his pleasure) until he had intimated what work he wished to have done, and by whom, during the week. When he wanted any extra hands during the week, as was often the case in harvest, furze-carrying, and other times of work requiring quick despatch, he would hoist a flag on a flag-staff which used to be placed in a large holed stone, which was perforated for that purpose, and built into the top of the angle formed by the green court and garden walls. It was a common saying that not to give anyone sufficient wages was like old Jones’s payment, of a kick in the rear, which many, who neglected their own harvest work to save the old justice’s corn, richly deserved. But he was not long allowed to domineer over the poor folks of the west. Many of the old families belonging to the parish, among whom the Vingoes, of Treville, were the most prominent, did all they could to check his proceedings. This ancient Norman family, who had held Treville ever since the Conquest, and had been the wine-tasters to unknown Norman chiefs for equally unknown ages, regarded old Jones, for all his riches, as nothing but an upstart stranger in the west; yet they did not succeed in bringing the justice to act in a reasonable way until a smuggling crew came to their aid. Most of the young men of the west country (many of them farmers’ sons) belonged to this band, as well as two young men of Morvah—a Daniel and Ustick, who were related to the Vingoes, and might be styled gentlemen. Their head-quarters were at Priest’s Cove and Pendeen, as best suited their convenience. One fine day in the harvest, when old Jones had summoned folks from all over the parish to save his corn, the smugglers, taking the law into their own hands, marched down to Penrose well-armed, took the old justice and his man (as big a rogue as himself) from the house, hung them head downwards to a tree in the town-place, and gave them the bastinado until they were within an inch of giving up the ghost; then made the old sinner give them money to treat the men, and sent them off to pass a jovial day, “One and All,” at the First and Last. Before the smugglers left, they told the justice that, if he ever attempted to practice any of his old tricks again, they would come some fine morning when he least expected, and take him off to his cousin Davy Jones’s locker, and from this time he had such a wholesome fear of the smugglers that he seldom left his den, nor any more interfered in the neighbourhood.

PELLEW AND HIS CORNISH CREW.

It was not to be thought of that any of the race of those who, a few years later, made the press-gang afraid to show their noses in the west, would allow Justice Jones to continue to act oppressively. It was about this time that upwards of four score men from St. Just, and scores from other western parishes, volunteered to man the Nymph, and went off in crowds to their Captain Pellew (whether he wanted them or no, they wouldn’t leave his ship, unless some few of them were to go a privateering, when he couldn’t tell what to do with all his Cornish crew.) But this is a matter of history, that all know or ought to know: above all, how he would never suffer any of his Cornish crew to be flogged, and, if old men’s tales are true, he allowed them such licence, when not in action, as the martinets of the service would now think very irregular.

THE ANCIENT GAMES OF HURLING AND WRESTLING.

We will now start for town in good earnest, as we don’t know what fine doings may be going on there this week, besides the wrestling-match on the Western Green, where the best gentlemen in the land do not disdain to try a hitch with the poorest labouring man—not for the value of the prize, but for the honour of proving their manliness. There is also to be a grand hurling-match on the Eastern Green between Ludgvan hurlers [22] and any two other parishes who have a mind to accept the challenge. There we shall see all the gentry from the eastward, who no more think themselves degraded by joining the commontry, in the ancient manly game, than a real old squire’s lady would think it unbecoming to ply the spinning-wheel in the ancient hall, surrounded by her maidens at the same work. So now we bid good morrow to the hearty old folks of the Land’s End, and hope we shall have a pleasant journey to Penzance.

OLD METHODS OF CONVEYANCE.

RIDING PILLION.

POPULAR SONGS OF THE TIMES, MARLBROOK, AND SENTIMENTAL DITTIES.

No people in the West Country had ever yet dreamed of such things as gigs, or any other wheel conveyance to take them to fair or market: so we must either go on foot, or jog into town on horseback. If your horse will carry double, you may be honoured with the company of a lady on a pillion behind you. If possible, decline the favour, unless the lass is young and fair; for to take one who wishes to pass for a maiden lady of a certain age is often as great a punishment as was ever invented in Purgatory, for the time. But if you cannot decently get rid of Miss Priscilla, or Aunt Jenefer, pray the Lord grant you an extra dose of patience.

First, before mounting Dobbin, you must have a handkerchief fastened round your middle for her to grasp with her long bony fins, because she does not think it decorous forsooth to put her arm round your waist and hug you comfortably, like a less-affected girl might, to steady herself on a rough road: with such a one we can jog along as happy as Darby and Joan. Fasten the handkerchief with a bow-knot, and if Priscilla gets too tormenting you can slip the knot and let her tumble off in going up hill.

As soon as Dobbin begins to trot she will be working her bony knuckles into your ribs: when she wants to take snuff or perform any other never-ending fidgety movements, the arm will be slipped inside the nackan, as far as her bony sharp elbow, which will be bored into the small of your back like a spit.

The lanes, in many places, are more like rocky water-courses than roads, and so narrow that a horse and panniers can scarcely pass between the high furzy hedges, and so uneven that one must be constantly on the look out to keep the nag from stumbling. However, you will be kept pretty straight and steady, with the dame pulling on the handkerchief behind, and the hard-mouthed horse dragging on the bridle in front (to get his head the nearer the ground, the better to see where he may tumble down without cutting his knees), till the girths give away. Dobbin gives a grunt, and down you tumble, heels over head, in going down some such rocky lane as that which crossed Trelew hill a short time ago. Ten to one but in the tumble you will be under. There is not the least danger of the lady being hurt, because with the protection of her cork-rump and the long stays of leather and steel, wood and whalebone, in which she is encased, the old girl is as safe from harm as a lobster in its shell, or a warrior in his coat of mail.

Her first concern will be to see if the cordial bottle of brandy-and-cloves is safe and sound among all the things in her knapsack of a pocket; then, if her pattens or clogs are fast and firm to the bow of her pillion.

The horse has long kicked himself clear of all the trappings, and galloped off toward home: yet take it easy, sit ye down and drain the bottle until you have sucked out the last drop. But hearken! There is a regular drove of market-women, you may know by their clatter, coming down the hill. Get up quick do, and shake yourselves straight, before they arrive, for you don’t know what a story the old dames will make of it before they leave the butter-market; above all, they delight to overhaul such a precise piece of prudery as Miss Priscilla, who, by pretending to be shocked into “high strikes” at what are most innocent things to the simple, shows as plain as a pike-staff that something bad is always uppermost in her thoughts.

The runaway horse is caught and brought back, by some of the market folks; the girths mended with a piece of rope-yarn; and from the rock at the bottom of the hill you mount again. The worst of the road being passed, you will get on like fighting cocks, and tune your pipes for the new song of

“Moll Brooks [23] is gone to the wars.
Vezy vazzy vumfra.
She will never return no more.
Ran tan tore, ran tan tore.”

The tender Priscilla will treat you to some such touching ballad as—

“Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart;
Cold are the drops of rain;
The first true love that ever I had,
In the green wood he was slain,” &c., &c.

If that does not bring the briny tears, she will try another doleful sentimental ditty that was very fashionable in her time—

“I have been bad, since you have been gone;
Tweedle, tweedle, go twee;
If you had been out in the garden green,
You would have heard the great moans
Of me, of me, of me, of me.”

Then you may both join in singing the innocent old song of—

“There did a frog live in a well,
Close by a merry mouse in a mill.
To my rigdom bomenary kimey.
Kimé naré gildé caré,
Kimé naré caré,” &c., &c.

By the time you have got throughout this you will have arrived in town, and be safely landed at the “Duke of Cumberland” public-house, which is one of the oldest, and was one of the most respectable, hostels in Penzance.

GREEN LANES AND FOOTPATHS.

Those who walked to town always found near the narrow lanes a pleasant foot-path, which often cut off the corners and shortened the route. In other places, where the road passed between the lands, which formerly belonged to different proprietors, or when the adjoining land was enclosed for different farms, broad pieces of ground were left by ancient proprietors for the purpose of the king’s highway, that, when one horse-track was worn impracticable, others might be found in better condition, at the same time affording plenty of pleasant greensward for the foot-passenger and poor man’s cow. Almost all these broad green lanes have now been stolen from the public, by the greedy proprietors of adjoining farms, who had no more right than you or I to the ground which was open to the Queen’s highway. A few years ago, many such pleasant green glades might be found in the road from Penzance to Hayle; as, for example, where Canon’s town now stands was one of those old broad highways which belonged to the public, and which the public should have kept, as well as many other strips of greensward, that the weary, worn, and footsore traveller might find some verdant spot whereon to repose his feet and eyes.

These old green lanes were altogether distinct from the commons through which a highway might pass. There are some portions,—few and far between,—yet remaining of these old highways, to which the foot passenger turns with pleasure, to get out of the way of the wheels and dust.

PACKSADDLES, OX-BUTTS, AND THE FIRST CARRIAGE.

About four score years ago, there was no wheel-carriage for the high-road West of Trereife. On some of the farms, there were werries, with three solid wheels (druchars.) These things, between wheel-barrow and cart, were used for bringing home the turf from the moors, taking out manure on level ground, &c. Corn, hay and furze were carried in trusses on horse-back; but horses, furnished with pack-saddles, dung-pots, or crooks, were then generally used for conveying almost everything we now see on some sort of wheel-carriage. Ox-butts and wains were in use long before carts became common. One end of the axle was fast in the wheel, and the axle was made to work in gudgeons under the butt or wain. For building the many large mansions about in the West, the timber had to be dogged from Market-jew, or floated to some of the Coves near the building site. Slate, lime, laths, &c., were all borne on the poor horses’ backs.

I have often heard that the first coach, or chariot, as the old Noah’s arks on slings or springs were called, was the old machine still at Trewinnard, which was constructed to take out the old Hawkins’ in great state, if not in a state of comfort. The Hawkins’ lived in such grand style at the time their chariot was set up (so that everything might be in keeping with the grandeur of their land-ship) that they very much impoverished themselves, and their descendants were consequently obliged to live with such economy as appeared mean for persons of their rank, which gave rise to the lines about Trewinnard:—

“Here is a grand hall, and no cheer;
A great cellar, and no beer;
A great park, and no deer;
And Sir Christopher Hawkins lives here.”

When the ladies and gentlemen of Trewinnard drove out in their chariot, accompanied by a cavalcade of belles and beaux, with hawk and hound, they must have thought themselves as grand and glorious as the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon, till stuck fast in a hole, or jolted out in the mud, when the half-a-dozen or more men by whom they were attended, with poles and ropes, picks, spades, and led horses, contrived to set them in motion again, at about the rate of three miles an hour, at least where the roads were the best.

GOING TO TOWN ON MARKET DAY.

Many farmers’ wives and daughters would now think it too fatiguing to ride on horseback ten miles or more with the marketing in all sorts of weather. Yet I remember that the inconvenience was little felt half a century ago; on the contrary, old and young looked with pleasure for the market-day to come round—the young folks especially, large parties of whom would always contrive to meet together in rain or shine, and race along the lanes to the tune of “the devil take the hindmost,” often jumping over hedges and ditches, to try the springing qualities of their horses, or galloping off to fair, “three on a horse,” as is still proverbial for Morvah fair.

Then old folks would often stop to have a chat with people working in the fields, or with the smiling women looking out of the open doors of their wayside cottages for the accustomed gossip of the market-day, when they hail their cronies with something like “Alight, and come in, my dear; how glad I am to see ’e looking so well. Fasten your horse to the crook in the wall close by the heaping-stock, and we will soon have something warm to drink.” Then they would soon have a merry chat, and often coursey for an hour or two. The dear old souls were never in such a violent hurry as we all seem to be in now: they didn’t care whether they had to return by daylight or dark night.

Many used to go to Penzance every Thursday more for the sake of hearing the news than on any business of importance. Besides, it was a welcome relief from the wearying monotonous life at the Land’s End and other remote, lonely places.

It seems to me that the market was more like a fair then, from the crowd of people in the street, than the fair is like a market now. Perhaps it is only a fancy; or the reason of the more crowded appearance of the streets might be owing to the various markets being more concentrated fifty years ago. So many alterations and improvements have taken place during the last half century that there are scarcely any indications remaining to show what Penzance was in the days of our grandfathers.

PENZANCE IN THE EARLY PART OF THIS CENTURY, &C.

Yet, fortunately, Dr. Davy has given us a graphic description of the town and country as it existed about the year 1780. “Cornwall,” the doctor observes, “was then without roads. Those which traversed the country were rather bridle-paths than carriage roads; carriages were almost unknown, and even carts were very little used. I have heard my mother relate that when she was a girl there was only one cart in the town of Penzance, and, if a carriage occasionally appeared in the streets, it attracted universal attention. Pack-horses were then in general use for conveying merchandise, and the prevailing manner of travelling was on horseback at that period, the luxuries of furniture and living now enjoyed by people of the middle class were confined almost entirely to the great and wealthy, and in Penzance, where the population was about two thousand persons, there was only one carpet. The floors of the rooms were sprinkled over with sea-sand, and there was not a single silver fork. The only newspaper which then circulated in the West of England was the ‘Sherbourne Mercury,’ and it was carried through the country, not by the post but by a man on horseback specially employed in distributing it. In the year 1761, the turnpike road only reached as far as Falmouth. At that period the Land’s End district must have been a sort of unknown land.”

AN OLD-FASHIONED GREETING.

We leave it for those, better qualified for the Task, to describe how the Arduous Labour of Years, in endeavouring to obtain Public Buildings worthy of the town has progressed until, crowned with the Success WHICH WE UNITE IN CELEBRATING to-day with Joy and Gratitude; only hoping that the Sun may be as bright and cheering as the open countenance of our Indefatigable Chief Magistrate, that THE GLADSOME SOUNDS OF TRUMPET, BUGLE, FIFE, AND DRUM MAY PENETRATE THE GLOOMY HAUNTS OF ALL THE SOUR AND SULLEN, MAKING THEM LEAVE THEIR MOPING MELANCHOLY, AND HEARTILY UNITE, “ONE AND ALL,” LIKE TRUE CORNISH PEOPLE, IN SHOWING THAT THEY PARTICIPATE IN THE GENERAL SATISFACTION NOW FELT, AND SOUGHT TO BE EXPRESSED IN THE MOST PLEASING MODE THAT AT LAST THE NOBLE BUILDING HAS BEEN RAISED. LONG MAY IT GATHER WITHIN ITS WALLS A HEALTHY, UNITED, AND PROSPEROUS PEOPLE.

THE GHOSTS OF CHAPEL-STREET AND St. MARY’S CHAPEL-YARD.

Little more than fifty years ago, the building in Chapel street, which now (1867) serves as a dispensary, with the adjoining house at the entrance to Vounderveor-lane, formed a mansion which belonged to, and was occupied by an elderly lady, Mrs. Baines. At that time there was, in the rear of this mansion, a large garden, or rather orchard and garden, extending westward nearly to New-road, and bounded on the south by Vounderveor. The south side of the lane was an open field, and at its west end there were no dwellings.

Where the School of Art, the Methodist vestries, and other houses stand, was all known as Mrs. Baines’s orchard. This pleasant spot, in which the lady took great delight, was stocked with the choicest apple, pear, plum, and other fruit trees then known. The town boys soon found out the fine flavour of Mrs. Baines’s fruit, which was to them all the sweeter for being stolen. When the apples were ripe and most tempting, the mistress and her serving-man watched the garden by turns—the man during the first part of the night, and madam would descend in her night-dress, every now and then, to see that all was right, in the small hours of morning.

One night Mrs. Baines, suspecting that man John was rather careless in keeping guard, sallied forth to see if he was attending to his duty; and, not finding him anywhere about the garden, she went to a tree of highly-prized apples and shook down a good quantity, intending to take them away, and thus prove to John that, through his remissness, the fruit was stolen. But her man Jan, armed with an old blunderbus, charged with peas and small shot, was at no great distance dozing under a hedge. The rustling of shaken branches, and noise of falling apples, awoke him, and, seeing somebody, as he thought, stealing apples from their favourite tree, he up with his gun and let fly at his mistress, exclaiming, at the same time, “Now you thief, I’ve paid ’e off for keeping me out of bed to watch ’e! I know ’e, I do, and will bring ’e before his worship the mayor to-morrow!” “Lord help me, I’m killed!” cried the lady, as she fell on the ground. Jan stayed to see no more, but, frightened out of his wits, ran away and couldn’t be found for several days. At last he was discovered up in Castle-an-dinas, half starved. By good luck the old lady’s back was towards her man when he fired, and the greatest portion of the charge took effect below her waist. Doctor Giddy was fetched, and, after some delicate surgical operations, which the lady bore with exemplary patience, pronounced her fright to be more than the hurt.

However, a short time after the old lady got shot, she died; and then she kept such ward and watch over her orchard that few were so bold as to enter, after day-down, into the haunted ground, where the ghost of Mrs. Baines was often seen under the tree where she was shot, or walking the grounds of her garden. Everybody knew the old lady by her upturned and powdered grey hair under a lace cap of antique pattern; by the long lace ruffles hanging from her elbows; her short silk mantle, gold-headed cane, and other trappings of old-fashioned pomp.

There are many still living in Penzance who remember the time when they wouldn’t venture on any account to pass through Vounderveor-lane after night-fall, for fear of Mrs. Baines’ ghost. Sometimes she would flutter up from the garden or yard (just like an old hen flying before the wind), and perch herself on the wall: then, for an instant, one might get a glance of her spindle legs and high-heeled shoes before she vanished.

Her walking in the garden might have been put up with, but she soon haunted all parts of the premises, and was often seen where least expected both by night and at noon. The ghost became so troublesome, at last, that no person could be found to occupy the house, where she was all night long tramping about from room to room, slamming the doors, rattling the furniture, and often making a fearful crash amongst glass and crockery. Even when there was no living occupant in the house, persons, standing in Chapel street, often saw through the windows a shadowy form and lights glimmering in the parlours and bed-rooms.

The proprietors, driven to their wits’ end, unwilling that such valuable property should become worse than useless, all through the freaks of this vexatious ghost, at last sent for a parson, who was much famed in this neighbourhood as an exorcist (we think the name of this reverend ghost-layer was Singleton), that he might remove and lay the unresting spirit; and he succeeded (by what means our informant knoweth not) in getting her away down to the sand-banks on the Western Green, which were then spread over many acres of land where the waves now roll. Here, this powerful parson, single-handed, bound her to spin from the banks ropes of sand for the term of a thousand years, unless she, before that time, spun a sufficiently long and strong one to reach from St. Michael’s Mount to St. Clement’s Isle. The encroaching sea having swept away the sandbanks, Mrs. Baines’ ghost is probably gone with them, as she hasn’t been heard of for some years, and, if she returns, the present occupiers of the old abode wouldn’t mind her.

About the time that Mrs. Baines’s ghost carried on its freaks in the mansion, an open pathway passed through St. Mary’s chapel-yard, which was then often crossed, as it shortened the distance to the Quay; but, for a long time, few persons liked to pass through the burial-ground by night, because a ghostly apparition, arrayed in white, was often seen wandering amongst the tombs, from which doleful sounds were frequently heard. Sometimes the fearful figure was also met on the path or seen in the chapel porch. One dark and rainy night, however, a sailor, who neither knew nor cared anything about the ghost of St. Mary’s, in taking the short cut through the chapel-yard, came as far as the chapel-porch, when the ghost issued forth on the path and there stood, bobbing its head and waving its shroudings before him.

“Halloa! Who or what are you?” said the sailor.

“I am one of the dead!” the ghost answered.

“If you are one of the dead, what the deuce do you do here above ground? go along down below!” said the sailor, as he lifted his fist and dealt the ghost a stunning blow over its head, which laid it sprawling on the stones, where it remained some time, unable to rise or descend, until a person passing by assisted it to get on its legs, and discovered that a frolicksome gentleman, called Captain Carthew, who then lived in the house which is now Mrs. Davy’s property, had long been diverting himself and frightening the towns’-folk out of their wits by personating the ghost, which was most effectually laid by Jack Tar, and served out for its tricks on the timid and credulous.

LOCAL NICKNAMES.

CAMBORNE MERRY-GEEKS AND MARKET-JEW CROWS.—LUDGVAN HURLERS AND GULVAL BULLS.—MOUSHAL CUT-THROATS AND NEWLYN BUCKAS.—SANCRAS PIGS AND BURYAN BOARS.—ST. LEVAN WITCHES AND SENNEN ——.—SANTUST FUGGANS AND MORVAH CHICK-CHACKS.—NANCLEDREA RATS AND ZENNOR GOATS.—TOWEDNACK CUCKOOS AND ST. IVES HAKES.

The inhabitants of almost all West-country parishes and of several villages are known by nicknames peculiar to them as natives of the respective places. The origin of these names is for the most part forgotten. A few, however, may be accounted for.

CAMBORNE MERRY-GEEKS AND MARKET-JEW CROWS.

Camborne people are now frequently called “Merry-geeks.”

This modernized name conveys the idea that Camborne boys are much inclined to frolicsome fooling. Some old folks, however, still call them Merry-sicks or Merry-sickers. No doubt they acquired their nickname from their patron, St. Meriasek, who, according to his legend, as given in the old Cornish Mystery-play, was one of the most noted wonder-workers in this land of saints.

Camborne folks, of three centuries or so ago, must have highly appreciated this rare old “Guary Miracle” of St. Meriasek, if only for the way in which they are lauded in it. Redruth Plan-an-Guary must have rung with applause when it was performed there during Queen Elizabeth’s reign, and probably much later.

With regard to Marazion people’s appellation of “Crows,” it is said that, until a little while ago, a remarkable variety of party-coloured crows frequented this ancient town and its neighbourhood from very remote times. The saying of “All black and white, like a Market-jew crow,” is still frequently heard; as well as that of “Like the Mayor of Market-jew, sitting in his own light.”

LUDGVAN HURLERS AND GULVAL BULLS.

Ludgvan folks got the name of “Hurlers,” because they were wont to beat all-comers at their favourite game of hurling. They are still proud of their name.

Gulval people obtained their nickname of “Bulls” long ago when they had a custom of bringing their young bulls (mostly yearlings) together to fight. The cattle were always matched according to their ages. Often heavy bets were staked on the extent and result of their prowess, and the strongest was preferred as a sire for the future herd. Strength was then more desirable than now, since most of the team-labour on the land was done by oxen, and it was desirable that they should be tough and muscular. Feasten Monday was the usual time for this bovine trial of strength.

MOUSHAL CUT-THROATS AND NEWLYN BUCKAS.

We will now follow the sun’s course, for good luck, and pass over the Bay to Moushal and its “Cut-throats.”

Shortly after the Spaniards burnt this old town, many young men of Paul and the adjacent parishes—eager to retaliate on the Dons—went privateering. Some of them joined the Jamaica buccaneers, a few turned pirates, and all of them scoured the Spanish Main. One and all of the West Country men hailed from Moushal, which was then a noted place, and the chief port west of Market-jew.

When the adventurous rovers returned home, laden with gold and treasures, envious land-lubbers, out of spite, dubbed them “Moushal’s Cut-throats.” Old folks used to say that, a century or so ago, the head proprietors of Paul and some of Buryan were the descendants of Buccaneers and “Madagascar Birds.” Those old families are, for the most part, become extinct in this neighbourhood, though two or three of them are flourishing elsewhere.

Our old privateering stories always speak of Moushal as the general rendezvous of western sea-rovers; thus this bad-sounding nickname was acquired

“In the days we went a pirating,
A long time ago.”

One needs go no farther than Moushal to learn how Newlyn people got the name of “Buccas.” What old folks say is to the effect that the fishermen of that place (within the remembrance of persons yet alive) were accustomed, on their return to shore, to make a propitiatory offering to a spirit (Bucca) by placing for him a fish, just within high-water mark, in order that the spirit might ensure them good luck in their fishing. It was believed that Bucca came at night and took away the fish. Those who continued to observe this remnant of an old religious rite were derided by their more “enlightened” neighbours of recent times, and by them nicknamed “Buccas.”

SANCRAS PIGS AND BURYAN BOARS.

Old folks say that the inhabitants of Sancreed were called “Sancras Pigs” because, formerly, pork from that inland parish was preferred to what was raised elsewhere in this neighbourhood.

All the other parishes west of Hayle have some part of their boundaries on the seaboard: consequently, from the abundance of fish and the want of any but the home market for it, until recently, much good fish was cast on manure heaps, in places near fishing-coves; and the great, long-sided, razor-backed swine, then foraging at their pleasure in lanes and hamlets, ate so much fishery offal that it communicated a bad flavour and worse smell to their meat. Much pork was then sold to the “jousters” (retailers from the eastward) as “Sancras Pigs” that never saw Sancras parish; and the natives of that favoured place might be heard all over the Market-house calling out, “Come ’e here, my dears, look at this, ah es a Sancras pig, born and reared; see the fat ov en es as white as a crud (curd); no fear ov en beean trainey, like Paul and Sennen-cove trade, that have lived upon fish all their time.”

At length these inlanders’ brag procured them the nickname of “Sancras Pigs,” which they still retain.

We must pass over Buryan, for there seems to be no satisfactory account as to how the swinish nickname bestowed on the natives of that important parish originated.

ST. LEVAN WITCHES AND SENNEN ——.

St. Levan people are said to have acquired their remarkable name of St. Levan Witches from the belief—once general—that the inhabitants of that remote parish were, in days of yore, much addicted to the practice of necromancy, particularly witchcraft. Old folks held that all the West Country witches used to meet and hold their revels in Castle Trereen; until they mounted to the Castle Peak, and, bestriding their brooms or ragwort stalk, thence took their departure for Wales, Brittany, and even to Spain. Most nights, however, they merely went over and got a good “blow out” (feast) on the milk of Taffy’s cows. At times, too, Tol-pedn-penwith was their place of assembly, whence they started to wreck ships and perform other deviltry.

If old traditions may be relied on, the unseemly nickname of Sennen —— originated in a somewhat remarkable way. They say that it was given long ago, owing to the Danish blood inherited by a few families who lived on the shore of Whitsand Bay.

Many Land’s End folks have still a strong antipathy to what they regard as marks of descent from northern pirates, who ravaged the West more than a thousand years ago.