Chapter II (1)

A female donkey of three years old was taken, and the child was drawn naked nine times over its back and under its belly. Then three spoonfuls of milk were drawn from the teats of the animal, and three hairs cut from the back and three hairs cut from the belly were placed in it. This was to stand for three hours to acquire the proper virtue, and then the child drank it in three doses.

This ceremony was repeated three mornings running, and my informant said the child was always cured. I knew of several children who were treated in this manner in one of the small villages between Penzance and Madron Church-town, some twenty or thirty years since. There were some doggerel lines connected with the ceremony, which have escaped my memory, and I have endeavoured, in vain, to find any one remembering them. They were to the effect that, as Christ placed the cross on the ass’s back when He rode into Jerusalem, and so rendered the animal holy, if the child touched where Jesus sat, it should cough no more.

CURE OF TOOTHACHE.

One good man informed me that, though he had no faith in charming, yet this he knew, that he was underground one day, and had the toothache “awful bad, sure enough; and Uncle John ax’d me, ‘What’s the matter?’ says he. ‘The toothache,’ says I. ‘Shall I charm it?’ says he. ‘Ees,’ says I. ‘Very well,’ says he; and off he went to work in the next pitch. Ho! dedn’t my tooth ache, Lor’ bless ee; a just ded ye knaw; just as if the charm were tugging my very life out. At last Uncle John comed down to the soller, and sing’d out, ‘Alloa! how’s your tooth in there?’ says he. ‘Very bad,’ says I. ‘How’s a feeling?’ says he. ‘Pulling away like an ould hoss with the “skwitches,”’ says I. ‘Hal drag my jaw off directly,’ says I. ‘Ees the charm working?’ says he. ‘Es, a shure enuf,’ says I. ‘Es,’ says he, ‘al be better d’rectly.’ ‘Hope a will,’ says I. Goodness gracious! dedn’t a ache; I believe a did you; then a stopped most to once. ‘Es better,’ says I. ‘I thought so,’ says he; ‘and you waan’t have un no more for a long time,’ says he. ‘Thank ee, Uncle John,’ says I; ‘I’ll give ee a pint o’ beer pay-day,’ and so I ded; an’ I haben’t had the toothache ever since. Now, if he dedn’t charm un, how ded a stop? and if he dedn’t knaw a would be better a long time, how ded he say so? No, nor I haven’t had un never since. So that’s a plain proof as he knaw’d all about it, waden’t a you?”

I nodded assent, convinced it was useless to argue against such reasoning as that.

THE CONVALESCENT’S WALK.

If an invalid goes out for the first time and makes a circuit, this circuit must be with the sun; if against the sun, there will be a relapse.

ADDERS, AND THE MILPREVE.

The country people around the Land’s-End say that in old times no one could live in the low grounds, which were then covered with thickets, and these swarming with adders. Even at a much later period, in the summer-time, it was not safe to venture amongst the furze on the Downs without a _milpreve_. (I have never seen a milpreve; but it is described to me as being about the size of a pigeon’s egg, and I am told that it is made by the adders when they get together in great numbers. Is it not probable that the milpreve may be one of the madrepore corals—_millepore_—found sometimes on the beaches around Land’s-End?)

A friend writes me:—“I was once shewn a milpreve; it was nothing more than a beautiful ball of coralline limestone, the section of the coral being thought to be entangled young snakes.”

When some old men were streaming the “Bottoms” up near Partimey, they were often obliged to leave work on account of the number of adders that would get together as if by agreement, and advance upon them.

One day one of the tin streamers chanced to leave his pot of milk, uncovered, out of the moor-house, when an adder got into it. The man cut a turf and put over the pot to prevent the reptile from escaping. In a few minutes the tinners saw “the ugly things crawling and leaping from all quarters towards the pot.” The streamers were obliged to run, and take which way they would; the adders seemed to be coming from every direction, further and further off.

At last “they formed a heap round the pot as large as a pook [cock] of hay.” Towards night all the reptiles were quite still, then the men gathered together, around the mass of adders, a great quantity of furze, (being summer, there was plenty cut and dry close at hand,) and piled it up like sheaves to make a mow, laying a circle of well-dried turf without it. They then fired the turf on every side, and when it was well ignited, they fired the furze. “Oh, it was a sight to see the adders when they felt the smoke and the flame! they began to boil, as it were, all in a heap, and fell back into the flaming furze; those which leaped through perishing on the brilliant ring of burning peat. Thus were killed thousands upon thousands of adders, and the moors were clear for a long, long period.”

This is related nearly as the story was told; but it appears necessary to make some allowance for that spirit of exaggeration which is a characteristic of all Celtic people, ere they have been tutored to know the dignity of truth.

“The country people retaine a conceite, that the snakes, by their breathing upon a hazel-wand, doe make a stone ring of blew colour, in which there appeareth the yellow figure of a snake, and that beasts which are stung, being given to drink of the water wherein this stone hath bene socked, will there-through recover.”[62]

This was clearly one of the so-called “Druidic rings,”—examples of which may be seen in our museums,—which have been found in England and in Ireland. It is curious that at the glassworks of Murano, near Venice, they still make rings, or beads, precisely resembling the ancient ones, and these are used largely as money in Africa.

Snakes were formerly held in great reverence; and Camden asserts that one of the prevailing superstitions concerning them was that, about midsummer-eve, they all met together in companies, and, joining their heads, began a general hiss, which they continued until a kind of bubble was formed, which immediately hardened, and gave to the finder prosperity in all his undertakings.[63]

Lhuyd, in a letter written in 1701, gives a curious account of the then superstitious character of the people in this district. “The Cornish retain variety of charms, and have still towards the Land’s-End the amulets of _Maen Magal_ and _Glain-neider_, which latter they call a _Melprer_, a thousand worms, and have a charm for the snake to make it, when they have found one asleep, and struck a hazel-wand in the centre of its _spiræ_.” Camden mentions the use of snake-stones as a Cornish superstition.

“The very same story, in fact, is told of the _Adder-stane_ in the popular legends of the Scottish Lowlands, as Pliny records of the origin of the _Ovum Anguinum_. The various names by which these relics are designated all point to their estimation as amulets or superstitious charms; and the fact of their occurrence, most frequently singly, in the sepulchral cist or urn, seems to prove that it was as such, and not merely as personal ornaments, that they were deposited with the ashes of the dead. They are variously known as adder-beads, serpent-stones, Druidical beads; and, amongst the Welsh and Irish, by the synonymous terms of _Gleini na Droedh_ and _Glaine nan Druidhe_, signifying the magician’s or Druid’s glass.”—_Wilson’s Archæology and Prehistoric Annals of Scotland_, p. 304.

SNAKES AVOID THE ASH-TREE.

It is said that no kind of snake is ever found near the “ashen-tree,” and that a branch of the ash-tree will prevent a snake from coming near a person.

A child, who was in the habit of receiving its portion of bread and milk at the cottage door, was found to be in the habit of sharing its food with one of the poisonous adders. The reptile came regularly every morning, and the child, pleased with the beauty of his companion, encouraged the visits. The babe and adder were close friends.

Eventually this became known to the mother, and, finding it to be a matter of difficulty to keep the snake from the child whenever it was left alone,—and she was frequently, being a labourer in the fields, compelled to leave her child to shift for itself,—she adopted the precaution of binding an “ashen-twig” about its body.

The adder no longer came near the child; but from that day forward the child pined, and eventually died, as all around said, through grief at having lost the companion by whom it had been fascinated.

TO CHARM A SNAKE.

When an adder or snake is seen, a circle is to be rapidly drawn around it, and the sign of the cross made within it, while the two first verses of the 68th Psalm are repeated:—

“Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered: let them also
that hate him flee before him.

“As smoke is driven away, so drive them away: as wax melteth
before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of
God.”

When a child, I well remember being shewn a snake, not yet dead, within a circle of this kind; the gardener who drew my attention to the reptile informing me that he had charmed it in the manner related.

THE ASH-TREE.[64]

Weakly children—“children that wouldn’t goode,” or thrive—were sometimes drawn through the cleft ash-tree. I have seen the ceremony performed but in one case.

The tree was young, and it was taken by the two forks,—bifurcation having taken place,—and by force rended longitudinally. The cleft was kept open, and the child, quite naked, was passed head first through the tree nine times. The tree was then closed and carefully tied together. If the severed parts reunited, the child and the tree recovered together; if the cleft gaped in any part, the operation was certain to prove ineffectual.

I quote another example. A large knife was inserted into the trunk of the young tree, about a foot from the ground, and a vertical rending made for about three feet. Two men then forcibly pulled the parts asunder, and held them so, whilst the mother passed the child through it three times. This “passing” alone was not considered effective; it was necessary that the child should be washed for three successive mornings in the dew from the leaves of the “charmed ash.”

In the _Athenæum_ for September 1846, Ambrose Merton—Mr Thoms—has some interesting notices of the widespread belief in, and the antiquity of, this superstition.

RHYME ON THE EVEN ASH.

“Even ash, I thee do pluck;
Hoping thus to meet good luck.
If no luck I get from thee,
I shall wish thee on the tree.”

A TEST OF INNOCENCY.

A farmer in Towednack having been robbed of some property of no great value, was resolved, nevertheless, to employ a test which he had heard the “old people” resorted to for the purpose of catching the thief. He invited all his neighbours into his cottage, and when they were assembled, he placed a cock under the “brandice,” (an iron vessel formerly much employed by the peasantry in baking, when this process was carried out on the hearth, the fuel being furze and ferns.) Every one was directed to touch the brandice with his, or her, third finger, and say, “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, speak.” Every one did as they were directed, and no sound came from beneath the brandice. The last person was a woman, who occasionally laboured for the farmer in his fields. She hung back, hoping to pass unobserved amidst the crowd. But her very anxiety made her a suspected person. She was forced forward, and most unwillingly she touched the brandice, when, before she could utter the words prescribed, the cock crew. The woman fell faint on the floor, and, when she recovered, she confessed herself to be the thief, restored the stolen property, and became, it is said, “a changed character from that day.”

THE BONFIRE TEST.

A bonfire is formed of faggots of furze, ferns, and the like. Men and maidens by locking hands form a circle, and commence a dance to some wild native song. At length, as the dancers become excited, they pull each other from side to side across the fire. If they succeed in treading out the fire without breaking the chain, none of the party will die during the year. If, however, the ring is broken before the fire is extinguished, “bad luck to the weak hands,” as my informant said.

LIGHTS SEEN BY THE CONVERTED.

There is, in many parts of the county, a belief, derived no doubt from the recollection of St Paul’s conversion, that, when sinners are converted, they see shining lights about themselves. I have many times heard this, but every one seems to have his own particular mode of describing the phenomenon,—where they can be prevailed on to describe it at all,—and usually that is derived from some picture which has made an impression on their minds: such as, “exactly like the light shining round the angel appearing to St Peter, in fayther’s Bible.”

THE MIGRATORY BIRDS

I find a belief still prevalent amongst the people in the outlying districts of Cornwall, that such birds as the cuckoo and the swallow remain through the winter in deep caves, cracks in the earth, and in hollow trees; and instances have been cited of these birds having been found in a torpid state in the mines, and in hollow pieces of wood. This belief appears to be of some antiquity, for Carew writes in his “Survey of Cornwall” as follows:—

“In the west parts of Cornwall, during the winter season, swallows are found sitting in old deep tynne-works, and holes in the sea cliffes: but touching their lurking-places, _Olaus Magnus_ maketh a far stranger report. For he saith that in the north parts of the world, as summer weareth out, they clap mouth to mouth, wing to wing, and legge to legge, and so, after a sweet singing, fall downe into certain lakes or pools amongst the caves, from whence at the next spring they receive a new resurrection; and he addeth, for proofe thereof, that the fishermen who make holes in the ice, to dip up such fish in their nets as resort thither for breathing, doe sometimes light on these swallows congealled in clods, of a slymie substance, and that, carrying them home to their stoves, the warmth restored them to life and flight.”

A man employed in the granite quarries near Penryn, informed me that he found such a “slymie substance” in one of the pools in the quarry where he was working, that he took it home, warmth proved it to be a bird, but when it began to move it was seized by the cat, who ran out on the downs and devoured it.

SHOOTING STARS.

A mucilaginous substance is found on the damp ground near the granite quarries of Penryn, this is often very phosphorescent at night. The country people regard this as the substance of shooting stars. A tradesman of Penryn once brought me a bottle full of this substance for analysis, informing me that the men employed at the quarries, whenever they observed a shooting star, went to the spot near which they supposed it to fall, and they generally found a hat full of this mucus. It is curious that the Belgian peasants also call it “the substance of shooting stars,” (“Phosphorescence,” p. 109. By T. L. Phipson.) This author says, “I have sketched the history of this curious substance in the _Journal de Médecine et de Pharmacologie_ of Bruxelles, for 1855. It was analysed chemically by Mulder, and anatomically by Carus, and from their observations appears to be the peculiar mucus which envelops the eggs of the frog. It swells to an enormous volume when it has free access to water. As seen upon the damp ground in spring, it was often mistaken for some species of fungus; it is, however, simply the spawn of frogs, which has been swallowed by some large crows or other birds, and afterwards vomited, from its peculiar property of swelling to an immense size in their bodies.”

In Mulder’s account of its chemical composition, given by Berselius in his _Rapport Annual_, he distinguishes it by designation of _mucilage atmosphérique_.

THE SUN NEVER SHINES ON THE PERJURED.

There appears to exist a very old superstition, to the effect that when a man has deeply perjured himself,—especially if by his perjury he has sacrificed the life of a friend,—he not merely loses the enjoyment of the sunshine, but he actually loses all consciousness of its light or its warmth. Howsoever bright the sun may shine, the weather appears to him gloomy, dark, and cold.

I have recently been told of a man living in the western part of Cornwall, who is said to have sworn away the life of an innocent person. “The face of this false witness is the colour of one long in the tomb; and he has never, since the death of the victim of his forswearing, seen the sun.” It must be remembered the perjured man is not blind. All things around him are seen as by other men, but the sense of vision is so dulled that the world is for ever to him in a dark, vapoury cloud.

CHARACTERISTICS.

An esteemed and learned correspondent, himself a Cornishman, writing to me on the Cornish character, says:—

“There are some adages in which beadledom receives various hard knocks—that abstraction mostly taking the shape of some unlucky mayor; and I have heard in Cornwall, but never elsewhere, that the greatest fool in the place for the time being is always made the mayor.

“There is an adage of the Mayor of Calenich, (and yet I doubt if ever that hamlet had such an officer.) Calenich is one mile from Truro, and the mayor’s hackney was pastured two miles from home; so, as his worship would by no means compromise his dignity by walking to Truro, he invariably walked to his horse to ride there, so that it was said of any one who would keep up appearances at great trouble, that he was ‘_like the Mayor of Calenich, who walked two miles to ride one_.’

“The class who never know on which side their bread is buttered, are said to be ‘_like the Mayor of Market-Jew, sitting in their own light_;’ and the stupid man whose moods, whether of sadness or merriment, are inopportune, is, as may be, said to be ‘_like the Mayor of Falmouth, who thanked God when the town-jail was enlarged_.’

“Many persons are chronicled in the same manner.

“‘_Like Nicholas Kemp, he’s got occasion for all._’ Nicholas was said to be a voter in a Cornish borough, who was told to help himself (so that no one should have given him a bribe,) from a table covered with gold, in the election committee-room. Taking off his hat, he swept the whole mass into it, saying, ‘I’ve occasion for all.’

“‘_Like Uncle Acky Stoddern, the picture of ill luck._’ This was always applied to a once well-known Gwennap-man.

“When a boy is asked what he will be, it is sometimes answered on his behalf, ‘_I’ll be like Knuckey, be as I am_.’

“‘_Like Nanny Painter’s hens, very high upon the legs_,’ is applied to a starveling or threadpaper.

“‘_Like Malachi’s cheeld, choke-full of sense_,’ applied derisively to any one boasting of himself or of his children. This is, I believe, purely Cornish.

“‘_Like a toad under a harrow, I don’t know whichee corse to steer._’ The first division of this adage is common property, the last is confined to Cornwall.

“‘_He is coming home with Penny Liggan_,’ sometimes ‘Peter Lacken,’ signifies the return of a pennyless scapegrace. The term was probably ‘penny lacking’ originally.

“Are the Cornish folk given to making ‘bulls,’ like the Irish?” asks my correspondent. “I have heard of one or two curious inversions of speech.

“Once upon a time a little boy having vainly importuned his seniors for a penny to go and buy sweets, being determined not to be disappointed, went off, exclaiming, ‘I don’t care; I’ll go and _trust_ Betty Rule,’ (the sweetmeat vendor.) This is native and genuine Gwennapian.

“The common people are fond of figures of speech. Port-wine negus was christened by the miners ‘black wine toddy.’ They go on Midsummer-day to Falmouth or Penzance, to get ‘_a pen’ord o’ say_’—that is, they go out in a boat on payment of a penny.

“With them, when their health is inquired after, every man is ‘_brave_,’ and every woman ‘_charming_;’ and friendship takes dear household names into its mouth for more expressiveness.

“‘Well, Billy, my son, how’s faether?’

“‘Brave, thank ee.’

“‘How are you, Coden [Cousin] Jaan, and how’s Betty?’

“‘She’s charming, thank ee.’

“_Trade_ is a word of special application, ‘_a pa’cel o’ trade_.’

“A precious mess is ‘_a brave shape_.’

“Of an undecided person it is said, ‘_He is neither Nim nor Doll_.’ Does this mean he is neither Nimrod nor Dorothy?

“A phrase descriptive of vacuity of expression is, ‘_He looks like anybody that has neither got nor lost_.’”

Years since it was a common custom to assign some ridiculous action to the people of a small town or village. For example, the people of one place were called “Buccas,” “because some one of them was frightened at his shadow.”

Those of another town were named “Gulls,” “because two of the townsmen threw a gull over a cliff to break its neck.”

The men of a fishing-village were nicknamed “Congers,” “because they threw a conger overboard to drown it.”

“Who whipped the hake?” was applied to the inhabitants of another town, because hake, it is said, being excessively plenty, the fishermen flogged one of those fish, and flung it back into the sea; upon which all the hakes left that coast, and kept away for years.[65]

“Who drowned the man in a dry ditch?” belongs especially to another place.

Certain Cornishmen built a wall around the cuckoo, to prevent that bird from leaving the county, and thus to insure an early spring. When built, the bird flew out, crying “Cuckoo! cuckoo!” “If we had put one course more on the wall we should a’ kept’n in,” said they.

Camborne is so called from _Camburne_, _a crooked well-pit_ of water. This crooked well was at one time far famed for the cure of many diseases.

The persons who washed in this well were called _Merrasicke_. I know not the meaning of the word. According to an old Cornish custom of fixing nicknames on people, the inhabitants of Camborne are called _Mearageeks_, signifying perverse, or obstinate.—(_Lanyon._)

The Church was anciently called _Mariadoci_. I therefore suspect that the above terms have some connexion with this name. By an easy corruption, and the addition of _geeks_, or _gawks_, (meaning awkward,) either word can be produced.

Of the Gorran men it is asked, “Who tried to throw the moon over the cliffs?”

THE MUTTON FEAST.

An old tradition—the particulars of which I have failed to recover—says that a flock of sheep were blown from the Gwithian Sands over into St Ives Bay, and that the St Ives fishermen caught them,—believing them to be a new variety of fish,—either in their nets, or with hook and line, and brought them ashore as their night’s catch.

I learn that Mr Fortescue Hitchins, some fifty or sixty years since, wrote a “copy of verses” on this tradition, but I have never seen this production.

THE FLOATING GRINDSTONE.

I have already told of St Piran and his grindstone. I have, however, another and a more modern story, which is told with great glee at some of the social meetings of the fishermen. This is given merely to indicate the simplicity of this honest race.

A party was got together on a promontory at the extremity of the bay which enclosed a fishing-town. They were gathered to see a wonder, a _floating grindstone_. Seeing that grindstones were grindstones in those days, and worth many pounds sterling, a boat was manned, and away they went, the mover of the expedition being in the bow of the boat.

As they approached the grindstone, this man planted his foot on the gunwale, ready for a spring. They were close aboard the circular mass,—“All my own, and none for nobody,” he cries, and sprang off, as he fancied, on to the grindstone. Lo! to his great surprise, he sank under water, presently popping up again within his charmed circle, to be greeted with roars of laughter. He had leaped into a sheet of “salt sea foam” which had gathered, and was confined within a large hoop.

CELTS—FLINT ARROW-HEADS, ETC.

The common people believe these to be produced by thunder, and thrown down from the clouds, and that they shew what weather will ensue by changing their colour.

I have also found a belief prevailing in many districts, that Celts impart a virtue to water in which they have been soaked, and that diseases have been cured by drinking it.

HORNS ON THE CHURCH TOWER.

When the masons were building the tower of Towednack Church, the devil came every night and carried off the pinnacles and battlements. Again and again this work was renewed during the day, and as often was it removed during the night, until at length the builders gave up the work in despair, feeling that it was of no use to contend with the evil one.

Thus it is that Towednack Church stands lonely, with its squat and odd-looking tower, a mark of the power of evil to the present day. Associated with this tower is a proverb: “There are no cuckolds in Towednack, because there are no horns on the church tower.”

TEA-STALKS AND SMUT.

Stems of tea floating in that beverage indicate strangers. Flakes of smut hanging loose to the fire-bars do the same thing.

The time of the stranger’s arrival may be known by placing the stem on the back of one hand, and smacking it with the other; the number of blows given before it is removed indicates the number of days before his arrival.

The flake of carbon is blown upon, and according as it is removed by the first, second, or third blow, so is the time at the end of which the visitor may be expected.

AN OLD CORNISH RHYME.

“When the corn is in the shock,
Then the fish are on the rock.”

The pilchard visits this coast in the early autumn. These are the “fish” _par excellence_ of the Cornish, and they are thus distinguished.

TO CHOOSE A WIFE.

Ascertain the day of the young woman’s birth, and refer to the last chapter of Proverbs. Each verse from the 1st to the 31st is supposed to indicate, either directly or indirectly, the character, and to guide the searcher—the verse corresponding with her age indicating the woman’s character.

THE ROBIN AND THE WREN.

“Those who kill a robin or a wran,
Will never prosper, boy or man.”

This feeling is deeply impressed on every young mind; there are few, therefore, who would injure either of those birds.

I remember that a boy in Redruth killed a robin: the dead robin was tied round his neck, and he was marched by the other boys through the town, all of them singing the above lines.

TO SECURE GOOD LUCK FOR A CHILD.

Give the first person whom you meet between your own house and the church to which you are taking the infant to be christened, a piece of bread and salt.

INNOCENCY.

To wash the hands is an attestation of innocency. To call a man “dirty fingers,” is to accuse him of some foul or unjust deed.

RAIN AT BRIDAL OR BURIAL.

“Blessed is the bride
Whom the sun shines on,
Blessed is the dead
Whom the rain rains on.”

If it rains while a wedding party are on their way to the church, or on returning from it, it betokens a life of bickering and unhappiness.

If the rain falls on a coffin, it is supposed to indicate that the soul of the departed has “arrived safe.”

CROWING HENS, ETC.

A whistling maid and a crowing hen in one house, is a certain sign of a downfall to some one in it. I have known hens killed for crowing by night.

The braying of an ass is a sign of fair weather; so is also the crowing of a cock. The quacking of ducks foretells rain.

THE NEW MOON.

To see the new moon for the first time, through glass, is unlucky; you may be certain that you will break glass before that moon is out. I have known persons whose attention has been called to a clear new moon, hesitate. “Hev I seed her out a’ doors afore?” if not, they will go into the open air, and if possible shew the moon “a piece of gold,” or, at all events, turn their money.

LOOKING-GLASSES.

Breaking a looking-glass is certain to insure seven years of misfortune.

THE MAGPIE.

“One is a sign of anger,
Two is a sign of mirth,
Three is a sign of a wedding,
Four is a sign of a {birth.
{death.”

A scolding woman is called a magpie. Whenever you see a magpie, take off your hat to it; this will turn away the anger.

THE MONTH OF MAY UNLUCKY.

May is regarded by many as an unhealthy and unlucky month.

Children born in the month of May are called “May chets,” and kittens cast in May are invariably destroyed, for—

“May chets
Bad luck begets.”

Another rhyme is—,

“A hot May,
Fat church hay,”

meaning that funerals will be plenty.

ON THE BIRTHS OF CHILDREN.

“Sunday’s child is full of grace,
Monday’s child is full in the face,
Tuesday’s child is solemn and sad,
Wednesday’s child is merry and glad,
Thursday’s child is inclined to thieving,
Friday’s child is free in giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for his living.”

ON WASHING LINEN.

“They that wash Monday got all the week to dry,
They that wash Tuesday are pretty near by,
They that wash Wednesday make a good housewife,
They that wash Thursday must wash for their life,
They that wash Friday must wash in need,
They that wash Saturday are sluts indeed.”

ITCHING EARS.

When the ears are red and itch, it is a sign that some one is talking of the suffering individual. If it is the left ear, they are being scandalised; if the right ear, they are being praised.

Often have I heard, when the lower and middle class people have been indulging in some gossip of their neighbours or friends, “I’ll bet how their ears do itch.”

THE SPARK ON THE CANDLE.

A bright spark on the candle-wick indicates a letter coming to the house. The person towards whom it shines will receive it. The time of its arrival is determined by striking the bottom of the candlestick on the table. If the spark comes off on the first blow, it will be received to-morrow; if two blows are required, on the second day, and so on.

THE BLUE VEIN.

A fond mother was paying more than ordinary attention to a fine healthy-looking child, a boy about three years old. The poor woman’s breast was heaving with emotion, and she struggled to repress her sighs. Upon inquiring if anything was really wrong, she said “the old lady of the house had just told her that the child could not live long, because _he had a blue vein across his nose_.”

THE CROAKING OF THE RAVEN.

There is a common feeling that the croaking of a raven over the house bodes evil to some member of the family. The following incident, given to me by a really intelligent man, illustrates the feeling:[66]—

“One day our family were much annoyed by the continued croaking of a raven over our house. Some of us believed it to be a token; others derided the idea; but one good lady, our next-door neighbour, said, ‘Just mark the day, and see if something does not come of it.’ The day and hour were carefully noted. Months passed away, and unbelievers were loud in their boastings and inquiries after the token.

“The fifth month arrived, and with it a black-edged letter from Australia, announcing the death of one of the members of the family in that country. On comparing the dates of the death and the raven’s croak, they were found to have occurred on the same day.”

WHISTLING.

To whistle by night is one of the unpardonable sins amongst the fishermen of St Ives. My correspondent says, “I would no more dare go among a party of fishermen at night whistling a popular air than into a den of untamed tigers.”

No miner will allow of whistling underground. I could never learn from the miners whether they regarded it as unlucky or not. I rather think they feel that whistling indicates thoughtlessness, and they know their labour is one of danger, requiring serious attention.

MEETING ON THE STAIRS.

It is considered unlucky to meet on the stairs, and often one will retire to his or her room rather than run the risk of giving or receiving ill luck.

I find this superstition prevails also in the Midland counties.

TREADING ON GRAVES.

“To see a man tread over graves,
I hold it no good mark;
’Tis wicked in the sun and moon,
And bad luck in the dark!”

So sings Coleridge in his ballad of “The Three Graves.”

Whenever a person shivers from a sensation of cold down the spine, it is said some one is walking over his or her grave.

Persons believing this will give directions that they may be buried in some secluded corner of the churchyard, so that their corpse may not be disturbed by unholy footsteps.

A LOOSE GARTER.

If an unmarried woman’s garter loosens when she is walking, her sweetheart is thinking of her.

TO CURE THE HICCOUGH.

Wet the forefinger of the right hand with spittle, and cross the front of the left shoe or boot three times, repeating the Lord’s Prayer backwards.

THE SLEEPING FOOT.

This irregularity in the circulation is at once removed by crossing the foot with saliva.

THE HORSE-SHOE.

To nail a horse-shoe, which has been cast on the road, over the door of any house, barn, or stable, is an effectual means of preventing the entrance of witches.

THE BLACK CAT’S TAIL.

Those little gatherings which occur on the eye-lids of children, locally called “wilks,” are cured by passing a black cat’s tail nine times over the place. If a ram cat, the cure is more certain.

UNLUCKY THINGS.

To put the loaf on the table upside down—to cut the butter at both ends—to place the bellows on the table—to upset the salt—to cross your knife and fork—to pour gravy out of a spoon backwards, (or back-handed,) is each unlucky, and leads to quarrels. To borrow or lend a bellows is most unlucky, and many would rather give than lend one.

If you are going on an errand, never turn back to your house, it presages ill luck to do so. If, however, you are compelled to it, fail not to sit down. By doing this, some mischief may be avoided.

THE LIMP CORPSE.

If a corpse stiffens shortly after death, all is thought to proceed naturally; but if the limbs remain flexible, some one of the family is shortly to follow. If the eyes of a corpse are difficult to close, it is said “they are looking after a follower.”

To find a louse on one’s linen, is a sign of sickness. To find two, indicates a severe illness. If three lice are so found within a month, it is a “token to prepare.”

Talking backwards, or putting one word incorrectly before another,—“the cart before the horse,”—is considered to foretell that you will shortly see a stranger.

If two young people, in conversation, happen to think of the same thing at the same time, and one of them utters the thought before the other, that one is certain to be married first.

“BY HOOK OR BY CROOK.”

In the parish of Egles-Hayle are two crosses, known as “Peverell’s Crosses;” and near Mount Charles, also in this parish, is another “moorstone” cross, called the Prior’s Cross, whereon is cut the figure of a hook and a crook, in memory of the privileges granted by a prior, belonging to the family of the Peverells, who are said to have possessed lands in this parish since the time of Richard II.

The poor of Bodmin were greatly distressed through the scarcity of fuel, the “turf,” or peat of the moors being insufficient to supply their wants. The prior gave “privilege and freedom” to the poor of Bodmin for gathering, for “fire-boote and house-boote,” such boughs and branches of oak-trees in his woods of Dunmear, as they could reach to, or come at, with a “hook and a crook,” without further damage to the trees.

Hence the proverb concerning filching, “that they will have it by hook or by crook.”

WEATHER SIGNS.

The WEATHER DOG.—It frequently happens in unsettled weather that banks of rain-cloud gather around the horizon, and that, over isolated tracts, the rain falls. If these depositions from this low stratum of clouds occur opposite to the sun, the lower limb of a bow is formed, often appearing like a pillar of decomposed light; and sometimes two of these coloured bands will be seen, forming indeed the two extremities of the arch. These are “weather dogs,” and they are regarded as certain prognostications of showery or stormy weather.[67]

The usual proverb with regard to the full bow; which prevails generally, is common in Cornwall,—

“The rainbow in the morning
Is the shepherd’s warning;
The rainbow at night
Is the shepherd’s delight.”

But, as far as I know, the “weather dog” is peculiarly Cornish.

WEATHER AT LISKEARD.

“The south wind always brings wet weather;
The north wind, wet and cold together.
The west wind always brings us rain;
The east wind blows it back again.
If the sun in red should set,
The next day surely will be wet;
If the sun should set in gray,
The next will be a rainy day.”

_Bond’s Looe._

THE FIRST BUTTERFLY.

“One of the superstitions prevailing in Devonshire is, that any individual neglecting to kill the first butterfly he may see for the season, will have ill luck throughout the year.”[68] The following recent example is given by a young lady:—“The other Sunday, as we were walking to church, we met a man running at full speed, with his hat in one hand, and a stick in the other. As he passed us he exclaimed, ‘I shan’t hat ’en now, I b’lieve.’ He did not give us time to inquire what he was so eagerly pursuing; but we presently overtook an old man, whom we knew to be his father, and who, being very infirm, and upwards of seventy, generally hobbled about by the aid of two sticks. Addressing me, he observed, ‘My _zin_ a took away wan a my sticks, miss; wan’t be ebble to kill’n now though, I b’lieve.’ ‘Kill what?’ said I. ‘Why, ’tis a butterfly, miss,—the _furst_ hee’th a zeed for the year; and they zay that a body will have cruel bad luck if a ditn’en kill a _furst_ a zeeth.’”

I have found this belief prevailing in the east, but never in the west, of Cornwall.

PECULIAR WORDS AND PHRASES.

“The people in the west,” writes a correspondent, “have adopted many words from the Danish invaders.” Tradition assures us that the sea-rovers of the North frequently landed at Witsand Bay, burned and pillaged the villages of Escols and Mayon, sometimes took off the women, but never made a settlement. Certain red-haired families are often referred to as Danes, and the dark-haired people will not marry with “a red-haired Dane.” He continues:—“If you were in Buryan Church-town this evening, you might probably hear Betty Trenoweth say, ‘I’ll take off my _touser_, [toute serve,] and run up to Janey Angwins to _cousey_ [causer] a spell; there’s a lot of boys gone in there, so there’ll be a grand _courant_, [de courir,] I expect.’ In a short time Betty may come back disappointed, saying, ‘’Twas a mere _cow’s courant_ after all, cheld vean—all hammer and tongs.’”

The _touser_ is a large apron or wrapper to come quite round and keep the under garments clean. By a _courant_ with the boys, they mean a game of running romps. It is not at all uncommon in other parts of the country to hear the people say, “It was a fine _courant_,” “We’ve had a good _courant_,” when they intend to express the enjoyment of some pleasure party. These are, however, probably more nearly allied to Norman-French.

There are some proverbial expressions peculiar to the west:—

“Sow barley in dree, and wheat in pul.”[69]

“To make an old nail good, right it on wood.”

“Fill the sack, then it can stand.”

The last meaning that neither man nor beast can work on an empty stomach.

The following are a few of less common expressions, preserving remarkable words:—

’Tis not _bezibd_—It is not allotted me.

He will never _scrip_ it—He will never escape it.

He is nothing _pridy_—He is not handsome.

Give her _dule_—Give her some comfort or consolation.

Hark to his _lidden_—Listen to his word or talk.

It was _twenty_ or _some_—It was about twenty.

The wind brings the _pilme_—The wind raises the dust.

How thick the _brusse_ lies—How thick the dust lies.

He is _throyting_—He is cutting chips from sticks.

He came of a good _havage_—He belongs to a good or respectable family.

_Hame_—a straw collar with wooden collar-trees, to which are fastened the rope traces.

_Scalpions_ (_buckthorn_, or rather _buckhorn_)—salt dried fish, usually the whiting.

“Eating fair maids, or fermades—(_fumadoes_)—[pilchards,] and drinking mahogany, [gin and treacle.]”

MISCELLANEOUS STORIES.

“Farewell, rewards and fairies,
Good housewives now may say;
For now foul sluts in dairies
Do fare as well as they.

...

“A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure;
And who kept not secretly
Their mirth, was punish’d sure.”

_Farewell to the Fairies_—RICHARD CORBET.

VARIOUS ROMANCES & SUPERSTITIONS.

THE BELLS OF FORRABURY CHURCH.

“The Cornish drolls are dead, each one;
The fairies from their haunts have gone:
There’s scarce a witch in all the land,
The world has grown so learn’d and grand.”

HENRY QUICK, _the Zennor Poet_.

To this day the tower of Forrabury Church, or, as it is called by Mr Hawker, “the silent tower of Bottreaux,” remains without bells. “At Forrabury the chimes have never sounded for a marriage, the knell has never been heard for a funeral.”—_Collins._

In days long ago, the inhabitants of the parish of Forrabury—which does not cover a square mile, but which now includes the chief part of the town of Boscastle and its harbour—resolved to have a peal of bells which should rival those of the neighbouring church of Tintagel, which are said to have rung merrily at the marriage, and tolled solemnly at the death, of Arthur.

The bells were cast; the bells were blessed; and the bells were shipped for Forrabury. Few voyages were more favourable; and the ship glided, with a fair wind, along the northern shores of Cornwall, waiting for the tide to carry her safely into the harbour of Bottreaux.

The vesper bells rang out at Tintagel, and the pilot, when he heard the blessed sound, devoutly crossed himself, and bending his knee, thanked God for the safe and quick voyage which they had made.

The captain laughed at the superstition of the pilot, as he called it, and swore that they had only to thank themselves for the speedy voyage, and that, with his arm at the helm, and his judgment to guide them, they should soon have a happy landing. The pilot checked this profane speech; but the wicked captain—and he swore more impiously than ever that all was due to himself and his men—laughed to scorn the pilot’s prayer. “May God forgive you!” was the pilot’s reply.

Those who are familiar with the northern shores of Cornwall will know that sometimes a huge wave, generated by some mysterious power in the wide Atlantic, will roll on, overpowering everything by its weight and force.

While yet the captain’s oaths were heard, and while the inhabitants on the shore were looking out from the cliffs, expecting, within an hour, to see the vessel, charged with their bells, safe in their harbour, one of these vast swellings of the ocean was seen. Onward came the grand billow in all the terror of its might. The ship rose not upon the waters as it came onward. She was overwhelmed, and sank in an instant close to the land.

As the vessel sank, the bells were heard tolling with a muffled sound, as if ringing the death-knell of the ship and sailors, of whom the good pilot alone escaped with life.

When storms are coming, and only then, the bells of Forrabury, with their dull, muffled sound, are heard from beneath the heaving sea, a warning to the wicked; and the tower has remained to this day silent.

THE TOWER OF MINSTER CHURCH.

“The Minster of the Trees! a lonely dell,
Deep with old oaks, and ’mid their quiet shade,
Gray with the moss of years, yon antique cell!
Sad are those walls: the cloister lowly laid,
Where pacing monks at solemn evening made
Their chanted orisons: and as the breeze
Came up the vale, by rock and tree delay’d,
They heard the awful voice of many seas
Blend with thy pausing hymn, thou Minster of the Trees!”

HAWKER.

On a visit to this old church, which is allowed to perish under the influences of damp and the accompanying vegetable growth, in a way which is but little creditable to the parishioners, I was struck at the evidence that the tower had either been taken down or that it had fallen. Amidst the long grass of the churchyard I found many remains of carved stones, which clearly belonged at one time to the tower. I sought for some information, but I could obtain none. The officiating clergyman, and several gentlemen of Boscastle, were alike ignorant of any tradition connected with the tower—the prevalent idea being that it was left unfinished.

At length, the ostler at the inn informed me that the story of the destruction of the tower ran thus:—

The tower of the church of the ancient abbey was seen through the gorge which now forms the harbour of Boscastle, far out at sea. The monks were in the habit of placing a light in one of the windows of the tower to guide the worshippers, at night, to the minster.

Frequently sailors mistook this, by day for some landmark, and at night for a beacon, and were thus led into a trap from which they could not easily extricate themselves, and within which they often perished. This accident occurred so frequently that the sailors began at last to declare their belief that the monks purposely beguiled them to their fate, hinting, indeed, that plunder was their object. Eventually, a band of daring men, who had been thus lured into Boscastle, went to the abbey, and, in spite of the exertions made by the monks, they pulled down the tower, since which time it has never been rebuilt.

TEMPLE MOORS.

The parish of Temple in 1851 had a population of 24. Yet once the Knights Templars built a church here; and with the purpose of civilising the inhabitants of the moors in the midst of which it was founded, they secured for their temple some special privileges. “Many a bad marriage bargain,” says Tonkin, “is there yearly slubbered up, and grass widows with their fatlings put to lie-in and nurse here.” “Send her to Temple Moors,” implied that any female requiring seclusion might at one time secure it under the charge of these Christian knights in this their preceptory, and be returned to the world again, probably, in all respects, a better woman. At all events, the world, being in ignorance, did not repudiate the erring sister.

Stories linger over this wilderness of mixed good and evil. The church, which was consecrated to the great cause of saving sinners, has perished. No stone remains to tell us where it stood; and to “send her to Temple Moors,” is to proclaim a woman an outcast from society.

THE LEGEND OF TAMARA.

The lovely nymph Tamara was born in a cavern. Although her parents were spirits of the earth, the child loved the light of day. Often had they chided her for yielding to her desires and visiting the upper world; and often had they warned her against the consequences which would probably arise from her neglect of their advice.

The giants of the moors were to be feared; and it was from these that the earth spirits desired to protect their child.

Tamara—beautiful, young, heedless—never lost an opportunity of looking on the glorious sun. Two sons of Dartmoor giants—Tavy and Tawrage—had seen the fair maid, and longed to possess her. Long was their toil, and the wild maiden often led them over mountain and moor in playful chase.

Under a bush in Morewinstow, one day, both Tavy and Tawrage came upon Tamara. They resolved now to compel her to declare upon which of them her choice should fall. The young men used every persuasion, and called her by every endearing name. Her parents had missed Tamara, and they sought and found her seated between the sons of the giants whom they hated. The gnome father caused a deep sleep to fall on the eyes of Tavy and Tawrage, and then he endeavoured to persuade his daughter to return to his subterranean cell.

Tamara would not leave her lovers. In his rage the gnome cursed his daughter, and, by the might of his curse, changed her into a river, which should flow on for ever to the salt sea. The lovely Tamara dissolved in tears, and, as a crystal stream of exceeding beauty, the waters glided onward to the ocean.

At length Tavy awoke. His Tamara was gone; he fled to his father in the hills. The giant knew of the metamorphosis, and, to ease the anguish of his son, he transformed him into a stream. Rushing over rocks, running through morasses, gliding along valleys, and murmuring amidst the groves, Tavy still goes on seeking for Tamara—his only joy being that he runs by her side, and that, mingling their waters, they glide together to the eternal sea.

Tawrage awakened after a long sleep. He divined what had taken place, and fled to the hills to an enchanter. At his prayer he, too, was changed to a stream; but he mistook the road along which Tamara had gone, and onward, ever sorrowing, he flows—away—away—away from his Tamara for ever.

Thus originated the Tamar, the Tavy, and the Taw.

THE CHURCH AND THE BARN.

The Daunays were great people in their day; but many of them bore indifferent characters.

Sir John de Daunay was a strange mixture of ostentatious pride and penuriousness. His Lady Emelyn was as proud as her husband, but extravagant to a fault.

The priests of St Germans persuaded Sir John to build a church on his lands at Sheviock. He commenced the work, and, notwithstanding his great wealth, his heart failed him and he curtailed the fair proportions on which he had at first decided.

Emelyn was enraged at this; and it is said, that, prompted by the devil in visible presence, she resolved to build a barn which should exceed in beauty the house of God.

The barn rose with astonishing rapidity. Stones were laid at night, and the work proceeded as if the most lavish expenditure had been bestowed upon it. The church progressed but slowly, and was, after all, a very inferior structure to the barn. The devil, without doubt, having assisted Lady Daunay in her wicked work.

“There runneth a tale amongst the parishioners how one of the Daunay family’s ancestors undertook to build the church, and the wife the barn adjoining; and that, casting up accounts on finishing their work, the barn was found to have cost 1½d. more than the church.”[70]

The Daunay aisle in Sheviock Church still preserves the name of this family, who appear to have possessed at one time nearly all this, and much of the adjoining parish.

THE PENRYN TRAGEDY.

“News from Penryn, in Cornwall, of a most bloody and unexampled
Murder.”

Such was the title of a black-letter pamphlet of eight pages referred to by Lysons. This curious book does not appear to be in existence.