Chapter VIII: Appendix: A. St Piran—Perran Zabuloe, 287 (7)

[_The Squire places himself beside Duffy on
the chimney-stool. The devil comes out of
the wood-corner, and ranges himself behind
them. Whenever the Squire is backward, the
devil tickles him behind the ear or under the
ribs. His infernal highness is supposed to be
invisible throughout. Huey shews a wry face now
and then, with clenched fist, through the oven
door._

The following portion, which is the Squire’s courtship of Duffy with the help of the devil, is a sort of duet in the old play. I don’t remember the whole, yet sufficient, I think, to give some idea of the way it is intended to be carried out:—

_S._ No; I’ll marry thee myself, rather than Huey Lenine
Shall ever wear stockings the equal of mine.
Thou shall have the silk gowns, all broider’d in gold,
In the old oak chest; besides jewels and rings,
With such other fine things,
In the old oak chest, as thee didst never behold.
_D._ I’d rather work all the day by any young man’s side,
Than sit in the bower, and be an old man’s bride.
_S._ Thou shalt have silver and gold, and riches untold.
_D._ I’ll buy my true love his shirt, rather than your silver and gold,
With one like yourself, both feeble and old.
_S._ You must say I’m old; though I’m near sixty,
I’m stronger still than many a man of twenty.
Thou shalt ride to church behind me, upon a new pillion,
As grand as Madam Noy, or Madam Trezillian.
_D._ O master, hold your flattering tongue;
I’m very foolish, and very young.
But——

[_Here the devil tickles the Squire sharply
under the ribs, when the Squire attempts to
hug and kiss Duffy, who takes the fire-prong
and brandishes it in the Squire’s face. The
devil tickles them both._

Stand off, keep your distance, and none of your hugging;
No man shall kiss me till he takes me to church;
I’ll never cry at Michaelmas for Christmas laughing,
Like the poor maid left in the lurch.

Look, the sand is all down, the pie is burn’d black,
And the crust is too hard for your colt’s teeth to crack;
Up to the hall now, and take your supper.

[_Here Duffy pushes the Squire off the stool.
The Squire jumps up and begins to dance,
singing the old dancing tune, “Here’s to the
devil, with his wooden pick,” &c. Duffy and the
devil soon join in the dance, and cut all sorts
of capers, till the Squire dances off to the
hall, followed by the devil; when Huey crawls
out of the oven, Duffy opens the kitchen,
drives Huey out, saying_,—

Now take thyself outside the door,
And never shew thy face here any more;
Don’t think I’d have a poor pityack like thee,
When I may marry a squire of high degree.

[_Then takes up the pie, and dances away.
During the old pitch-and-pass dance, they beat
time with the fire-prong and hunting-staff._

SCENE 2.—_The first appearance of Lady Lovell (Duffy) after the wedding. She is seen walking up and down the hall dressed in all sorts of ill-assorted, old-fashioned finery, that might have been forgotten in the old oak chest for many generations of Lovells. The high-heeled shoes, train, fan, ruff, high tete. All sorts of rings on her fingers, and in her ears are de rigeur. Then she sings something like the following_:—

Now I have servants to come at my call,
As I walk in grand state in the hall,
Deck’d in silks and satins fine;
But I grieve all the day, and fret the long night away,
To think of my true love, young Huey Lenine.

Many a weary long hour I sit all alone in my bower,
Where I do nothing but pine,
Whilst I grieve all the day, and fret the night away,
To think of my true love, young Huey Lenine.
Would the devil but come at my call, and take the old Squire, silks,
satins, and all,
With jewels and rings so fine;
Then merry and gay I’d work all the day, and pass the night away,
Kissing my true love, young Huey Lenine.

Another Cornish “Droll” is preserved, in part, as an example of the kind of doggerel verse in which many of those stories were told.

Bet of the Mill tells the Squire and company that, one Christmas night, all the inmates of Trevider House were gone off to a guise-dance, except Madam Pender and herself, and that they agree to spin for pastime:—

“One Christmas night, from Trevider Hall,
They were off in a guise-dance, big and small;
Nobody home but Madam Pender and I.
So to pass away time we agreed to try
Which would spin the finest yarn,
The length of the hall,
While the holly and bays
Deck’d window and wall.

“We took the rushes up from the floor,
From up by the chimney down to the door.
When we had the wool carded, ready to spin,
It came into our heads, before we’d begin,
We’d have a jug of hot-spiced beer,
To put life in our heels, our hearts to cheer.
So we drank to the healths of one and all,
While the holly and bays
Look’d bright on the wall.

“The night was dark, the wind roar’d without,
And whirl’d the cold snow about and about.
But the best part of that night,
By the bright fire-light,
While the Christmas stock did burn,
We danced forth and back as light as a feather,
Spinning and keeping good time together,
To the music of the ‘turn.’[55]
And we never felt weary that night at all,
While the holly and bays
Hung so gay on the wall.

“We pull’d out the yarn as even and fine,
As a spinner can spin the best of twine:
All the length of the hall,
From window to wall,
From up by the chimney
Down to the door,—
Full a dozen good paces and more;
And never felt weary at all,
While the holly and bays
Were so green on the wall.
At the turn of the night,
Old Nick, out of spite,
To see the log burn,
And to hear the gay ‘turn,’
Made my yarn to crack;
And I fell on my back,
Down the steps of the door.
I thought I was dead, or, twice as bad,
Should never be good any more.
If I had broken my bones on the cursed hard stones,
’Twas no wonder.
But, worst of all, with the force of the fall,
My twadling-string burst asunder.

...

Old madam was seized with frights and fears,—
She thought the house falling about her ears;
And, to save herself, she tore up-stairs,
Where they found her next morning under the bed,
With the brandy-bottle close to her head.”

Bet is found in a similar plight, and all is attributed to spinning; however, the Squire orders that Madam Pender shall spin no more,—

“And dance, one and all,
With the holly and bays so bright on the wall.”

THE GAME OF HURLING.

The game of “Hurling” was, until a recent period, played in the parishes to the west of Penzance on the Sunday afternoon. The game was usually between two parishes, sometimes between Burian and Sancreed, or against St Leven and Sennen, or the higher side of the parish played against the lower side.

The run was from Burian Cross in the Church-town, to the Pipers in Boloeit. All the gentry from the surrounding parishes would meet at Boloeit to see the ball brought in.

“Hurling matches” are peculiar to Cornwall. They are trials of skill between two parties, consisting of a considerable number of men, forty to sixty a side, and often between two parishes. These exercises have their name from “hurling” a wooden ball, about three inches in diameter, covered with a plate of silver, which is sometimes gilt, and has commonly a motto, “Gware wheag yeo gware teag,” “Fair play is good play.” The success depends on catching the ball dexterously when thrown up, or _dealt_, and carrying it off expeditiously, in spite of all opposition from the adverse party; or, if that be impossible, throwing it into the hands of a partner, who, in his turn, exerts his efforts to convey it to his own goal, which is often three or four miles’ distance. This sport, therefore, requires a nimble hand, a quick eye, a swift foot, and skill in wrestling; as well as strength, good wind, and lungs. Formerly it was practised annually by those who attended corporate bodies in surveying the bounds of parishes; but from the many accidents that usually attended that game, it is now scarcely ever practised. Silver prizes used to be awarded to the victor in the games. A correspondent at St Ives, writes:—

Hurling the Silver Ball.—This old custom is still observed at St Ives. The custom is also kept up at St Columb and St Blazey, on the anniversary of the dedication of the church. St Ives’ feast is governed by the Candlemas-day, it being the nearest Sunday next before that day. On the Monday after, the inhabitants assemble on the beach, when the ball, which is left in the custody of the mayor for the time being, is thrown from the churchyard to the crowd. The sides are formed in this way,—

Toms, Wills, and Jans,
Take off all’s on the san’s—

that is, all those of the name of Thomas, John, or William are ranged on one side, those of any other _Christian_ name on the other; of late years the odd names outnumber the Toms, Wills, and Jans. There is a pole erected on the beach, and each side strives to get the oftenest at the “goold,” _i.e._, the pole; the other side as manfully striving to keep them out, and to send their opponents as great a distance from the pole as possible. The tradition is, that the contest used to be between the parishes of Ludgvan, Lelant, and St Ives,—St Ives then being part of the _living_ of Ludgvan,—and that they used to have a friendly hurling at Ludgvan, and that afterwards the contest was between Lelant and St Ives. A stone near to Captain Perry’s house is shewn, where the two parishes used to meet at the feast, and the struggle was to throw the ball into the parish church, the successful party keeping the ball, the unsuccessful buying a new one. St Ives is said to have outnumbered the Lelant folks, so that they gave up the contest, and the ball was left with St Ives. Thus much is certain—that the feasts of St Ives, Lelant, and Ludgvan fall properly on one Sunday, though a misunderstanding has arisen, Lelant claiming to be governed by the day before Candlemas-day, which will alter the three every seven years.

The game of hurling is now but rarely played, and the Sabbath is never broken by that or by any other game.

SHAM MAYORS.

I.—THE MAYOR OF MYLOR.

There was a curious custom in the town of Penryn in Cornwall, which long outlived all modern innovations. On some particular day in September or October, (I forget the exact date,) about when the hazel-nuts are ripe, the festival of nutting-day is kept. The rabble of the town go into the country to gather nuts, returning in the evening with boughs of hazel in their hands, shouting and making a great noise. In the meantime the journeymen tailors of the town have proceeded to the adjoining village of Mylor, and elected one of their number “Mayor of Mylor,” taking care the selection falls on the wittiest. Seated in a chair shaded with green boughs, and borne on the shoulders of four stalwart men, the worthy mayor proceeds from his “good town of Mylor” to his “ancient borough of Penryn,” the van being led by the “body-guard” of stout fellows well armed with cudgels,—which they do not fail to use should their path be obstructed,—torch-bearers, and two “town serjeants,” clad in official gowns and cocked hats, and carrying each a monstrous cabbage on his shoulder in lieu of a mace. The rear is brought up by the rabble of the “nutters.” About mid-day a band of music meets them, and plays them to Penryn, where they are received by the entire population. The procession proceeds to the town-hall, in front of which the mayor delivers a speech, declaratory of his intended improvements, &c., for the coming year, being generally an excellent sarcastic burlesque on the speeches of parliamentary candidates. The procession then moves on to each public-house door, where the mayor, his council, and officers are liberally supplied with liquor, and the speech is repeated with variations. They then adjourn to the “council-chamber,” in some public-house, and devote the night to drinking. At night the streets are filled with people bearing torches, throwing fireballs, and discharging rockets; and huge bonfires are kindled on the “Green,” and “Old Wall.” The legal mayor once made an effort to put a stop to this Saturnalia, but his new-made brother issued prompt orders to his body-guards, and the _posse comitatus_ had to fly.

The popular opinion is, that there is a clause in the borough charter compelling the legitimate mayor to surrender his power to the “Mayor of Mylor” on the night in question, and to lend the town sergeants’ paraphernalia to the gentlemen of the shears.

II.—THE MAYOR OF ST GERMANS.

One of the first objects that attracts attention on entering the village of St Germans is the large walnut-tree, at the foot of what is called Nut-Tree Hill. In the early part of the present century there was a very ancient dwelling a few yards south-east of this tree, which was supposed to have been the residence of some ecclesiastic of former times. Many a gay May fair has been witnessed by the old tree; in the morning of the 28th of the month splendid fat cattle, from some of the largest and best farms in the county, quietly chewed the cud around its trunk; in the afternoon the basket-swing dangled from its branches, filled with merry laughing boys and girls from every part of the parish. On the following day, the mock mayor, who had been chosen with many formalities, remarkable only for their rude and rough nature, starting from some “bush-house,” where he had been supping too freely of the fair ale, was mounted on wain or cart, and drawn around it, to claim his pretended jurisdiction over the ancient borough, until his successor was chosen at the following fair. Leaving the old nut-tree, which is a real ornament to the town, we pass by a stream of water running into a large trough, in which many a country lad has been drenched for daring to enter the town on the 29th of May without the leaf or branch of oak in his hat.

III.—THE MAYOR OF HALGAVER MOOR.

The people of Bodmin had an old custom of assembling in large numbers on Halgaver Moor in the month of July, and electing a “Mayor of Misrule,” for the punishment of petty offenders. Our old historian gives a quaint description. “The youthlyer sort of Bodmin townsmen use sometimes to sport themselves by playing the box with strangers, whom they summon to Halgaver; the name signifieth the Goats’ Moore, and such a place it is, lying a little without the town, and very full of quagmires. When these mates meet with any raw serving-man or other young master, who may serve and deserve to make pastime, they cause him to be solemnly arrested for his appearance before the Mayor of Halgaver, where he is charged with wearing one spur, or wanting a girdle, or some such like felony, and after he hath been arraigned and tried with all requisite circumstances, judgment is given in formal terms, and executed in some one ungracious prank or other, more to the scorn than hurt of the party condemned. Hence is sprung the proverb, when we see one slovenly apparelled, to say, ‘He shall be presented in Halgaver Court.’”

THE FACTION FIGHT AT CURY GREAT TREE.

On a green knoll in the centre of the intersection of the roads from Helston to the Lizard, and Mawgan to Cury, flourished an ash-tree of magnificent dimensions. The peculiarity of its position, together with its unusual size, in the midst of a district singularly destitute of trees, rendered it famous throughout the surrounding neighbourhood; and in designating a special locality, reference was, and still continues to be, made to “Cury Great Tree,” as a position generally known. During the last fifty years the tree has been gradually decaying, and at present only a portion of the hollow trunk remains, which is rapidly disappearing. It stands about half way up a gentle rise facing the north; and in passing over the road, the country people speak of a dim tradition of a time when the “road ran with blood.” The occasion of this, which is almost forgotten, was a faction fight, on a large scale, between the men of the parishes of Wendron and Breage, happening about a hundred years since. A wreck took place near the Lizard, and the Wendron-men being nearest, were soon upon the spot to appropriate whatever flotsam and jetsam might come in their way. Returning laden with their spoils, they were encountered at the Great Tree by the Wendron-men bound on a similar errand, and a fight, as a matter of course, ensued, which was prolonged till the following day. The contest is said to have been a most terrible one, each party being armed with staves. The savage nature of the fight may be inferred from the following fact:—A Wendron-man named Gluyas, having been disabled, was put upon the top of the roadside hedge, out of the _mêlée_, when he was seen by a Breage termagant known as “Prudy the Wicked,” and by her quickly dragged into the road, “Prudy” exclaiming, “Ef thee artn’t ded, I make thee,” suiting the action to the word by striking Gluyas with her patten iron until he was dead. There is some account of Prudy’s having been taken before the “Justice,” but she does not appear to have been punished. These fights between parishes were so common in those days that any death occurring in the fray was quietly passed over as a thing of course, and soon forgotten. “So late as thirty years since it was unsafe to venture alone through the streets of the lower part of this town (Helston) after nightfall on a market-day, owing to the frays of the Breage, Wendron, and Sithney men.” So writes a friend residing in Helston.

TOWEDNACK CUCKOO FEAST.

The parish feast takes place on the nearest Sunday to the 28th of April.

It happened in very early times, when winters extended further into the spring than they now do, that one of the old inhabitants resolved to be jovial notwithstanding the inclemency of the season; so he invited all his neighbours, and to warm his house he placed on the burning faggots the stump of a tree. It began to blaze, and, inspired by the warmth and light, they began to sing and drink; when, lo, with a whiz and a whir, out flew a bird from a hollow in the stump, crying, Cuckoo! cuckoo! The bird was caught and kept by the farmer, and he and his friends resolved to renew the festal meeting every year at this date, and to call it their “cuckoo feast.” Previous to this event Towednack had no “feasten Sunday,” which made this parish a singular exception to the rule in Cornwall.

This feast is sometimes called “crowder” feast, because the fiddler formed a procession at the church door, and led the people through the village to some tune on his “crowd.”

THE DUKE OF RESTORMEL.

A very singular custom formerly prevailed at Lostwithiel, in Cornwall, on Easter Sunday. The freeholders of the town and manor having assembled together, either in person or by their deputies, one among them, each in his turn, gaily attired and gallantly mounted, with a sceptre in his hand, a crown on his head, and a sword borne before him, and respectfully attended by all the rest on horseback, rode through the principal street in solemn state to the church. At the churchyard stile, the curate, or other minister, approached to meet him in reverential pomp, and then conducted him to church to hear divine service. On leaving the church, he repaired, with the same pomp and retinue, to a house previously prepared for his reception. Here a feast, suited to the dignity he had assumed, awaited him and his suite; and, being placed at the head of the table, he was served, kneeling, with all the rites and ceremonies that a real prince might expect. This ceremony ended with the dinner; the prince being voluntarily disrobed, and descending from his momentary exaltation, to mix with common mortals. On the origin of this custom but one opinion can be reasonably entertained, though it may be difficult to trace the precise period of its commencement. It seems to have originated in the actual appearance of the prince, who resided at Restormel Castle in former ages; but, on the removal of royalty, this mimic grandeur stepped forth as its shadowy representative, and continued for many generations as a memorial to posterity of the princely magnificence with which Lostwithiel had formerly been honoured.[56]

This custom is now almost forgotten, and Lostwithiel has little to disturb its quiet.

POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS.

“The carrion crow, that loathsome beast,
Which cries against the rain,
Both for her hue, and for the rest,
The devil resembleth plain.
And as with guns we kill the crow
For spoiling our relief,
The devil so must we o’erthrow
With gunshot of belief.”

GEORGE GASCOIGNE.

CHARMING, PROPHETIC POWER, ETC.

CHARMING, AND PROPHETIC POWER.

“Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi’ the auld moone in her arme;
And I feir, I feir, my dear master,
That we will com to harme.”

SIR PATRICK SPENCE.

I cannot more appropriately preface this section, than by quoting the remarks of a medical gentleman in large practice, on the subject of charms:—“In common with most of the lower classes of the West of England, the miner is not free from many absurd superstitions, (though I am glad to observe, even in the last few years, a great change has taken place, and such follies are gradually declining.) Some think themselves endowed with a species of supernatural agency, and, like the Egyptian alluded to by Othello, call themselves charmers, and profess to stop the flowing of blood, (no matter from what cause—a divided artery even,) to remove specks from the cornea, (which, in the dialect of the country, are called canons!) and cure erysipelas, by charming. But I have never been able to ascertain by what means the charm is supposed to work. I only know that it is an everyday occurrence for mothers to bring children to the surgery, afflicted with either of the diseases mentioned, and say that they have had them charmed; but they were no better, such want of improvement having obviously excited the greatest feelings of astonishment. I knew a person connected with the mines, who felt himself endowed with prophetic powers; and in his case the divination was not confined to events momentous and terrible, but extended to the most trifling minutiæ of life.

“He with grave simplicity told me one day, by way of exemplifying the proper estimation in which his prophetic powers were held by his wife, that on one occasion, his pig having wandered from his sty, she came to him to ascertain in what direction it was to be sought for; and on his professing utter ignorance of the animal’s peregrinations, she exclaimed, in reproachful tones, ‘_Ah, you are not so pious as you used to be. I remember the time when you could have told me in an instant the exact spot to have found it_.’”[57]

FORTUNE-TELLING, CHARMS, ETC.

In relation to this subject, and confirming an opinion already expressed in the existence still of a belief in magic and charms, I print the following communication from a lady of considerable literary ability:—

“Every country, it may be safely inferred, has its own individual, perhaps characteristic, Charm-record; and inquiry into it would more than probably recompense the labour, by the light it would let in on the still but little investigated philosophy of the human mind, and the growth of popular superstitions. The portion of our country best known to the writer of these remarks is Cornwall, remarkable for the picturesque wildness of its scenery, and not less so for its numerous superstitions. The Rev. Charles Kingsley, in his ‘Yeast,’ has availed himself, with his usual tact and power, of one of the most striking of these, having reference to the cruel treatment of the Jews, who were sold as slaves to work in the mines; the evil treatment they experienced being avenged on modern miners, by the terrors the souls of the departed Hebrews inflicted, in returning to the scene of their former compulsory toil, and echoing the sounds of the workmen now labouring in flesh and blood. But this is a digression from the main object of this article—viz., the belief in charms. Several years ago, while residing at Falmouth, I remember to have heard of a man in humble life, named Thomas Martin, whose abode was said to be at a village in the neighbourhood of Redruth, and who accomplished wonderful cures of children subject to fits, or personally injured by any deformity, by his power of charming. This man also practised soothsaying to a considerable extent, and revealed, with unquestionable accuracy, where articles mysteriously abstracted were concealed. If a cow suddenly lost her milk, whether witchcraft had exerted its malignant influence on the non-producing animal or no, such a personage could not but exercise an important power over the rustic population of the neighbourhood. But belief in the mysterious intelligence of Martin was by no means confined to the peasant class. A highly-respected and even ladylike person told the writer, with all the gravity becoming such a communication, that she had once made an appointment with Thomas Martin to meet him at a certain stile, for the purpose of receiving from him the prediction of her future lot,—in other words, having her fortune told; and hastening thither at the time appointed, was horrified to find the stile occupied by a large black snake. As Martin did not make his appearance, she inferred that he had assumed the serpent form, and not being disposed to hold any intercourse with a being of such questionable exterior, she hastened away, determined never more to risk the attainment of the knowledge she coveted through a probably diabolic channel.

“This anecdote is given as veritable experience of the belief which may prevail in a mind fairly intelligent, and generally rational in conducting the ordinary business of life.

“Martin’s reputation was disputed by no one, and that it continued unimpaired to the close of his life reflects no inconsiderable credit on the shrewdness and sagacity of his mind and his power of guessing.

“In the town where the writer has been residing for the last four months, there is a female, advanced in years and of good character, who, according to the report of many persons,—one a relative of her own,—is peculiarly endowed with the power of charming away the disease called the “kennel,” an affection of the eye, which causes extreme pain. A young lady’s father was one evening suffering severe pain in the right eye, and after trying various remedies without effect, (the agony having greatly increased,) in her despair she sought an occasion to leave the house, and hastened at once to the abode of the charmer. She told her errand to the woman, who said that many had come to her for the purpose of ridiculing her, and she did not like to say anything about charming—she did not wish to be laughed at. On this the young lady assured her that her object in true faith was to obtain relief for her suffering father, and by no means to indulge the spirit of ridicule. On this representation she was satisfied, and desired to know the _kind_ of kennel which affected the gentleman’s eye. This information the daughter was unable to give her, being unacquainted with their peculiarities; ‘because,’ said the charmer, ‘there are nine kinds of kennels,’ intimating at the same time that a different charm might be said or applied to each,—so that, to avoid omitting any, she must say the charms for all, in order that the one especially affecting the diseased eye should be certainly included in the charm. She went up-stairs, and remained about half an hour. On her return she addressed the young lady, and told her she might go home, where she would learn whether the eye had been relieved. She took no money for her incantation. Any little present might be offered at a subsequent visit, but no direct payment was ever requested, and indeed would have been declined. The amazement and pleasure of the anxious daughter, on her arrival at home, will be imagined, on learning from her father that the intense pain in the eye had ceased during her absence, though he had not been made acquainted with her errand. The influence of the faith of another, in this case, on the relief of the afflicted person, has no verisimilitude save with that of the father of the demoniac in the gospel, or the removal of the son’s fever in consequence of the faith of the father. I have no reason whatever to question the truth of this story, which was confirmed by the wife of the gentleman thus relieved.

“A still more curious instance of the effect of charm, though quite of another character, was related to me by the same party. The gentleman referred to being much afflicted with cramp, his wife was earnestly advised, by a country woman to whom she mentioned the circumstance, to request her husband to place his slippers, with the toes turned upward, at the foot of the bed. Half smiling at the wise counsel, yet perhaps not altogether incredulous, he followed the good woman’s advice, and to his great comfort found himself unaffected by his dreaded enemy throughout the night. His faith being thus established in the _anti-cramp_ influence of upturned slippers, he took care to place them, or to have them placed, in the prescribed attitude on several successive nights. One night, however, he was again seized with some appalling twinges, and bethinking himself of the cause, suddenly recollected that in hastening into bed he had not observed the important rule; instantly he had the slippers restored to their proper position, and, to his astonishment and delight, the pain ceased, and visited him no more. After this experience of the wonderful effects that followed so simple a specific, it may be easily imagined that he did not again risk the return of the cramp from neglecting it. Such phenomena seem beyond the power of explanation on any known medical principles. If any one more than usually versed in the subtle power exercised on the body by the mind, can throw light on the _slipper_ cure of the cramp, he will deserve much at the hands of physiological and mental science.”

S. E. M.

THE ZENNOR CHARMERS.

Both men and women in this parish possessed this power to a remarkable degree. They could stop blood, however freely it might be flowing. “Even should a pig be sticked in the very place, if a charmer was present, and _thought_ of his charm at the time, the pig would not bleed.” This statement, made by a Zennor-man, shews a tolerably large amount of faith in their power. The charmers are very cautious about communicating their charms. A man would not on any account tell his charm to a woman, or a woman communicate hers to a man. People will travel many miles to have themselves or their children charmed for “wildfires,” (erysipelas,) ringworms, pains in the limbs or teeth, “kennels” on the eyes, (ulcerations.) A correspondent writes me:—“Near this lives a lady charmer, on whom I called. I found her to be a really clever, sensible woman. She was reading a learned treatise on ancient history. She told me there were but three charmers left in the west,—one at New Mill, one in Morva, and herself.” Their charm for stopping blood is but another version of one given on another page.

“Christ was born in Bethlehem;
Baptized in the river Jordan.
The river stood,—
So shall thy blood,
_Mary Jane Polgrain_, [_or whatever the person may be called_,]
In the name of the Father,” &c.

J—— H——, The Conjurer of St Colomb.

This old man was successful in persuading his dupes that he owed his powers over evil spirits to his superior learning and his unblemished life. This assumption of piety was well preserved, and to the outside world his sanctity was undoubted. The only practice which can be named as peculiar to H—— was that of lighting scores of candles and placing them around the meadow near his house. Of course such a display would attract much attention; and J—— succeeded in conveying an impression to the minds of the country people that this process was required to counteract the spells of the witches. When this old fellow has been summoned, as he often was, to the houses supposed to be under the influence of evil, or to be bewitched, his practice was not a little original, though wanting in all that dignifies the office of an exorcist. When he arrived at the house, before speaking to any one, he would commence operations by beating with a heavy stick on the wooden partitions, screens, or pieces of furniture, so as to make the greatest possible noise, shouting loudly all the time, “Out! out! out!—Away! away! away!—to the Red Sea—to the Red Sea—to the Red Sea.” Frequently he would add, with violent enunciation and much action, a torrent of incoherent and often incomprehensible words, (locally, “_gibberish_.”) The proceeding being brought to a close, and the spirits of evil flown, every part of the house was ordered to be well cleansed, and the walls and ceilings to be thoroughly lime-washed,—certainly the only sensible part of the whole operation. When J—— H—— was applied to respecting stolen property, his usual practice was to shew the face of the thief in a tub of water. J—— drove a considerable trade in selling powders to throw over bewitched cattle.[58]

CURES FOR WARTS.

I.

The vicar of Bodmin found, not long since, a bottle full of pins laid in a newly-made grave. I have heard of this as an unfailing remedy; each wart was touched with a new pin, and the pin then dropped into the bottle. I am not quite certain that it was necessary that the bottle should be placed in a newly-made grave; in many cases burying it in the earth, and especially at a “four cross-roads,” was quite sufficient. As the pins rust, the warts decay.

II.

A piece of string should be taken, and as many knots tied on it as there are warts on the body; each wart being carefully touched with the knot dedicated to it. The string is then to be buried, and the warts fade away as it decays. A few years since a shipwright in Devonport dockyard professed to cure warts by merely receiving from an indifferent person a knotted string,—the knots of which had been tied by the afflicted. What he did with the string I know not.

III.

To touch each wart with a pebble, place the pebbles in a bag, and to lose the bag on the way to church, was for many years a very favourite remedy; but the unfortunate person who found the bag received the warts. A lady once told me that she picked up such a bag, when a child, and out of curiosity, and in ignorance, examined the contents. The result was that she had, in a short time, as many warts as there were stones in the bag.

IV.

Another remedy was to _steal_ a piece of meat from a butcher’s stall in the public market, and with this to touch the warts, and bury it. As the meat putrefied the warts decayed.