UNIVERSITY OF CA RIVERSIDE, LIBRARY 
 
 3 1210 01970 4962 
 
 •. :-. •• .;
 
 I from tH ComifJ {godt* ©f| 
 (gf bine (gUrg &ee <
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 M " ' -mi 
 
 \. 
 
 i^ 3
 
 It). 
 
 -Lb' 
 
 mJjoU- . »>■
 
 t 
 
 to. 3f. 
 
 'OX) 
 
 MUfjL. 
 
 / 
 
 *^>^ CL. SL^q^^ hL<*-Jh? 
 
 ^Cyyy 
 
 ^cuo /Qcro. 
 
 CLf^Tk, Cw^ 
 
 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK
 
 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK 
 
 BY 
 
 DOLLY PENTREATH 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 PERCY R. CRAFT 
 
 % o n & o n 
 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 Paternoster Square 
 
 1S93
 
 DA670
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 i. 
 
 2. 
 
 3- 
 
 4- 
 5- 
 
 6. 
 
 7- 
 8. 
 
 9- 
 
 10. 
 
 ii. 
 
 12. 
 
 13- 
 
 14. 
 
 IS- 
 
 16. 
 
 17- 
 18. 
 19. 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 Polvogue . 
 
 Lord Respry 
 
 Mar Teazer 
 
 Woolly Woollaton 
 
 Squire Johnnie Pencoose 
 
 'A Fine English Girl carries the Palm ' 
 
 Billy Pearce was there and heard every word 
 
 ' Tis a Savage Country ' 
 
 'Vi'let, She were more plagued like than the 
 
 Christian ' . 
 ' Moo-Sick, Beau-ti-ful Moo-Sick ' 
 ' 'Tis the Fashion to Smuggle ' 
 Miss Fanny had made a Lovely Neck of Corn 
 ' It is better to be Plain and Straightforward in 
 
 Words,' said Madame Pencoose 
 Betty Neptune . 
 'What's in this here Pie?' 
 'He looked like a Murderous Brigand ' 
 'The Sea Pink' 
 Dr Herby 
 ' Truly Awful-like ' 
 
 14 
 27 
 32 
 36 
 43 
 56 
 67 
 
 76 
 
 99 
 
 107 
 in 
 
 120 
 126 
 133 
 I5i 
 160 
 190 
 217
 
 In a Cornish Township 
 with Old Vogue Folk. 
 
 OXKC 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ) V 
 
 Often minded I have been to pen a small 
 
 history of this here Cornish parish, called 
 1 Vogue Parish.' The habitants are brushing up 
 to a thousand ; most of 'em are congregate 
 into the Port of Polvogue — a few housen on the 
 high land called the Church Town ; after that 
 it is all farmsteads, hid away in snug nooks ; 
 for we be open to the Atlantic, and a sou'- 
 wester 'long with we is a sou'-wester, and no 
 mistake, and it do blow a bit from easter'd 
 tu ! The sea is every side of Vogue Parish, 
 except a bit of neck of land that join the main- 
 
 A
 
 io IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 land, and the waves of the sea only do beat 
 the parish bounds. Now, this is the year of 
 Grace 1818, and I, Robert Rowe, have been 
 twenty years parish clerk, and father and son, 
 we have been a family of parish clerks from 
 Queen Anne's reign. By trade we have been 
 tailors. As I say, it is nigh upon a score o' 
 years since I first took duty in Vogue Parish 
 Church. 
 
 Our parson then was Dr Tregonpol. He 
 called round to our house, as he heard father 
 was sick, so he say, — 
 
 ' Fret thee not, Robert Rowe, thee can'st not 
 fill the desk Sunday ; but we will appoint young 
 Robert to try his lungs with a good Amen, and 
 he inherits the lungs of his father, to fill old 
 Vogue Church no doubt.' 
 
 So I took the clerk's duty next Sunday, 
 and they did say my ' Amen's ' was like the 
 cracks of a cart whip. 'Twas a fine old 
 church, and 'twas crowded. Dr Tregonpol 
 put fine store by the old carved oak benches, 
 the men's aisle and the woman's. ('Twas 
 thought a fine bold thing to do for any woman 
 in Vogue Parish to sit in the men's aisle.)
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 1 1 
 
 In the gallilee 'twas mixed, 'Quire and the 
 parish gentry had high pews, fine and snug, 
 and you could not be a-gazed at by the multitude ; 
 for Dr Tregonpol took time, and he gave time 
 into the foutherlies and fiftherlies. 
 
 As Mr Churchwarden, Anthony Bullen, 
 would say, — 
 
 1 He guv all the points against the Scripshore, 
 and then he did clear it all up in the thirdly of 
 the fiftherlies.' 
 
 But I must stick to the day I am telling of, 
 and not go off the bridle path, as is trie way of 
 some. 'Twas my first Sunday of duty, and Dr 
 Tregonpol never gave out the Sunday before 
 'twas c'lection Sunday, for he held the less said 
 in church about 'filthy lucre' the better. He 
 despised money hearty, and no one conversed 
 on it in his hearing, so when I come to ungown 
 him in the vestry, for Dr Tregonpol always 
 walked up from the Rectory in his 'gown and 
 banns,' there was a sight to make one nervous. 
 Three c'lection boxes, wooden — a small square 
 box was each, with a warming-pan handle to it. 
 Down in the south aisle was two square pews, 
 agen one another. One was the big Squire to
 
 12 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Trevogue House — the other was the lesser 
 Squire of Trenisky, Squire Pencoose, and the 
 farmers round about had nice railed-in curtained 
 cushion seats — the open benches was easy to 
 collect from ; but I goes for the big first, and I 
 a-pull'd back Squire Pencoose's red damask 
 curtain, and clumsy like, as I fished over the 
 Squire's head, I knacked off his silk pocket- 
 handkerchief he put over his head, sermon 
 time, to keep the draughts off — and he woke 
 up with a bound, fire-red ! 
 
 ' Wot ! Wot ! Woe ! Woe ! ' as the pence 
 jingled over him. 
 
 Miss Sally and Miss Jinny Pencoose giggled, 
 but Madame picked it up and counted loud. 
 
 ' Sax and sevenpence ' so all the church 
 should hear, and she says 'we will have the 
 cushions shook in case ye have lost a ha'penny,' 
 then whispers, — ' Now, Squire, where is yer 
 crown-piece ? ' 
 
 Then up come the churchwarden, Mr 
 Anthony Bullen of Tredinnick Farm (father to 
 the present man), he did whisper, — 
 
 ' Robert Rowe this here is my seat to c'lect 
 from, two churchwardens to the front aisles,
 
 Lord Respry, 
 
 "We are obligugied to jtour Reverence fos 
 
 your learned discourse."
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 15 
 
 that's me and Mr Petter Doust, and the clerk is 
 to open benches and gallilee to c'lect from. 
 
 When I followed the churchwardens into the 
 vestry they counted the money, and was gone 
 away. 
 
 Dr Tregonpol says, looking at me sted-dy 
 over his gold rims, — 
 
 1 You did well Robert Rowe, junior ; but 
 let me impress upon you this single fact 
 that there is no i in Moses, it is not 
 Moises. 
 
 'Thank you, sir!' says I, ' I hope I shan't 
 forget to pernounce it short. But the best that 
 sails will ship a sea sometime ! When I have 
 pitched my voice out to the gallilee I may 
 ship a sea, careless ways, and call Moises and 
 A-ar-run.' 
 
 Then, as I was a following Dr Tregonpol out 
 into the churchyard, Lord Respry of Tre- 
 vogue, the other Squire, he was awaiting the 
 Parson ; with his hat off he says the same form 
 as grace after meal. 
 
 ' We are obligee-gi-ed to your reverence for 
 you learned discourse. Will you favour us 
 with your company to dinner.'
 
 1 6 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ' No thank you, my lord, no ; hare-pie at 
 home to-day ! ' answered Dr Tregonpol. 
 
 ' Now, as I have begun the day with Sunday 
 I'll finish it up to the evening. Dr Tregonpol 
 he preached with a big church-lantern and he had 
 an hour-glass on a stand ; but he mostly forgot 
 to set that hour-glass till he was half voyage on, 
 and then he turned it, and he would never 
 finish up till the last speck of sand had run 
 down to the glass globe below. It was hard 
 on courtship of a Sunday, and I were young and 
 went a-courting in those days. But he being a 
 bachelor gentleman he did not seem to con- 
 sider courtship as part of the business of the 
 world, though he had a tender heart for the 
 young and aged, the sick and the dying. So 
 that big church was crowded, and all the 
 laboured men would listen that attentive ; and 
 the shadows would creep up the church till it 
 was nigh pitchy dark, and no light but the 
 pupit lantern, and no face to be seen but the 
 preacher and his white hair ; a proper picture — 
 fine looks he had. Now, in this score of years, 
 as I am a-looking back on, we had only two 
 murders, and they was more mysteries than
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 17 
 
 murders. One was a pedlar as come to ' Cat 
 o'-Bell ' one night. 
 
 They was queer ones who kept the ' Cat- 
 o'-Bell.' No one had a good word for that 
 wisht old brother and sister, Garge Gait and 
 Meary Gait. They was prettily despised, and 
 they was creeping pious, and the textes they 
 would bring up, in season and out o' season ; 
 and we know from the Bible the worst can do 
 that pat enough, — but, bless you, nobody was 
 took in by it, and least of all the Parson — for 
 he was right honest in his religion, and there 
 was no jargle in his dialogues — so he weren't 
 the leastest bit took in ; and when he was stiff 
 and starn he had mighty fine reason for it. 
 They used to walk about hand in hand, Garge 
 and Meary Gait, so they was called the ' Babes 
 o' the Cat-o'-Bell.' They robb'd all who fre- 
 quent the ' Cat-o'-Bell,' so t'was no good for 
 they to walk innercent like, and sit under the 
 gallilee and groan pious in the sermon ; we 
 knowed them. The poor old pedlar ! (but the 
 misfortune were he weren't poor, or maybe he 
 would have been alive to this here day), he 
 was 'mazing rich, he had cases of watches, and
 
 1 8 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ear-droppers, brooches and sich like ; no wed- 
 ding ring but was bought of he — and zollid 
 gold, guinea gold, tu ! They called he Me-thu- 
 sa-lem ; he was small and humpty-backed ; but 
 he, if his head were too nigh to his heels, he 
 made up for it by a steeple hat half as big agen 
 as hisself. Seeming to me I shall ever remem- 
 ber Me-thu-sa-lem's hat ! Now, none did know 
 whence he came or wheresoever he went. 
 Some say, 'he were the true Wandering Jew ' ; 
 others say, ' he were too poor in spirit for that.' 
 If he were the Wandering Jew his wanders 
 were over that night in Vogue Parish. 
 
 When he was see'd coming down Trelucky 
 Hill, as leads down into the Church Town, the 
 women and the childers went up to meet him 
 with ' Heigho, Me-thu-sa-lem ! ' 'The Pedlar 
 have come ! ' say the men. Me-thu-sa-lem could 
 scrape the fiddle well, and the childers, maids 
 and lads, danced round the cross (the sun-dial), 
 and in the evening he were fine company in 
 the parlour of the ' Cat-o'-Bell.' Twas the war 
 time, and our ships and navy was all the talk 
 of the world. People sent messages to their 
 friends by Me-thu-sa-lem hundreds and hundreds
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 19 
 
 of miles away, and he returned with the answer 
 in a year or two all right. 
 
 He was merry of wit, and right di-varted the 
 parish when he come. At last it came to night, 
 and he packed up his watches, gold chains, 
 gew-gaws and glitter, but it had been a sight 
 too much for the wicked old brother and sister, 
 Garge and Meary ! — for nobody ever clapt eyes 
 on poor old Me-thu-sa-lem again. Only the 
 auld Jan Reel (grit-grandfather to the young 
 Reel Crenious, his Christian name). Jan 
 Reel had a sick cow, and he goes out with a 
 lantern in the middle of the night, and he see'd 
 a light in the yard o' the ' Cat-o'-bell,' he peeps 
 over the stone wall, and the auld Garge Gait 
 was drashing away with a lot o' rubbish throw- 
 ing down the well, which was worked by a wind- 
 lass and a bucket ; Meary, with a red shawl 
 over her head, was holding the lantern. Jan 
 Reel did not think much of it at the time ; but 
 it seemed odd to he like, they wisht ones was 
 out that time o' night to fill up the well. Now, 
 that well was for public drink ; but the old Gaits 
 put a lock to the yard and said they had a gone 
 and filled up the well because the noise of ' a
 
 20 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 parcel of werman and childers a-working the 
 creaky, rusty chains made the two wicked ones 
 wake too early, but it gained belief in the parish 
 that well were Me-thu-sa-lem's grave. Then 
 the suspicious thing was, Garge and Meary 
 Gait grow'd rich and they bought fields, a horse, 
 cart and harrow — all sorts, in fact ; but nobody 
 looked into it, so it became a mystery. Still it 
 was the talks for many a long day ; and the 
 childers would screech if they saw the wisht old 
 mortals out o' theirselves in the lanes, walking 
 hand in hand, the Babes o' the Cat and Bell, 
 Garge and Meary Gait. 
 
 The next was a wuss murder. A poor fellow, 
 shipwrecked, with a belt of guineas round his 
 waist, and he was washed ashore on to the 
 Zone Beach ; and it was told he was knocked 
 on the head for his guineas. It was two 
 brothers this time did it. They seemed to 
 prosper, but after a bit one was took bad, and 
 for twenty year he become a bag o' bones. He 
 was a poor sinner, and he would climb up the 
 cliffs — such an old ' scare- ee-crow' or may say 
 1 scare gull and shag ' as ever was seen cliffs 
 side — and he would shout and pray, lift his hands
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 21 
 
 above his head, he was a living witness of 
 despair in sin to the whole parish of Vogue ; 
 better than hundreds of sermons on the greed 
 of gold, robbery and murder. But they left he 
 alone, and they never had un took up. The 
 other brother had a wisht death, too bad to tell 
 ye of. So their sins found 'em out, and not by 
 the hand of man. 
 
 And now I'll begin my story, as I call this 
 an introductory piece, to let you know a bit 
 what sort of folk the Vogue folk were.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I was often down on business and one thing 
 and another to Tredinnick Farm House. 
 'Twas a picture of a farm house. 'Twas old, 
 but it was that clean, white wood, scrubbed 
 from top to bottom, and a polish on all 
 things. We was having breakfast in the 
 hall, or front kitchen, when I was telling Missus 
 a bit of parish news. In comes Maister, 
 home to breakfast. Now, Maister Anthony 
 Bullen was a fine sight to see — a regular jolly 
 John Bull. In his day he were the best 
 wrastler in ten parishes round ; and ' only one 
 single pat, and you would never rejoice again,' 
 he was that mighty strong. But he had a fine 
 easy temper ; if he had been ugly in temper, 
 no man could have stood up against him. But 
 Missus were differ from Maister, and she were 
 cap'en of he. To-day Maister looked gloom- 
 ways as he sat to table. Says Missus, —
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 23 
 
 ' Co ! co ! Anthony, man, what's up with 
 yer long visage ? If I had not been up with 
 the lark and made all the butter betimes sich 
 a vinegar-cruet's countenance would turn all 
 the cream to the dairy worse than a thunder 
 planet. Safe to know something is up ; but 
 don't ye tell us what the misfortune is till yer 
 have broke yer fast. So now, Fannee, my 
 dear, t' back kitchen and tell Mar Teazer t' 
 bring maister's rasher and taties 't once.' 
 
 1 Fannee,' as her aunt, Mrs Bullen, called 
 her ; ' Fanner,' as her uncle, Anthony Bullen, 
 pronounced it — harder like ; but he was never 
 hard or stiff with she, ' Miss Fanny Uglow,' 
 for he was mighty proud of her, and took 
 up with her, and he delight in all her fun and 
 May games. A year or two back she had 
 been a proper romp and tom-boy ; out with 
 Maister all day driving his gig, or on her pony ; 
 but they had sent her to school, to a boarding- 
 school, at Plymouth to learn ' Deportment,' 
 and she had come back handsomer than ever, 
 and with a finish in manners and deportment. 
 She had manners ! Miss Fanny Uglow was 
 sister's child to Maister ; he had nor chick nor
 
 24 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 child of his own, so he reared Miss Fanny 
 instead ; and she, being the eldest of sixteen, 
 'twas useful to Cap'en and Missus Uglow that 
 Miss Fanny was provided for like by her 
 Uncle Anthony to Tredinnick Farm. 
 
 Miss Fanny was fine and comely, with hair 
 as black as the rocks with the moon behind 
 them, and eyes true-blue, cheeks like poppies 
 and cream, a sma-al and innocent mouth ; but 
 for all the straight eyes and innocent mouth 
 she had the wickedest pair of black eyebrows ; 
 they used to lift up and down like the ears of a 
 hunter pricked up, with a toss of her head, for 
 she was proper spirit-ty. I mind what she 
 had on that fine morning, nth July 1818. 
 'Twas a buff- coloured gown, and all about 
 speckled with brown spots or heath flowers 
 like. 'Twas the freshest cotton gown ; and all 
 about her neck and arms was gathered goffered 
 frills, as Mar Teazer took delight in to bedeck 
 Miss Fanny in ' bouffers and goffers, and frill- 
 de-dills, ' as she said, ' Fine feathers make fine 
 birds.' But that is only partly true with 
 women ; you must have a fine figure to hang 
 it on, and a gracious countenance, and then
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 25 
 
 you have a brave Cornish maid, the likes to 
 be seen nowheres. 
 
 As Missus Bullen spoke Miss Fanny pushed 
 back her chair, and, standing, she was the best- 
 built woman in all our great parish of Vogue, 
 and she says, — 
 
 'Yes, Aunt Jinnifer, Maria Teazer has had 
 uncle's breakfast hot a long time, ready for 
 him.' 
 
 Mar Teazer, for short, she was called, 
 but proper becalled her christen'd name 
 ' Thomazine Maria Hannah Teazer,' came in 
 from the back kitchen into the front-hall 
 kitchen where we were, with two plates pan- 
 caked together. As they were scalding hot, 
 she was a-holding of 'em in her white appurn, 
 for Mar Teazer was the cleanest woman to any 
 farm about. Missus used to say, ' You could 
 see through her she was that clean.' Else she 
 weren't high favoured in looks. She seemed 
 to have been fashioned in a hurrisome way, for 
 one eye was cocked up in her forehead, and the 
 other was down in her cheek, as if they would 
 not run in double harness anyways. Her mouth 
 and her nose had a twist, some said she made
 
 26 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 a face when the wind changed, and so it became 
 a wry face ever after. And her voice was best 
 company to her face, for it was an unsartin 
 cymbal, as a bass viol with a learner, when to 
 listener unprepared ye hears a screech on the 
 strings, or down double bass, and no serious 
 part either to play deadly. Mar Teazer placed 
 her two arms with the plates over Maister's 
 head. Maister had fine broad shoulders, but 
 Mar Teazer had a fine stretch with her arms, 
 though she were very stump like and wore 
 pattens summer and winter. ' In winter,' she 
 say, ' to keep her feet dry, in summer 'tis best 
 purchase to handle a broom by.' And she wore 
 1 a gook ' (sun bonnet) summer and winter. 
 Some say ' Mar Teazer do live in pattens and 
 gook; must go to bed in 'em I'm thinking!' 
 Only on the Sabbath day she did not wear 
 pattens and gook after ten o'clock, but a best 
 bunnet and shoes and white stockens. She 
 did car an umber'U, as she say, 'safe-ways.' 
 In Cornwall we wants a shower every day for 
 the land, and two on Sundays not to hinder 
 labour, but it do drain away pretty quick down 
 the hills. She wrapped her prayer book in her
 
 •t 
 
 Mar Teazer.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 29 
 
 pocket-handkerchee for she say, ' Years handle 
 will dull the best of covers,' and it was a fine 
 bound one in Russian leather, given her by Dr 
 Tregonpol, as his gifts were ever the best that 
 money could buy. In her prayer book she 
 gathered every Sunday and put in the leaves a 
 fresh bit of Boy's-love ! Seem'd to me after, 
 that bit of Boy's-love was prophecy of what 
 was for to come. 
 
 Now Mar Teazer turned to Missus Bullen 
 and said, both hands high above her head, — 
 
 1 'Tis misfortune! Missus! a poor job, a 
 wisht poor job ! They's goon clean away, not a 
 bleat to be heard ! ' 
 
 ' What is it, Anthony ? ' says Missus. 
 
 1 'Tis a flock o' sheep, Jin-ni-fer, as can't be 
 found.' 
 
 ' Can't be found, Anthony, what be ye a- 
 telling of ! A flock o' sheep lost?' 
 
 'Yes, yes, Jin-ni-fer, and a fine pretty flock 
 tu ! They was a-missing all yester, but I did 
 not like to tell ye, as I was sartin sure we should 
 hear tell of they sheep before dark.' 
 
 ' Now the poor, old shepherd, Willie Woolla- 
 ton, have gived up hope, and he have gone 
 
 B
 
 30 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 most crazed over the loss ; for they was all in 
 the great Perquest Field, and he count 'em 
 all right, and went home to his dinner and 
 back, and the flock was gone clean away ! 
 No ge-at open, either ! no fence down ! no 
 gap ! no more than a hare could creep ee 
 through — but there, the whole flock was gone!' 
 
 ' Well, Maister, cheer up heart ! They must 
 be found, see'd, or heard tell of somewheres. 
 Somebody travelling will bring news of the 
 flock, no fear ! ' 
 
 ' I tell ye, Jin-ni-fer, I rid miles on Cowslip 
 and tired she; come home and tired Vi'let ! I 
 sent every man-jack on the place scouring the 
 country, and no news of they, nor man, woman 
 or child had seen they sheep-—' 
 
 1 Come, Maister, pluck up heart ; don't 'ee 
 give in over it. Such a brave flock o' sheep 
 can't be lost for ever ; they can't be for ever 
 gone, they must be found ! You can't cover 
 a flock o' sheep with a dock-leaf! It is 
 impossible thing for to lose a flock o' sheep ; 
 you could not lose 'em if you tried.' 
 
 'That's it, Jin-ni-fer; that's it that make it 
 mysterious ; and old Willie Woollaton do say
 
 Woolly VVoollaton.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 33 
 
 'tis all witchcraft, Maister ! He is going soft, 
 
 I do believe; he pointed to the mack-er-rill- 
 
 sky, and he say, "There they be, the ghosties 
 
 of 'em ; they have been spirit away ! There 
 
 they be! up in the blue sky, just as t' life they 
 
 lay on the green Culver-close." And poor 
 
 Ship, our old dog, looked up to where he was 
 
 a-pointing, and he a howled dismal, as if his 
 
 heart would bust with grief. They is both 
 
 demented— the shepherd, Woolly Woollaton 
 
 (or as they do call he, Woolly W T oollygather-un) ! 
 
 and the dog Ship, he ain't touched a mossel 
 
 sin the sheep have been lost! I try to cheer 
 
 un and entice un with a drop o' warm milk ; 
 
 but I do say that dog is human enough to 
 
 commit sooicide on hisself!' 
 
 While Maister was going on so about the 
 loss of the flock of sheep, Mar Teazer did 
 whisper to Miss Fanny, — 
 
 ' The earl and his lady have come home to 
 Trevogue, and Mr Froggy have come agen, 
 " the French cousin," as they call him ; they 
 tells me cousang is French for cook ! ' 
 
 Miss Fanny got as red as a quarantine apple 
 in September month, and she say aloud, —
 
 34 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ' Maria Teazer, what's that to me ?' 
 
 Then there was a barking of dogs ; even old 
 Ship plucked up to bark, and Maister's spaniels, 
 and Miss Fanny's terrier. 
 
 ' Strange dogs have come to invade the 
 prem-mi-ses ! ' says Maister, ' or they never 
 make such a barking. Down, Ship ! ' 
 
 Says Missus, tartly, — 
 
 ' Strange dogs ! A sad dog, you mean, 
 Maister ! Never such a hubble in the yard, if 
 it was not that Mr Johnnie Pencoose had a- 
 come ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, 'tis tiresome ! ' said Miss Fanny. 
 ' Nobody wants Jack Pencoose early in the 
 day ; it is bad enough late at night, when he 
 can't stay more than a half-hour ! ' 
 
 So, amid snarling, barking and clatter in the 
 stone passages, cracking of whips and shouting, 
 lounged in Mr Johnnie Pencoose, or Jack 
 Pencoose as known to his familiars, and he 
 was pretty free and familiar to most as come in 
 his way, if they did not offend he. He was 
 jokish and pleasant enough ; but if ye did 
 tantalise he, you suffered for it sooner or 
 later. He was a fine, handsome fellow, with
 
 Squire Johnnii Pen< oose. 
 a prop! k rollh king chap."
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 37 
 
 a red open-air face, black hair, and the whitest 
 teeth. He was what you called a proper 
 rollicking chap ; t' much so for most ; t' much 
 for the old Squire and his Ma. They had 
 long gived up the management of he. I never 
 like' 'un. He used to say, ' Good-morning, 
 Snips ! Beg yer pardin', clerk and parson ! ' 
 and he would jeer ; but if you tantalised he 
 back again he would have shaked the life out 
 of ye, so that wouldn't do ; it was best to be 
 civil, so I spake cheerful back. 
 
 ' Good-morning, Squire Johnnie Pencoose ! ' 
 
 Now the only people he was 'spectful tu, 
 was Maister and Missus Bullen. Mr Jack 
 Pencoose sat down. He only looked at Miss 
 Fanny, who took precious little notice of him 
 in return. He spoke rough ; not much of a 
 gentleman in his voice. 
 
 1 Na, thank yo-oh ; I have breakfasted, but 
 a glass of beer would not come amiss.' 
 
 Mar Teazer went to fetch it. 
 
 He said, speaking to Missus Bullen, but 
 looking at Miss Fanny, — 
 
 ' A great calamity befell my dear Ma yester- 
 night,' and then he choked away with laughter.
 
 38 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 1 My Ma went to dine with the Penroses. 
 She went with old Joe, driving in the gig. 
 'Twas a proper late dinner, four o'clock; 
 quite fashionable ; and she had on her purple 
 velvet gown, and such a bandbox lashed on 
 to the splash-board to hold her ostrich plumes 
 and turban. Well, they went all right, but, 
 coming home, you know what a thunder shower 
 there was. It didn't clear till nearly ten 
 o'clock, and, coming back by Scawswater Mill, 
 you cross the stream — no bridge — and 'twas 
 that swollen with the flood that it knocked 
 dear Ma and Joe clean out o' the gig. The 
 old grey went over on her side — a mercy she 
 had not been drowned — but she kicked herself 
 clear of the gig and scrambled up the river 
 bank.' 
 
 Then Mr Jack Pencoose indulged in such 
 fits of laughter as he come to what he thought 
 the funny part of the story that he could not 
 go on for a minute or two. 
 
 Miss Fanny only looked high and mighty, 
 but she would not laugh ; only she was waiting 
 to hear the story, as she did not love Madam 
 Pencoose that was certain.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 39 
 
 'Well, my Ma went sailing- down the river, 
 a bundle of purple velvet, and the mighty band- 
 box a-dashing after her. 
 
 ' Poor Joe, clinging to the old moor's (roots), 
 shouted, — 
 
 ' " Missus ! Missus ! Stop ye, Missus, or ye 
 will be in the mill-dam ! Tom Grugglar ! Tom 
 Grugglar ! turn your dam on ! — turn yer 
 dam off! the Missus is being washed in. 
 Oh, Missus ! She'll shoot over the mill-wheel 1 
 Tom Grugglar ! stop 'ee ! stop 'ee Missus ! " But 
 down the stream went dear Ma and her band- 
 box. 
 
 'Joe see'd a light in the mill, and Tom 
 Grugglar heard his shouts, and turn'd off the 
 mill-stream in the nick of time.' 
 
 Missus Bullen said severe-like, — 
 
 ' I hope Madame Pencoose was not the 
 worst for such a distressful accident ? ' 
 
 Miss Fanny said, — 
 
 ' How nice it must be to have such an affec- 
 tionate son as Mr Johnnie Pencoose ! ' 
 
 This remark seemed to sober him a bit in 
 his laughter, so he said gruffly, — 
 
 ' Well, if she were really the worse for it,
 
 40 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 I should not tell ye the story to make ye 
 laugh.' 
 
 Maister had laughed hearty, for he was 
 always partial to Mr Johnnie, and he 
 said, — 
 
 ' No, no, my lad ! we did not think — if it 
 had been anything more than a ducking — that 
 you'd make merry over it.' 
 
 'And what became of the bandbox,' said 
 Missus. 
 
 ' Gone straight out to sea — the French 
 fashion gone to its own coasts — I reckon.' 
 
 Miss Fanny got up and went into the gar- 
 den, and she had her laugh out behind the 
 laurel hedge. 
 
 After a bit, through the laurel hedge, she 
 caught sight of Mr Johnnie Pencoose's top- 
 boots, and she flew like lightning away — she 
 hate Mr Johnnie and his rough ways. At 
 dinner Maister ' lament ' more over the loss 
 o' the sheep that seemed to have strayed 
 right away. ' I shall never sight 'em any 
 more.' 
 
 Miss Fanny says ' Uncle Anthony, this 
 afternoon I'll walk round by the cliffs to the
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 41 
 
 old pound; they might have been pounded 
 by someone.' 
 
 • Well, do, my lamb. Walk round by the 
 old pound ; but the flock are not in any pound 
 this side Bodmint. I have sent to see, and I 
 have rid myself all a-top the cliffs from Per- 
 lemon to Poldower beach, but I does not see a 
 fleece.' 
 
 ' Well, Uncle Anthony, better luck for me.' 
 But Miss Fanny was not a-thinking much 
 about the innocent sheep, but more about a 
 French wolf that was mighty fine in her eye. 
 So Miss Fanny went away quick that after- 
 noon, with her fine Leghorn hat, her swing- 
 ing pace, her head in the air, carrying all the 
 top-knot high. And off she goes to the sea, 
 but she must needs pass over the Downs Park 
 of Trovogue House, and round in front of the 
 great salt-water pool ; all the downs covered 
 with short grass turf ; for forty feet deep 
 there was nothing but sand, and the turf was 
 in hillocks, like the waves of the sea — but the 
 sea was near a quarter mile away. You could 
 see Miss Fanny's pretty figure now on top a 
 hillock, and then down in the trough of the
 
 42 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP. 
 
 grass, to rise again, as a trim craft on the top 
 of a wave. Old Lord Respry saw her as he 
 was fishing for peel in his favourite bit of 
 reach, and he said to himself, ' A fine English 
 girl carries the palm, after all.' The next 
 on - looker who saw her threw away his 
 cigar ; he was a Frenchman, some said 
 ' quite the gentleman,' had to run his 
 country, and obliged to get a living in 
 ours. They said Lord Respry knew all about 
 him, and was very civil to him, and treated 
 him as a gentleman, though he had taken 
 service as his cook. He was called Marc 
 Juste ; but round about he was called Mossoo 
 Marc. As he saw Miss Fanny he sprang up 
 the steep wood path to meet her at the top, 
 where the plantation crossed the public road.
 
 • 
 
 ■"■ 
 
 "A fine English girl carries the palm.'
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A beautiful, fine bow, and the Frenchman 
 said to Miss Fanny, — 
 
 ' Ah ! charming mademoiselle ! my sweet 
 English rose ! has she been a little desolate at 
 my enforced absence ? To me it has been 
 des-es-pair ! Has Mademoiselle Fanne been 
 sad? I have rested broken-heart'd,' bowing 
 low. 
 
 ' No, not at all, Mons Juste. Why should 
 I be sad ? I have been as glad as a bird ! ' 
 laughed Miss Fanny ; and yet she liked to hear 
 of the desolate des-es-pair of Mossoo Marc. 
 
 He was a handsome, smart man, for a 
 foreigner, in his blue silk coat. He spoke fair 
 English, but he had a mincing voice ; and though 
 he laughed as if light of heart, an ugly look 
 would come into his face. At times he showed 
 too much white of eye, as a wicked horse, would 
 kick from sheer devilment alone. But Miss 
 
 45
 
 46 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Fanny only saw his gay and polite manners, 
 which was very different from Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose, and not vulgar and familiar as 
 Samuel Stock, the lawyer's clerk. 
 
 Miss Fanny was as straightforward as any 
 girl could be ; for they all like a little secrets 
 and mysteries, as 'tis in the nature of girls. 
 
 She meant, every time she met him, to tell 
 her Aunt Jin-ni-fer ; but it had passed on, and 
 she had not. She thought her Uncle Anthony 
 would be very angry for her to speak or com- 
 panion at all with ' that Frenchman ! ' as Water- 
 loo had not been long fought, and most had a 
 spite and hate to Frenchmen. Miss Fanny 
 forgot to think of her uncle's displeasure at her 
 meeting the Frenchman ; and she forgot all about 
 the lost sheep, and they chat full lively together. 
 
 Mons Marc told her more about himself 
 than he had ever done before — how he was 
 French on his father's side, but Irish on his 
 mother's. He told her he had an Irish pro- 
 perty, which he hoped the feet of his divine 
 angel, enchanting Mademoiselle Fanne, would 
 tread as her own. Miss Fanny's heart beat 
 wildly, but she said calmly, —
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 47 
 
 'Where is this property ? What part of Ire- 
 land?' 
 
 He said, — 
 
 ' I do not dare, I must not tell you ! I dare 
 not ! my life is at stake until things are more 
 settled there. I am not able to show myself 
 in Ireland ; I am forced to be in hiding, but, 
 perhaps, only for a few months. I have been 
 hunted like a mad dog ! ' 
 
 ' I think you are safe here,' said Miss 
 Fanny ; ' there is only one Irishman, and 
 he lives at Trevogue, as you know — Dick 
 Sweeny.' 
 
 1 Yes ; Sweeny is my mate and trusted friend. 
 He is the cook, I only pretend ; but Lord 
 Respry knows all about it, and it is at his 
 advice I take the situation of cook. Wait, oh ! 
 stay, enchanting Mademoiselle Fanne. I pour 
 out my heart at your feet ! ' 
 
 Miss Fanny leant against the rough trunk 
 of a Scotch fir, and faced Mons Marc ; but 
 with her parachute she marked idly, as she 
 listened, a half circle in the sandy dust, as if 
 Mons Marc was to stay outside that charmed 
 circle. When she had finished she looked
 
 8 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 him in the face with her true-blue eyes, though 
 the colour in her face showed it took some 
 courage to meet the gaze of her lover. Of 
 course I cannot tell you all that passed between 
 them, and I cannot give you all his Frenchy 
 talk as I give the Cornish tongue. I can 
 make one of our old Vogue parish speak plain 
 enough. Mons Marc, when he dress'd in his 
 cook's dress, all white, and cap to match, he 
 always looked as if he was acting, which he 
 was ; the only natural thing about him seemed 
 the knife in his belt, and the way he would 
 draw his shoulder up, and place his hand upon 
 the handle, which, for his figure and appear- 
 ance, should have been a sword or a dirk 
 more than a cook's knife. However, he was 
 not dress'd this evening like a cook, except 
 he had the knife in his belt, but over it a 
 smart, dark-blue coat, yellow waistcoat and 
 shirt frill — the French fashion of the day. 
 Mons Marc flew very high colours in pass- 
 ing compliments — 'she was adorable,' and 
 a parcel of high-sounding words, which, as 
 we ain't in love, looks foolish ; but Miss 
 Fanny, with all her spirity ways and
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 49 
 
 high-head carrying, was a real shy Cornish 
 maiden, so she half thought she ought not to 
 listen, and was frighten'd, and yet it was new 
 and flattering, so she looked demure, and made 
 a second half circle in front of her. He wanted 
 her to promise a great deal. Would she meet 
 him to-morrow evening ? No, certainly not ; 
 she had only come on business of her uncle's 
 to the top of the hill and back. She would 
 now wish him good-evening. 
 
 ' Would she allow him to call on her uncle, 
 and explain his circumstances ? ' ' No, cer- 
 tainly not. Mons Marc, we are different. 
 I am not in your rank of life, though you 
 pass as a cook here. I am, I see, as much 
 beneath you in rank as you would have been 
 beneath me if you had been a real cook.' 
 
 ' You are beautiful and good, fit to marry a 
 prince. Will you allow me the honour to pay 
 my respects to your uncle, and explain to him 
 some of my difficulties ? I may be free to- 
 morrow, may I come and see your uncle ? ' 
 
 1 No, not for the world ; but I will speak to 
 my aunt that I have met you, she knows that 
 I was introduced to you by Miss Pencoose,
 
 50 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 and I wish you to let me pass, sir, our acquaint- 
 ance must cease.' 
 
 She was getting frighten'd. It was the short 
 cut through the wood, two hundred yards from 
 the public road. She said to herself she had 
 not thought to meet Mons Marc ; but had she 
 rather not hoped it when she went in front 
 of Trevogue to go to the old pound, a long 
 way round ? 
 
 ' Will you allow me, Mons Juste, to pass ? ' 
 
 He stood between her and the gate of the fir 
 plantation that led out into the road. 
 
 • My heart kneels for pity, adorable one ; 
 may I kiss your hand before we part. I am 
 ever at your service.' 
 
 She was rather frightened at his fierce pas- 
 sionate bearing, so she said, — 
 
 1 1 have some business Mons Juste for my 
 uncle, please let me pass ? ' 
 
 He bowed ; he may not have done it ; allowed 
 her to pass or been moved by her entreaties ; 
 but his quick ear heard a iiorse trotting down 
 the hill, so he moved aside, but as she passed 
 he took her hand and kissed the dimpled 
 knuckles, half covered with the lace ruff.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 51 
 
 Miss Fanny caught her hand away, and 
 seemed to lose her presence of mind. With a 
 sort of hurry scream she ran towards the gate. 
 
 A thick choking voice, — 
 
 ' Miss Fanny Uglow, is this fellow pestering 
 you ? If he is I'll break every bone in his 
 body.' 
 
 A young, scowling, red face peered over the 
 gate of the plantation, leaning from his horse, 
 with one hand on the gate and a formidable 
 hunting crop in his hand. It was Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose. 
 
 Miss Fanny recovered herself; in fact, she 
 felt much safer now and could be brave ; at the 
 same time she was not a bit grateful to Mr 
 Johnnie Pencoose for coming upon her talking 
 to the Frenchman, so she said, proud, — 
 
 'Thank you, Mr Pencoose, when I require 
 your help I'll ask for it, and I think you are 
 rather impertinent. Mons Juste, at all events 
 is a friend of your sister's, as she introduced 
 me.' 
 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose muttered a passionate 
 oath. 
 
 The Frenchman laughed.
 
 52 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ' Pardon the young barbarian, Miss Fanny, 
 John Bull's bull dog puppy.' 
 
 'By Jove! you white-livered scoundrel, you 
 frog-eating Frenchman, I'll teach you to call 
 me names ! ' 
 
 The Frenchman's eye gleamed, and his hand 
 went to his knife. 
 
 ' Yes, you butcher-cook, you coward ! ' roared 
 with much noise Mr Johnnie Pencoose. 
 
 Miss Fanny passed the horse and rider, into 
 the middle of the road. 
 
 ' Yes, stay there, Fanny, or better run home, 
 while I settle him.' 
 
 'Johnnie, don't, don't ! I'll never forgive you ! 
 It is disgraceful! Think of me! Do not 
 quarrel on my account ! ' 
 
 She thought it would be murder, and Miss 
 Fanny's pride had flown away with the two 
 angry men facing each other. 
 
 ' Do not be alarmed, Miss Fanny ; I shall 
 not quarrel with the young fool,' said Mons 
 Marc, as he waved his hat in the air. 
 
 But the contempt was too much for Mr 
 Johnnie Pencoose ; so he raised his whip and 
 cut the Frenchman across the shoulder.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 53 
 
 In one second the Frenchman was on the 
 gate, a-level with Mr Johnnie, with his knife in 
 the air, and it was in the fleshy part of his arm 
 before he swerved his horse. 
 
 Howling with rage and pain, Mr Johnnie 
 had him by the throat. 
 
 In a minute the Frenchman was on the 
 ground, the Englishman off his horse on top 
 of him. Mr Johnnie had got the knife ; in 
 one moment more he would have stabbed the 
 Frenchman to the heart. 
 
 But a cleverer fencer than either had hold 
 of Mr Johnnie's wrist, uplifted with the knife. 
 
 It was the old Lord Respry separate the 
 two men, the French and the English. 
 
 Mr Johnnie never could tell much what 
 happened, as he got faint from loss of 
 blood. 
 
 But he heard, just as he was going off, the 
 the old Lord say, — 
 
 ' Baron , this is unpardonable, fighting 
 
 with my neighbours ! If anything like this 
 happens again you must leave Trevogue.' 
 And then he heard them jabber in French, 
 and Mr Johnnie had swooned away.
 
 54 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Miss Fanny ran nearly all the way home. 
 She saw Lord Respry separate her fighting 
 lovers, and was thankful he did not see her ; 
 and so ran home. She was only stopped close 
 to Tredinnick by her uncle shouting, — 
 
 ' Fanner ! Fanner, my lamb ! have ye see'd 
 'em? Have ye see'd 'em? you be running so 
 quick ! ' 
 
 ' Seen what, Uncle Anthony ? ' she 
 panted. 
 
 She had seen enough, surely, for one arter- 
 noon. Then remembering, — 
 
 ' No, Uncle Anthony ; nothing of the sheep. 
 I did not get so far as the pound. I want to 
 get back to Aunt Jinnifer ; I promised to tie 
 down the jams this evening.' 
 
 But Miss Fanny could not make up her mind 
 to say anything about the adventure to her 
 aunt, Missus Bullen, 'about these tiresome 
 fighting men.' She wondered if Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose was much hurt. He was a great, 
 rough fellow ; and, after all, why should he 
 interfere ? She always showed she hated him, 
 and he knew it was no good. She wished he 
 would get married, or go away, or something.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 57 
 
 And as for the Frenchman, she did nor like 
 him at all. It was cowardly to use a knife. 
 She would never speak to him again. 
 
 A few evenings after Miss Fanny was out 
 in the garden gathering gooseberries, when 
 out came Mar Teazer after a bit, and she 
 began, — 
 
 ' Fine riggs to public-'oose, Miss Fanny. 
 Young Mr Johnnie Pencoose has been having 
 rows, as he says he will be the death of that 
 fine Frenchman yet. And the Frenchman say 
 " he will creep and creep till he get his heart's 
 blood ! " But, of course, he is too fine that 
 Frenchman to frequent the public-'oose ; but 
 Dick Sweeney do answer that he said it. My 
 dear life ! I say 'twill be murder. Mr Johnnie 
 have all but murdered he ; and the French- 
 man stabbed he ; he is slinged to the arm ! 
 Billy Pearce was there, and heard every 
 word.' 
 
 ' Well, Mar Teazer, don't tell me about 
 public-house gossip. I don't want to hear 
 anything of it. It is most disgraceful of Mr 
 Johnnie Pencoose. Such an example ! What 
 would his mother, Madame Pencoose, say ? '
 
 58 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 And yet all this gossip was uncomfortable 
 for Miss Fanny. 
 
 ' Well, my dear Miss Fanny, I only tell ye, 
 mind ye, becas I are certain sure you be the in- 
 nercent means of the whole bisness. They are 
 all crazed and mazed about you, my beauty — 
 the propperest beauty as ever was seen in this 
 parish ! No one ever come a-courting I, but 
 it must be fine to be courted.' 
 
 ' Come, Maria Teazer, please leave those 
 tiresome men alone. I do not want to hear 
 anything about them. What does Bill Pearce 
 say about the lost flock of sheep? Has he 
 heard anything of them ? ' 
 
 1 No, nor never will, Miss, till somebody 'suit 
 Johnny Hooper, the wise man of Ladock. 
 Maister will never hear tell of them if he 
 don't.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mar Teazer, how foolish you are ! ' 
 laughed Miss Fanny. ' Fancy consulting a 
 wizard to know where the lost flock of sheep 
 is!' 
 
 ' I am no more foolish than was King 
 Saul.' 
 
 ' Oh, never mind King Saul,' said Miss
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 59 
 
 Fanny, impatient-ways. ' The world is older 
 now. I am sure we have a-picked enough.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mar Teazer, ' 'twill make a brave 
 pie.'
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 While Miss Fanny was so took up in thoughts 
 of her sweethearts, poor Maister Bullen could 
 not sleep o' nights, nor teal his eye all night, 
 or if he did, he would dream and 'cry aloud 
 in his dreams,' as pious Bunyan says. How 
 wisht and spirited dismal it do sound. ' And 
 me thinks I crieth, and none to answer in my 
 dreams.' So Maister call out, ' They be a- 
 coming, they be a-coming ! They be a-al a- 
 flocking down right agen me ! The devil 
 doth drive them ! ' 
 
 So crazed and mazed was he in his sleep, 
 and he was wisht and gloom-mer waking. 
 
 At last Missus Bullen was fairly worr'd out. 
 
 She were differ from Maister ; she were as 
 
 one o' Pharoah's lean kine, as a-swaller'd up 
 
 everything, seeming the more she swaller'd the 
 
 60
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 61 
 
 thinner she wor. But she were a kind Missus, 
 tu — a proper steer-a-course woman. Some 
 call'd her near, and miser ; she ruled her life 
 on these lines. ' Waste not, want not' She 
 no wasted herself, nor let anybody else waste. 
 She loved work, and she could not abide the 
 lazy, and the slattern had a poor time with 
 she; but for all that she had a tinder heart 
 for the afflicted in sickness and the aged, and 
 many was the poor sols as could sit a bit and 
 bide a bit by her chimbly corner to warm 
 theirselves, poor sols, with a drop o' hotted 
 cider and a crib (crusties as you do call 'em 
 up country). 
 
 Says Missus, — 
 
 ' Co ! co ! Anthony, man, have yer mind at 
 peace, and send up to Johnny Hooper, the 
 wise man of Ladock, and he will tell ye where 
 the flock o' sheep be tu, so yer mind will be to 
 rest and aisey, so yer can 'tend to bisness agen.' 
 
 ■ Come, now, Jinnifer, don't ye be so fulish 
 as to think I are going to 'suit Johnny Hooper. 
 How do he know more nor I do about the lost 
 sheep?' says Maister, obstinate like ; but Missus, 
 as the ways of women, did ne'r give up or give
 
 62 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 in easy. As I did tell ye, it were known to I, 
 but most did say 'tweren't so, but I never 
 noised it abroad that Missus was Cap'en of 
 Maister ; lor, quite Cap'en she wore 
 though he be the biggest Cornish man 
 alive. 
 
 So she say, — 
 
 1 Don't believe in Johnny Hooper ? What 
 next, I wonders ! Why, even the parson, Dr 
 Tregonpol, go to consult Johnny Hooper when 
 his property is missing.' 
 
 ' Parson Tregonpol go to consult Johnny 
 Hooper! Oh, no, no, Jinnifer, not parson; 
 not he ! ' says Maister Bullen, ' as who should 
 know the parson's ways and mind better than 
 his churchwarden.' 
 
 ' Well, if not Parson Tregonpol, his house- 
 keeper — Mrs Brokenshear. She 'suited Johnny 
 Hooper when the parson's tayspoons was 
 stolen. She have entertained I with that story 
 often, Mrs Brokenshear. It was come about 
 like this — 'Twas Mael-mas, the green-goose 
 time. She send up a nice harish goose to Mr 
 John Hooper 'long with the message, — 
 
 ' " Parson Tregonpol's tayspoons is stolen."
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 63 
 
 'Johnny Hooper made answer, — 
 
 1 "The man who stole the parson's tayspoons 
 come Christmas Eve his head shall veer round 
 the wrong way, and back is front to he for ever 
 after if he don't take 'ee back they tayspoons 
 afore time mentioned." 
 
 ' So, afore Christmas Eve, when Mrs Broken- 
 shear gets up to open the Rectory front door, 
 there was all the twelve tayspoons laid out neat 
 on the front-door step. So Parson Tregonpol, 
 coming home a few evenings after from a run 
 with harriers, he a met Johnny Hooper the 
 wizard or wise man of Ladock, in Ladock 
 Wood. 
 
 ' Says Parson Tregonpol, taking off his hat 
 perlite like, as his custom always is, — 
 
 ' " So, Mr John Hooper, I do hear thee are 
 consulted as a wise man." 
 
 '" If so, Dr Tregonpol, 'tis more than I ever 
 heard tell you was." 
 
 1 " Thee hast a shrewd wit, but thy impudence 
 is greater," laughed Dr Tregonpol. "Good- 
 evening." 
 
 ' " Good-evening, Dr. Tregonpol, I stops a 
 lect-shure jist in time."
 
 64 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 1 Now, Maister, you may be as lucky as parson 
 over his tayspoons.' 
 
 So at last Missus wheedled over Maister, and 
 he goes out to Bill Pearce, who was young un 
 then, and he says to him, — 
 
 1 Ride away to Ladock, to Mr John 
 Hooper's, and take this ten-shillin' bit and say 
 to him, — " Maister Anthony Bullen's compli- 
 ments of Tredinnick Farm to Mr John Hooper, 
 and he have lost a flock o' sheep, and will ye 
 please for to tell un where the sheep be tu ? ' 
 
 Bill put on his best fustian coat and green 
 glass buttons and a steeple hat, for a proper 
 beau was Bill in those days, and he rode away 
 on Vilet, the strawberry mare. 
 
 I have oft and oft listed to that tale of Bill 
 Pearce's and his ride out to Johnny Hooper's, 
 and all that befel he, so I'll give it in his own 
 tongue, 'xactly as he do speak it. 
 
 It was high morning, the sixth of August 
 1 818, when Bill did ride forth from Tredinnick 
 Farm, and 'twas high by day before he got 
 to Maister Hooper's house, the wise man of 
 Ladock. 
 
 Now Maister Hooper was one o' they mor-
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 65 
 
 tals as loves to live lonesome like ; no servant, 
 no one to do for he. Yet they did go for to 
 say he could call up a parcel of company to di- 
 vart his self with, sich as hob-gob-lins familiar 
 spirits. 'Twas wisht things they said of he, — 
 he sleep all day, at night he went a-hunting ; 
 and fine wicked sport, tu — that was what some 
 say. Others say, ' No sich thing, he's a-harm- 
 less as anybody else.' 
 
 The tale was told of many a poor traveller 
 as lost his way on the moors would hear a horn 
 blow 'sich an unearthly screech.' They would 
 say it made the heart thump up quick time, and 
 then yer flesh would creep goosey-ways all 
 over ; then he would listen and hear the baying 
 of the yeth hounds — 'tis a most ghastly hunt as 
 ever was seen, and we do know who the hunts- 
 men is as hunts the poor shadders out of this 
 world — the moon would burst out and they 
 would leap away down an old mine shaft. They 
 did say Johnny Hooper rid well to the yeth 
 hounds, shouting and tearing along by the side 
 of the devil huntsman they rid neck-a-neck ; 
 but Johnny's horse always threw'd he on the 
 brink of the press-ee-piece of the old mine shaft,
 
 66 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 and old Johnny would get up and totter away- 
 home, his sport over for that there night. Still it 
 was Mr Hooper's enemies who told these stories, 
 for so powerful a wise man was sure to have 
 plenty of enemies. 
 
 'Tis a savage country out on the moors. 
 'Twas a desolate dwelling the wizard's lone 
 house on the old Cornish moors. The wish- 
 test, wishtest's noises that some did hear. 
 A sob — a big, loud sob — like a minute gun 
 up to Plymouth, when a Lord High- Admiral 
 is gone dead — then the ground would shake, 
 and be that slipper as if you had had a cup too 
 much cider, you could not keep your feet any- 
 ways. Then the spirits of the air would fall a- 
 sighing amazing sound in your ears, as the wash 
 on Hammick Beach, after a sou'-wester, and 
 a mercy a-screeching, as if a Herod was com- 
 mitting sooicide on ten thousand blessed babies 
 all to once. Ten thousand innercent creeturs ; 
 poor tender lambs, a screech, a-screeching all 
 to once. Then there was a laughing — a laugh- 
 ing, which were the ghash-ti-lest thing, so 
 that the boys, aye, the grown men, who had 
 come out to listen would run home for their
 
 TlS A SAVAGE COUNTRY.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 69 
 
 very lives, and some would drop away faint or 
 ever they touched home, from the smell of 
 brimstone. 
 
 Now all these solemn tales Mar Teazer had 
 told Bill the night before, as she said, — 
 
 ' I reckon you'll have to go to 'suit the wise 
 man of Ladock to-morrow as ever is.' 
 
 So Bill Pearce had to take Dutch courage on 
 board, and stop at every Kiddle-le-wink be- 
 tween this and Ladock ; so with a Dutchman's 
 courage, Bill weren't afraid at all, 'tall ; and 
 when Bill came before the wizard's door, he 
 knacked and knacked ever so loud, a-holloa- 
 ing ever so loud, as if he were driving bullocks. 
 
 At last Bill sees a yaller cotton night-cap, 
 with a tassel t' the end of it, looking right at 
 un, only a thin chin underneath, a-stretched 
 out from the champer winder up steers ; a 
 voice, all be-witched like, clear and high, cry 
 out, — 
 
 * Who be theer ? Who be theer ? ' 
 
 Bill fell all of a trimble, 'twas that misery 
 voice. So Bill's voice went high into the 
 quavers as he said, — 
 
 ' Tis only Bill Pearce from Tredinnick.
 
 70 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Mr Anthony Bullens, who sends his love to 
 ye, Maister Johnny Hooper, and he 'ave 
 lost a flock o' sheep ; lost right away, and 
 you is counted a wise man, will you let I 
 know where the sheep be tu ? ' 
 
 1 Well, Silly Billy, that ain't no news ! I 
 knewed the sheep was lost the morning of the 
 ioth of July.' 
 
 ' Lors a mercy,' says Billy; 'you could 
 not knaw they was lost afore they was lost. 
 
 But you might have knacked big Bill down 
 with a goose feather when it come upon he, 
 that that ioth of July, as ever was, the 
 flock of sheep was amissing ; so Bill shiver 
 and shake as he says, — 
 
 ' Now I knaw for sure thee is no saint, 
 maister, so thee is acquaint with the other party, 
 be sure ! ' 
 
 Now Bill had fits of timour ; then he grew'd 
 perlite as he say then to all seasons 'tis best 
 to keep a civil tongue in yer head ; then he 
 would say, 'I'm a Dutchman if I don't say 
 what I have a mind to say,' so he called out, — 
 
 ' You proper auid scoundrel, tell I quick ! 
 where my maister's sheep be tu ! You want
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 71 
 
 to sarve me as you did the auld Jan Reel, wither 
 up his arm becas he was going to strike ye ! ' 
 
 Says Johnny Wiseman, — 
 
 ' You romping young spertical you are 'neath 
 me now. Ye shall have no luck in courtship. 
 Ye shall be glad to mate a witch who standeth 
 on iron wires, and her beauty is one cock-a-eye, 
 and she do live nigh by — she do live nigh by.' 
 
 Bill was fairly sober now, when the picter 
 was drewed of his future wife, true to the 
 life, drawed to life, Mar Teazer. He was 
 proper dumber-founded, he say aloud, — 
 
 ' The cock-a-eye, and standeth on wires 
 pattens, and nigh by — Mar Teazer to life.' 
 
 The auld Johnny Hooper laughed and 
 laughed ; diverted his self fine, and he say, — 
 
 ' Take this yere message home to yer 
 maister, the Fat Bull of Bashan ; he wont 
 like the looks of the black sheep as he will 
 meet some day in a narrer place.' 
 
 He roared this out at poor Bill 'nuff to make 
 the bravest man turn chicken-hearted. 
 
 Bill was fairly frighten'd, so he put up his 
 most wheedlesome voice, and he lipped out, — 
 
 1 Good Maister Johnny Hooper, the friend 
 
 D
 
 72 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 to the poor man, if, be sure, a terror to the 
 rich, will ye plaise for to tell where the 
 sheep be tu ? If yer will let us knaw, what 
 somedever the folks do say agen' ye, I'll count 
 ye a true wise man.' 
 
 ' Where the sheep be tu ? Time will make 
 mention,' says Maister Hooper, and he slams 
 the champer winder tight home.' 
 
 1 Lack-a-daisy ; me!' says Bill to his self; 
 ' I have heerd tell afore now he was a 
 proper auld termagant, but saftly I has it, 
 I did not mention the ten-shillin' bit, the 
 prize to know the secret.' 
 
 'Maister Hooper! Maister Hooper,' roars 
 Billy. ' Time will make mention, but money 
 makes the most mention. And Maister 
 Bullen have giv'd me here a ten-shillin' bit 
 if ye will plaise for to tell where the 
 sheep be ? ' 
 
 No answer. The winder home closed as 
 if no mortal lived inside. 
 
 Bill ca-aland ca-alled ever so, and threw' d 
 up gravel, and Vi'let, whether it were the 
 familiar sperets all about, began to neigh and 
 cut pretty capers, as Bill said,
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 73 
 
 ' There's much more nor a horse can see 
 nor we, after a good feed o' corn ; ' but there was 
 many a mile twixt she and her manger. So 
 Bill could no sit she ; she jumped sky high ; 
 with her buck jumps she sent Bill flying over 
 her head. He jump up, and he catches she 
 round the neck and whisper, coaxing her, — 
 
 ' I see him, old girl. I see him, old girl. 
 Quiet now.' She was all in a lather with 
 fright, a-snorting the life out of her ; but when 
 Bill whispered, ' I see him, old girl,' she 
 quieted down a bit. After all this dover, 
 Bill, as near bewitched as Vi'let, he sat down 
 on an old moor-stone {granite) to cool hisself, 
 with the bridle hitched under his arm. He gave 
 forth one more bellow, ' Maister Hooper! 
 what shall I do by the ten shiJlin' bit ? What 
 shall I do by it ? ' 
 
 At last, as Bill was going to ride away, 
 the champer winder banged open, and a 
 wisht voice ca-alled, clear and high, — 
 
 ' Did anybody speak ? Who be theer ? Who 
 be theer ? ' 
 
 All dazed, mazed, and dement was the voice, 
 so Billy tells the whole story over agen.
 
 74 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Says Johnny Hooper, — 
 
 ' Did yer mention a ten shillin' bit, my good 
 lad?' 
 
 1 Iss, iss, sure, Maister, here it be, only tell yer 
 humble servant where the flock o' sheep be tu ? ' 
 
 Says Johnny Wiseman, — 
 
 ' Put the ten shillin' bit on top of the garden 
 postee.' 
 
 So Bill puts it on the top of the garden 
 postee, and he could just reach it from Vilet. 
 
 Then Bill sees the ten shillin' bit twinkle 
 and a-twinkle, glimmer like a live thing, and 
 then go right out, and he never see'd that 
 there ten shillin' bit agen, never no more ! 
 Now mark me, never no more ! Then Johnny 
 Hooper was moved to roar like a lion from 
 forth 'neath the yellow night-cap ; 'twas awful 
 like, the tassel, though high by day, — 
 
 'Tell yer Maister, he of Bashan, to get up 
 afore the sun on the morning of the fifthtinth 
 of August, and tell un to walk up his town 
 place {farmyard) and up Crooked Lane, and 
 he will see his sheep coming home right 
 agen him, drove home by a black sheep.' 
 
 Bill says, —
 
 Vi'let she were moke plagued-like i h \\ i he Christian.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 77 
 
 'Thankee, Maister Hooper, long life to ye. 
 Auld Nick will be in no hurry to get his 
 own. Far 'ee have got ye safe enuff, I wager. 
 So long life to ye, and if ye aint the black- 
 most of black sheep who ever be ! Long 
 life to 'ee, maister,' jeered Bill, and he turned 
 Vi'let and rode home over the moors. 
 
 But he suffer for those jeers, and was 
 plagued prettily. All the ways home he heard 
 a screechy, pea-cock-etty voice up in the sky, 
 mocking-like, — 
 
 ' Go home, silly Billy ! Go home, silly Billy ! ' 
 He could see nathing — nathing but an auld 
 gull overhead, larger than lifer ; and the gull 
 flied on overhead till yer come to Fair Cross, 
 screeching to the sound, — 
 
 1 Go home, silly Billy ! Go home, silly Billy ! ' 
 
 So poor Bill was daft and mazed and crazed 
 with the screeching and the flopping wings 
 overhead ; and as for the poor dumb creetur, 
 Vi'let, she were more plagued-like than the 
 Christian. I may say, it damped she all over ; 
 and Bill tried to say his grace 'fore and after 
 meals backwards and forwards ! He wished he 
 could have called up a longer prayer, the ten
 
 78 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 commandments ; but he was in that bother he 
 disrem-em-ber'd them all-together. 
 
 When the auld gull see'd the cross by the 
 wayside, he dropp'd torment, and he circled 
 higher and higher in the blue sky till he weren't 
 no bigger than a linnet. 
 
 Missus and Maister sit up late for Bill Pearce 
 that night ; and 'twas ten gone past afore Bill 
 come to Tredennick ; and then he would never 
 have come and rendered it, but for Woolly 
 Woollaton, for he had been piskay laden ; that 
 was sure. Woolly had to convoy un, and prop 
 he up to tell his tale, right agen the parlour- 
 door to answer questions. When he see'd the 
 Missus by side o' Maister, that seem'd like to 
 sober un a bit, and he say, — 
 
 ' Missus, I have been fine and pestered 
 and torment ! with the sperets of the air, 
 and I'll search no wise man out ever agen. 
 I'll leave the evil ones to their selves ; 
 you only come half-crazed out of sich en- 
 counters ! The wicked speret of the wisht, 
 auld Johnny Wiseman, come down flopping 
 on my poor head ; he 'sumed the shape of a 
 gull ! '
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 79 
 
 Saj-s Missus, tart-like, — 
 
 ' Please to mind yerself, Bill Pearce. I 
 should think you was gull'd.' 
 
 'How many kiddle-'e-winks ?' said Maister. 
 1 How many did you stop at ? Keeping 
 the good strawberry mare out this time o' 
 night ! ' 
 
 ' I could no help it, Maister ; us could no 
 find the ge-at — neither she nor me ! We rid 
 rounder and rounder the Barn Meadow ; and, 
 for the life of I, the piskays blind I so as us 
 could not see the ge-at,' stammered poor Bill. 
 
 Says Missus, sharp, — 
 
 'Oh, nonsense, Bill Pearce! 'Tis the 
 cider, not the piskays ! ' 
 
 'Now, Maister, look ye here! If it were 
 the cider, how come it that Vi'let did not 
 ride straight to ge-at ? She ain't took no 
 cider; she were 'wildered more nor I. Us 
 go round and round in the middle of the Barn 
 Meadow, as the merry-go-rounds to a show 
 fair ; and if the auld Woolly Wool-la-ton 
 had not a-call'd out and a-broke the spell, as 
 he shout, — " What be a-doing of, Bill Pearce ? 
 A-riding that mare of Maister's, a-circling her
 
 80 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 round and round ? " and he broke the spell, as 
 we was piskay-laden, sure ; and us would have 
 rid and rid the circle till sunrise, when the pis- 
 kays go home.' 
 
 'Now,' says Maister, 'hold thee peace, Bill 
 Pearce, and tell away a-me-di-jetly. What mes- 
 sage from the wise man, Mr Johnny Hooper, 
 about the flock o' sheep ? ' 
 
 ' Well, Maister, sometime the auld termagant 
 roared as if he was driving a team of yoked 
 ox, and sometime he hist lipped like er anger 
 goose, but the sense of it, Maister, was this 
 here, — 
 
 ' " On the morning of the fifthtinth of August 
 you is to rise before the sun. You is to walk 
 up thro' the town place, and you is to walk up 
 Crooked Lane, and at the rising of the sun 
 you will see the flock coming home right agen 
 you, drove home by a black sheep." 
 Maister laughed. 
 
 ' I reckon that do pourtray Mr Johnny 
 Hooper. No blacker black sheep ever was. 
 However, I ain't quite such a fool as to do 
 what he tell me.' 
 
 But as I did it whisper, though I should not
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 81 
 
 like to go for to noise it abroad, Missus was 
 Cap'en of Maister, as it seems the more 
 manlier the more they give up to wermen. 
 Tis only yer whip-sparrows as are a-fear of a 
 laugh, as are proper wives tyrants, keep the 
 purse, and end miser-like. So Mr Anthony 
 made a show to differ, but the end was the 
 same. 
 
 ' Obsarve yer own mind, Jinnifer, observe 
 yer own mind.' 
 
 Whisht ! she did, tu ! So she say, — 
 
 ' Come Anthony, man, we have gone to 
 lay out a ten shillin' bit, and horse and man 
 all day ; we must bide by what the wise man 
 say.' 
 
 1 'Tis childish, Jinnifer, proper childish. 
 I'm sham'd to think I sent up to Ladock ; 
 and I have laughed at my men. 'Tis worse 
 sooper-tish-un ; we ought to know better.' 
 
 ' Well, Maister, 'twill be waste now, if you 
 leave it bide, and waste is more to be 
 sham'd on than fulishness or sooper-tish-un,' 
 says Missus, convincing like. ''Taint no 
 great hardship to rise at sunrise in August 
 month ; so you may as well wend your way
 
 82 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 up Crooked Lane for an airing before break- 
 fast. Shall ye go, Anthony ? ' 
 
 ' " Time will make mention," as the old fule 
 said,' says Maister.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The next morning Miss Fanny was a-sitting 
 out under the lime-tree in the front garden, 
 with Missus a-shelling peas. 
 
 Miss Fanny, having sighed many times, 
 'nuff to blow the peas out their pods, Missus 
 say, — 
 
 ' Fannee, dear life, don't go for to sigh so, 
 'tis calculated you lose a drop of blood out of 
 your heart every time ye sigh. What have 
 ye got to sigh about, child ? ' 
 
 Miss Fanny did not answer to once, but, 
 after a bit, she said, — 
 
 'Aunt Jinnifer, you are handsome now, 
 you must have been still handsomer when a 
 girl. Did you have many — many sweet- 
 hearts ? ' 
 
 Missus look up keen. 
 83
 
 84 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ' Oh, 'tis come to that, is it, child. What 
 age are you, Fannee ? It don't seem so long 
 since sister Uglow asked Anthony and I to 
 stand gossips to your christening.' 
 
 Miss Fanny, — 
 
 ' I was eighteen last May ; but do not let 
 us talk of that. Would you, Aunt Jinnifer, 
 mind telling me your experience as a girl 
 with — with — lovers ? ' 
 
 ' As a guide-book, do you mean, Fannee ? 
 But if I rake up the old sillinesses, 'tis in vain, 
 for the fashion changes with courting, so 
 what will fit one generation won't another.' 
 
 'Oh, but, Aunt Jinnifer, would you only 
 just tell me how many sweethearts you had, 
 and how you liked them ? ' beseeched Miss 
 Fanny. 
 
 1 Well, there was first when I was seventeen, 
 my cousin, Captain Walter Wonce.' 
 
 ' Captain Wonce ! ' cried Miss Fanny, and 
 she burst out laughing. 
 
 Missus joined hearty tu as she took a hand- 
 ful more peas out of the trug on the grass 
 plat and shell'd them into the bowl. 
 
 ' Yes, Fannee, Captain Wonce was wishing
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 85 
 
 to make me his fourth ! He was my mother's 
 cousin ! ' 
 
 'And I suppose he had a red tow wig then, 
 Aunt Jinnifer, as now?' laughed Miss Fanny. 
 
 1 Yes, thirty years have not changed that, 
 nor put grey hairs into it, you may make sure ! 
 he have changed little, though past eighty, as 
 Anthony do say once a man get the dry shrivel 
 he do become mummy-like, and changeth 
 little.' 
 
 'Oh, Aunt Jinnifer, he is the very ugliest 
 little man I ever saw ! ' 
 
 'Well, he is bright of eye, which tells the 
 quick wit, more pleasing in a man than good 
 looks, and, Fannee, don't put too much store 
 by looks, it soon goes, and we are as we were 
 made ! ' 
 
 1 Oh no, Aunt Jinnifer, not the tow wig ; but 
 there, please go on — how interesting ! ' 
 
 ' Captain Wonce was then the first miner 
 above ground, but he is richer now than he 
 was then ; still he had a smart house down to 
 Camborne, five serving men in red plush, a 
 carriage and two post-boys to ride to London, 
 and he was hand-and-glove with every gentle-
 
 86 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 man in the county, respected for his honesty, 
 tho' he was shrew'd of wit in bisness. Now, 
 I have heard father tell the tale. There 
 was a lot of London gentlemen come down to 
 start a mine, and they wanted to have Captain 
 Wonce's opinion in favour of the mine, so they 
 asked un to make a report ; he said he would 
 put no report in writing, but he would inspect 
 it and would give a report in words to the 
 committee. So the day come, and a fine 
 dinner was spread, and after dinner the London 
 gentlemen made fine speeches on the old Cor- 
 nish mineral wealth. "Fish, Tin and Copper" 
 was toasted as usual, and then they call on 
 Captain Walter Wonce for his report on 
 " Wheal New London." Captain Walter Wonce 
 rose solemn, his speech was ever terse-like, 
 he say, — " Where 'tis ! There 'tis ! " ' 
 
 Miss Fanny laughed. 
 
 'But, Aunt Jinnifer, do tell me more; how 
 could he have proposed to you? He had had 
 three wives, and you were only seventeen. How 
 did he dare to propose ? ' 
 
 ' The head that can schemey best in the 
 whole country, did not go fumbling much in
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 87 
 
 courtship. I remember the day he came ; 
 mother had put decanters and cake on the 
 table, for he told father at Redruth Fair the 
 day before he was going to make a call on 
 mother. So I had on my best bib and tucker, 
 though I did not know what was coming ; so I 
 was in a twitter expecting to see the fine carriage 
 and post-boys with two footmen standing be- 
 hind. Father kept out of the way. I often 
 thought after, father knew what he was a-com- 
 ing about, as there was a twinkle to his eye ; but 
 mother, she did not see anything. I call'd to 
 mother, and we went out to the porch. He had 
 only come with Richard, his man, in his gig 
 after all ; but mother welcom'd him. After a 
 bit she said, — 
 
 '"Jinnifer and I was a-hoping, Cousin 
 Walter Wonce, you was a-coming in your fine 
 equipment, post-boys and serving men." 
 
 ' "Would it ha pleased Miss Jinnifer, there, 
 more, if I had come in state ? " 
 
 ' And he looked at me out of the corner of 
 his eye as he cracked a nut with his sharp 
 teeth. He said he always used Adam's nut- 
 crackers and Eve's sugar-tongs. He never
 
 88 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 could put his fingers into the bows of a sugar- 
 tongs. 
 
 ' "Sure it would have plaised us both," said 
 mother. 
 
 " ' Would you like an equipment of your 
 own, Miss Jinnifer, and ride to London?" says 
 Captain Wonce, sly-like. 
 
 ' " Mighty!" says I. 
 
 ' Says he, — 
 
 ' "'Tis to be had in three letters." 
 
 ' " Is it a riddle ? " says I. 
 
 ' " No,' says he ; 'I never spake in riddles, 
 and I can't beat about the bush, tho' you may 
 flush a shy bird a bit too soon, if you don't 
 beat about the bush. I risk that' 
 
 1 Then he cracked away a few more filberts, 
 and drank a glass of sherry wine. 
 
 ' We was standing up, mother and I, looking 
 at him, thinking he was going to say something 
 important, but never guessed what. When he 
 had finished he looked at mother. 
 
 ' " Cousin Tabitha Runnalls, I like your 
 darter, Jinnifer. She is young, but she looks 
 straight-minded, as she is outward made. She 
 ain't no giggler, and she ain't no lisper ; sich
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 89 
 
 gals I can't abide ; so I offer her my hand ; " 
 and he thumped it on the table, making the 
 decanters jump together. 
 
 ' Mother was taken aback, so she muttered, — 
 
 '"Very handsome of you, Captain Wonce, 
 very handsome ; but Jinnifer must speak for 
 herself." 
 
 '"What does the gal say?" says Captain 
 Wonce, looking at me, a bit paler than was 
 his wont. 
 
 ' " I will not beat about the bush either, sir. 
 My answer is in two letters — No. All the 
 same, I thank you for the honour." 
 
 ' Good Aunt Jinnifer, tell me about the 
 others, please.' 
 
 ' Then two or three came about. One 
 was a Quaker ; his name was James Pye, 
 a che-mist. They used to call him Jay Pye. 
 But he was a very formal young man, and 
 there was beating about the bush with Friend 
 Jay Pye.' (A jay is called a jay pie). 
 
 1 Then I met your Uncle Anthony, and when 
 first I saw him I never thought I should have 
 him. However, I did, and got the best man 
 this side of London.' 
 
 E
 
 90 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ' But, Aunt Jinnifer, did you ever like any- 
 one — that no one else liked ? ' 
 
 ' No, dear. They ain't often pleasant people. 
 The world's sampling may be wrong, but it is 
 often true samples, after all.' 
 
 Then they were silent ever so long, aunt and 
 niece ; and Miss Fanny looked as fresh as the 
 daisies on the lawn, with her white drawn hat, 
 her blue gown, and pretty wave hair, and her 
 shapely neck. The bees flew about over the 
 high box-edging ; 'twas a full beauty summer 
 day. Through the arch of the old stone gateway 
 you could see the public road, and across to the 
 orchard. 
 
 Someone passed and lifted his hat with much 
 flourish, — 
 
 'Aunt Jinnifer,' says Miss Fanny, 'that is, 
 Mons Marc Juste — the — the — ' She could not 
 say the word 'cook,' it seem'd so ridiculous with 
 such a fine gentleman. ' You know he is living 
 at Trevogue, a French refugee.' 
 
 ' Oh Fannee, my dear ! you have not, dear 
 life, taken up with that frog-eating Frenchman ? 
 How did you come to know him ? ' 
 
 'Don't you remember, Aunt Jinnifer, when
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 91 
 
 I went by coach to Falmouth with Sally 
 Pencoose, he rode by the coach, and we said, 
 for all he looked a highway man. And Sally 
 introduce me, and you know how rude Johnnie 
 Pencoose was to him ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, I remember, Miss Sally Pencoose is 
 wild, and for all they hold themselves higher 
 than we, they do not keep themselves up with 
 those they should be stiff with ; I never like 
 your going with Miss Sally over much.' 
 
 1 1 like Sally the best of them all, Madame 
 is silly and vain, and Jinny is too flighty, 
 the Squire is very dull, and his son is 
 rough, and more stupid than all — a very bad 
 temper.' 
 
 ' He is only a bad temper if he is roused. 
 Your uncle always says he has a lot of solid 
 sense. 
 
 ' Too solid ever to be any good to himself or 
 anyone else ; it will never flow out, he is as 
 heavy as lead.' 
 
 'Well, Fannee, there is worse going! How- 
 ever, we will drop him, for here is Mar Teazer 
 come for to carry away the pea shreds to the 
 pig's bucket. Now, Fannee, my dear girl,
 
 9^ IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 promise me not to meet that Frenchman with- 
 out my knowledge, or your uncle's.' 
 
 1 1 don't want to speak to him again.' 
 Then Miss Fanny up and told her aunt all 
 about the fight between Mons Marc Juste and 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Now, Maister Anthony Bullen went early to 
 rest on the night of the fourtinth of August 
 1818, not but what he often rose with the 
 sun, still 'twas harvest time that year and 
 working late you ain't so early, and he had 
 said to Missus at supper, — 
 
 ' 'Tis a sight as brings forcible-like the 
 Old Testament, the reaping of corn and 
 the women a-binding sheaves after the men ; 
 and the gleaning, the women don't seem so 
 handy as when I were young. Then there 
 was Aunt Kattern Broad, there was Betsey 
 Reel, Peggy Dawe ; dear ! how active and 
 smart they were. Half-a-man's work they 
 could do easy, and fourpence to sixpence 
 a day wage, hardy and cheerful they was. 
 Barley-bread built up their constitutions, gave 
 'em health, strength, grit and courage, seeming 
 
 93
 
 94 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 me — to me I never see such roody counten- 
 ances now as then. I remind when I was a 
 boy, the old parson, before Dr Tregonpol, 
 Dr Sladdacott, D.D. He was a book-worm 
 (wrote a Latin history of Cornish church 
 land). Well, he was a crippler with rheu- 
 matics, so he used to be carried out into the 
 harvest field, where the most men o' the 
 parish did congregate, and he would have 
 all his ancient books to read, and a big 
 stick with a fine knob to it ; and he would 
 be a-reading, and the men would go work- 
 ing on, and forget parson was nigh by, and 
 perhaps a thoughtless one would use swear 
 language, up went the parson's stick in a 
 whirl round his head, and, with a true mark, 
 he heaved right at the swearer's shoulder, 
 a'maist knocked him down. After that, all 
 day they would only chirp like chicken ; no 
 swear heard in that field. When I was a 
 little chap I often fetched his stick back 
 for un, and he used to say, — 
 
 1 " Anthony, my little man, 'tis better I 
 should strike that man than he should go on 
 and provoke the Almighty to strike him dead."
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 95 
 
 1 Now, I do say, that was a forcible 
 lesson not to be forgot ; now, some do say, 
 you can't make the men 'tend to ye without 
 swearing loud at 'em ; now, thinking of Dr 
 Sladdacott, I have never done it. I have 
 got on as well as any man — cheerfuller service 
 no man ever had, better ; I may say hearty 
 service.' 
 
 1 Tis an interesting tale,' says Missus ; ' but 
 if Dr Sladdercott had lived to these here days 
 he would have been had up for 'salt and 
 battery. ' 
 
 1 Don't think they would be so cowardly 
 as not to take the parson's drubbing in a 
 proper spirit when they had done wrong.' 
 
 ' Oh, Anthony ! You are simple, old- 
 fashioned.' 
 
 ' Glad I be, if 'tis manlier ! ' 
 
 Then Maister went to bed, and he often 
 used to look out for a sign, a simple sign, 
 to make up his mind by ; so, as he turned 
 down the long stone passage in the twi- 
 light, he says to hisself, — 
 
 'As I go up steers, if I see the doves out 
 on the dove-cot roof, I'll go up Crooked
 
 96 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Lane by sunrise as ever is. If I don't see 
 'em, I won't' 
 
 Now from the long steercase window you 
 could see over the back kitchen yard, into 
 the farmyard, and as the Maister looked out 
 to view, he saw the doves come home for 
 night and lit on the dove-cot wall, real by 
 name call'd the ' Culver House,' the most 
 ancientest thing, Dr Tregonpole say, in all 
 Tredinnick was that Culver House. 'Twas 
 a great, round tower, with pigeon-holes in 
 side like a well, to get into ; and you could 
 not get in or out but by fetching a long 
 ladder. When you got a-top the wall, you 
 pulled up the ladder and drop it down inside, 
 so you see 'twas built so it weren't easy to 
 rob the Culver House. 
 
 One day Bill Pearce was missing ever so 
 long. They hunt for un ; at last Missus 
 say, I told Bill Pearce to bring in some 
 young squabs for a squab pie, so they went 
 to the Culver House, shout round the tower, 
 no ladder to be seen ; at last they heard a 
 voice inside the tower, moaning, — 
 
 ' Lack-a-daisy me, I is most done for, as I
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 97 
 
 was a-placing the ladder inside I pitchee away 
 on my poor head.' So they went and got an- 
 other ladder and got un out, and he weren't 
 no more of a poor Isaac than he was before, for 
 pictching away on his head. Isaacs, as we do 
 call they, who are not 'zactly fitty, or as some 
 do say, half-baked, ' put in with the bread and 
 taken out with the cakes ' ; so when the morn- 
 ing of the fiftinth of August come, Maister waked 
 with the lark. He goes creepy down the back 
 steers, so he sha'n't wake Miss Fanny and the 
 maids ; he ain't feared to wake Bill Pearce 
 as he do pass his door, for Bill do sleep 
 like the seven sleepers. You might drash 
 un, and you might drag un, but no mortal 
 could wake Bill before his hour (which were five 
 o'clock rig-gular), for Bill sleep heavy-like. 
 
 So all in the fresh morning air, Maister 
 Anthony Bullen walks up his town place, 
 he whistle for Ship in the barn, Ship run 
 on a bit in front of he, and he look up, 
 with a'most human gaze, as if he could 
 say,— 
 
 'Tis critic time, Maister.' 
 
 They go up Crooked Lane together, and
 
 98 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 Maister sees the great red sun rise out of 
 the blue morning summer sea, like a fine 
 mangold wurzel cut in half. Maister looked 
 over the ge-at at the splendour. He heard 
 moo-sick, beau-ti-ful moo-sick, the bleating, 
 bla-ting of a flock o' sheep. 
 
 And, Oh, be joyful ! he sees all they 
 blessed sheep a - flocking doon right agen 
 him. 
 
 And he looked, and he gazed stark. What 
 was that a - driving the flock home? His 
 heart felt like a cold pertater in his mouth, 
 for there was a monstri-ous black sheep a- 
 driving the flock home. 
 
 Maister looked at that black sheep till 
 he was a'most ready to drop. Maister 
 Bullen, the strongest Cornishman as ever 
 pull'd off his coat to wrastle, had no more 
 heart left in un, than a sparrow — a chick 
 sparrow. 
 
 Maister often said, I wish there had a- 
 been a eye witness more nor me, to have 
 see'd that black sheep; but the only other 
 witness was the poor dumb one. Poor Ship, 
 when he saw the sheep he guv a bark for
 
 " Moo-sick — beautiful moo-sick."
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 101 
 
 joy, he run for'ard, then he sighted the 
 black sheep he gave one leap in the air 
 and fell as dead as a stone. Poor Ship — 
 his first and last fit — poor Ship, Maister grieve 
 prettily for that dog, it prettily grieved he. 
 He says after, — 
 
 ' What was it kill'd my trusty Ship, my 
 poor dog ? 'Twas either the mys-te-ri-ous 
 black sheep or joy ; the flock had come 
 home, 'twas one or the t'other that broke 
 his poor heart ? ' 
 
 Now the mon-stri-ous black sheep bolts 
 round double quick, and took the hedge at 
 a leap, and Maister saw him go across 
 country like a divil or a deer, right over 
 the hedges and ditches, right over the moors, 
 up to Laddock.' 
 
 And Maister say, — 
 
 * Now, what was that black sheep ? Was that 
 the divil or Johnny Wiseman ? For see that 
 black sheep I sartainly did — and I may say 'twas 
 no ordinary mortal of a black sheep. What 
 was it ? ' 
 
 But Missus Bullen would say, — 
 
 'Hish! Hush tu ye! Anthony, man, co! As
 
 102 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP. 
 
 we a-got all they blessed sheep back home that 
 was lost — and yer did not waste the ten shilling 
 bit either, we must not enquire too much as to 
 the means.' 
 
 Maister then say, — 
 
 ' True, true, Jinnifer, thee at least has spoken 
 well. Thee at least is a wise woman.'
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Now, Maister was so proud and pleased he got 
 the flock o' sheep home, that he say to Miss 
 Fanny, — 
 
 ' Fanner, my lamb. We will have a trait to 
 cele-brate this home come of the flock. When 
 the neck is cut we will have a souper, and I'll 
 have the barn cleared out, and ye shall have a 
 dance if ye have a mind.' 
 
 Miss Fanny was prettily pleased, and she 
 said, — 
 
 ' A dance ! Oh, Uncle Anthony, what a lark ; 
 I will write the invites at once.' 
 
 Then Missus and Miss Fanny was much sur- 
 prised as the Maister said, — 
 
 ' Well, F'anner, do ; and ye shall write one for 
 
 me ; 'tis this : — 
 
 1 " Mr Anthony Bullen's compliments, and as 
 103
 
 1 04 IN A IC ORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 he is going to give a trait on the 24th of August, 
 he would be honoured by the company of Mr 
 Marc Juste." ' 
 
 Missus looked at Miss Fanny ; but she was 
 playing with the new puppy to be reared in the 
 place of Ship, so she did not look up. 
 
 Missus said, — 
 
 ' How did ye come to know him, Maister ? ' 
 
 ' Well, 'tis a longish story ; but you know the 
 strawberry mare, Vi'let, have taken to bolt and 
 shy ever sin Bill Pearce and she got piskay 
 laden, as he do say, or maybe she were 
 frighten'd by her visit to Johnny Hooper's. 
 Well, I was a-riding she along, and there was a 
 man sitting on the bank with a rumberella a- 
 taking pick-shores of the auld cottages, and so 
 Vi'let shied so quick, took me unprepared ways, 
 and I was in the ditch. The gentleman (for he 
 is that) was very sorry he a-had a-been so 
 occupied he did not see me to lower the 
 rumberella. I said "It were only a tumble," 
 and he catched Vi'let for me. I liked his pick- 
 shore, and he said he would walk over with it 
 as a present. Then we conversed ; he said he 
 was partly French. I asked un whether he
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 105 
 
 had ever seen Bonny, and he said, " Scores of 
 of times, and Josephine too." He says he is 
 a greater general than Wellington, and if he'd 
 only been an admiral like Nelson he would 
 have scrunched England up. I say, they can 
 laugh who win. No man's life is long enough 
 to be a general and an admiral too — they 
 both want the best years of short life for 
 'prentice-ship — so we got on brave, and I'll 
 have another dialogue with he, if I can. 
 
 "As iron sharpeneth iron," so is French 
 
 and English. 
 
 ' I find he is house-steward to Trevogue, but 
 
 he talked too high for that, so I did not make 
 
 him out. However, I told him who I was. 
 
 He said, being so big, he guessed who I were! 
 
 So, now, Fanner, I wish to invite he, now we 
 
 are going to give a trait.' 
 
 Miss Fanny's heart beat fast, if one could 
 
 judge by the rose petals that flushed her cheek, 
 
 and then turn'd lilly white. 
 So Maister turns to me. 
 ' Now, clerk, you must beat up the 'Quire 
 
 to come and tunee up a bit.' 
 
 So great preparations for a fine trait were
 
 io6 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 to be made. Miss Fanny wrote her in- 
 vites. 
 
 ' I suppose, Aunt Jin-ni-fer, we must invite 
 Madame Pencoose ? not that she will come.' 
 
 ' We must pass the compliment, Fannee. 
 Miss Sally and Miss Jinny will come, and, of 
 course, Johnnie we have not seen for a long 
 time ; his arm is still stiff. I wonder Maister 
 have not heard about it. If he knew of that 
 fight they had, he would not be asking of 
 them together.' 
 
 'Oh, don't tell uncle, please, Aunt Jin- 
 nifer ! ' 
 
 'No, I promised not, and Johnnie is going 
 off on his larks with that boat of his soon. 
 I wonders if Madame Pencoose will come, 
 just to show her smuggled silks, satins and 
 laces. Of course Johnnie Pencoose did not 
 say it when he relate the tale of his ma, in 
 purple velvet, being nigh swept into the 
 mill dam ; but I doubt not 'twas smuggled, 
 turban and all ! Tis the fashion to smuggle ; 
 but I always hold a Justice of the Peace 
 should not break the law of the land, or 
 wink at his family doing so ; nor parsons
 
 " "i'lS TH3 FASHION TO SMI GG] I .
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 109 
 
 either, for that! But Dr Tregonpol have 
 always been sturdy against smuggling.' 
 
 ' He has not got any wife or daughter to 
 dress in silks and lace,' said Miss Fanny, 
 laughing. 
 
 1 Well, he is very partial to snuff, and I 
 am sure he would not take a pinch, if he 
 were dying for it, if he thought it were 
 smuggled.' 
 
 Maister come in at this, and he laughed. 
 ' Well, Jinnifer, how is it that the parson 
 likes taking a pinch from Squire Pencoose's 
 snuff-box? He must know 'tis too good not 
 to be smuggled ! ' 
 
 1 Oh, Mr Churchwarden ! ' laughed Miss 
 Fanny, ' don't tell tales.' 
 
 Well, the arter-noon came for crying the 
 neck, which is an insti-too-tion peculiar to 
 Cornwall ; no one do know 'zactly what it 
 means. I do hold it mean the neck of the 
 harvest is broken ! But our school-maister to 
 Vogue, who is o'er learned, he do say, ' Tis a 
 pagan custom, and the offering is to the goddess 
 Serious.' But I don't believe there ever 
 were such a goddess, or what have us got 
 
 F
 
 no IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 to do with she ? Sure, our Cornish saints 
 must have swept pagan ways and customs 
 out of Cornwall. Some do go still farther 
 and say, ' Tis a offering to Old Nick!' 
 Now, there is some sense in that. Well, I'll 
 go for to tell ye 'zactly how 'tis done. 
 
 First, Miss Fanny had made a lovely neck 
 of corn, with flowers and ribbains, very smart, 
 and plenty harvest flower in it. 
 
 Then Maister step forward and took the 
 scythe from one of the men, coat off in 
 proper style, the pick-shore of a handsome 
 farmer, as the likes we shall never see again ; 
 he turned, and the last bit of standing corn 
 he mowed down. 
 
 That's cutting the ' neck.' 
 
 There was a good party in the field. Then 
 Bill Pearce took the neck from Miss Fanny, 
 with an obesiance as Bill knew how to make. 
 And he climbed up the top of a mowie near 
 by (Our country mowie's we rear out in the 
 fields as it might be catching weather. The 
 mowie is shaped like a giant decanter, its 
 cap was the stopper) so Bill, with one arm 
 clutched round the cap of the mowie, with
 
 
 Miss Fanny i 
 
 l.AD MADE A LOVELY NECK CM i 01
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 113 
 
 the other he waved the neck, and says three 
 times, — 
 
 ' I have. I have. I have.' 
 
 Then Woolly Woollaton, who had a good 
 pair of lungs of his own, shouted, — 
 
 ' What 'ave ye ? What 'ave ye ? What 
 'ave ye.' 
 
 Bill answered. 
 
 1 A neck. A neck. A neck.' 
 
 Then the whole field shouts, ' Hurrah, 
 hurrah, hurrah,' three times, and long down 
 the valley, over the fields and over the 
 oak copses, down to the sea to Port Lemon, 
 all the men that was working down the 
 valley for other farmers, shouted back, 'Hurrah.' 
 ' Maister Bullen to Tredinnick have called (or 
 cried) his neck,' they say to one another. Well 
 then all went into the house to have souper, 
 and ' a proper trait ' 'twas, the men in the 
 kitchen, the gentry in the parlour. Miss 
 Sally Pencoose and Miss Jinny, also Mr 
 Johnnie Pencoose, he had his arm still in 
 a sling, and he had paled a bit from the 
 effects, and he certainly did look fine and 
 handsome. He was quieter, and Miss Fanny
 
 ii4 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 was pleasanter to him. She thought as how 
 twas her doing he got the nasty stab. If 
 she had not been there it would not have 
 been mischief. So souper was right merry, 
 and Mons Marc Juste had not come. 
 
 Then they went away merry to the barn, 
 and here 'twas Mr Johnnie Pencoose lost 
 'vantage, for he could not dance the leastest 
 bit. He could ride across country, he could 
 shoot, he could handle a boat-sail, anything, 
 anywhere, but he could not dance, so as 
 he was out of it, and could not do it, he 
 effected to dispise dancing. 
 
 Miss Fanny was a-dancing with his cousin, 
 a young lieutenant in the navy, when arrived 
 on horseback Mons Marc. A mighty fine 
 gentleman, his presence and his bearing 
 was sich, that every body made way for 
 him, though 'twas crowded round the door 
 by the gazers. He might have been a 
 French prince he was that splendid. Maister 
 went to meet him. Maister Bullen had 
 hearty, straight, simple manners, as be- 
 come he well ; but the Frenchman was at 
 home in the Courts of Europe, and he
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 115 
 
 brought all his courtliness into the homely- 
 Cornish barn. We country men could see 
 it, much more the ladies. At first he only- 
 danced with Miss Sally and Miss Jinny, 
 who, to my mind, looked bedecked without 
 much taste. 
 
 The church quire was there, two fiddles, 
 one bass viol, three flutes and a cornet. 
 They made a fine crack with the country 
 dances. In the middle arrived the club 
 band, and they was jealous the church quire 
 were performing away. They said, ' 'Tvvas 
 lowering their selves, a church quire, to play 
 dance music' So the club band rushed 
 up a side passage, and the big drum stack 
 half-way, so they could not get in or out, and 
 they did not want to smash the big drum, 
 so they was in a fix, wrastling with the 
 big drum, and they could not move it. 
 
 Then Miss Fanny danced with the French- 
 man, all crowded to look at them, and you 
 could see Miss Fanny enjoyed herself fine, 
 he was such a good dancer. But Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose he glowered more and more. 
 
 Then the Frenchman danced a dance by
 
 n6 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 himself. Some said 'twas a French horn- 
 pipe, or others said it had a much grander 
 name. So, when the gentry went away 
 for more refreshments, Tom John's Tom, 
 who was there, had just come off a man-o'- 
 war on leave who hated the very name of 
 French. He had been a prisoner o' war 
 in France, he said, — 
 
 ' That weren't no hornpipe at all, at all.' 
 
 Then they called on Tom John's Tom, 
 to dance a hornpipe, which he did, and a 
 fine clever one, but stiffer than the French- 
 man's dance. 
 
 Then the gentry return'd laughing, and 
 Miss Fanny on the Frenchman's arm, and 
 off dancing again. Maister begun to think 
 that Miss Fanny had danced enough with 
 the Frenchman ; so as she stopped a bit in 
 the whirl-a-wigg, he says, — 
 
 ' Fanner ! be ye furtigued ? My lamb ! be 
 ye furtigued ? ' 
 
 For the first time in her life she answered 
 her uncle cross. 
 
 ' No, uncle ; don't trouble about me. I 
 could dance for ever without being tired.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 117 
 
 ' For ever is a long day, Fanner. It ain't 
 given to dance our lives away ! So just go 
 and see if yer Aunt Jin-ni-fer have the punch 
 ready. I'll look in and taste fust. -You 
 know — 
 
 " Two sweet, 
 Two sour, 
 Four strong, 
 Six weak." 
 
 that's way to make punch.' 
 
 But when Maister came by the big hunting 
 bowl Missus had made the punch in, Miss 
 Fanny had not been there at all. 
 
 So Maister fumed. 
 
 Missus say, — 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense, Maister. She is only resting 
 a bit in the summer-house.' 
 
 But Miss Fanny, with rare beauty, spirits 
 and pranks, was like a ewe lamb to Maister, 
 the apple of his eye, and his heart felt 
 sore that he had done wrong to invite that 
 Frenchman. 
 
 It got mutter'd about after the dance that 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose would kill that French-
 
 nS IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 man some day, and all for the love of Miss 
 Fanny. 
 
 One day Mar Teazer came out into the 
 orchard, and there was at one end a look- 
 out summer-house, built with stones and sea- 
 shells, and glass at one end. You looked 
 down the valley right out to sea. Miss 
 Fanny used to sit and read there. When 
 Mar Teazer found her, she say, — 
 
 ' Madame Pencoose have come wishing to 
 see Missus, or you, Miss. Missus have gone 
 out in the gig with Maister.' 
 
 Miss Fanny rose slowly and went to see 
 Madame Pencoose. 
 
 She was very fine ; she was always showy. 
 She made a sweep curts'y to Miss Fanny. 
 Still, Miss Fanny's grave and stately curts'y 
 beat her hollow in 'suming pride that apes 
 humbleness ; the low curts'y, the rising, proud 
 heart doth show. 
 
 ' I wish, my good girl — ' 
 
 ' Oh ! pray, do not say good — anything but 
 that ! ' said Miss Fanny. 
 
 ' I call'd you good, as I know you are good- 
 natur'd,' replied Madame Pencoose.
 
 "It is better to be plain wn straightforward in words,' 
 said Madame Pencoose.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 121 
 
 ' I am sorry you are very much at fault. 
 I have not the least good nature about 
 me.' 
 
 Madame Pencoose looked foolish as Miss 
 Fanny disclaimed 'good nature.' 
 
 ' It is better to be plain and straight forward 
 in words,' said Madame Pencoose. 
 
 'Yes,' said Miss Fanny; 'if language is 
 not used in that instance to conceal your 
 thoughts.' 
 
 1 Then, to be plain. Of course, you know 
 my son, Mr Johnnnie ' (Madame Pencoose, 
 too late, wished she had not had him chris- 
 tened Johnnie ! Now she wanted to be proud 
 and stiff) ' Pencoose is — is — somewhat in 
 love — with you — Miss Uglow — has he told 
 you so ? ' 
 
 ' Your son is a very gifted individual ; so 
 no doubt I should treasure the very poetical 
 words with which he would express his 
 love or admiration, you may think, so pro- 
 verbially blind is a mother's admiration for 
 her son ; but, in truth, it would not bear 
 repeating, any conversation of Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose's.'
 
 122 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Madame Pencoose gave up fencing ; so she 
 said, — 
 
 1 1 wish you to know that it would never 
 be with our consent (my husband, Squire 
 Pencoose, and myself) that our son should — 
 should — marry you.' 
 
 ' You wish me to say I do not aspire to the 
 honour, but, on the contrary, I could not sink 
 so low ; and if the whole family of Pencoose 
 fell on bended knee, and entreated me to form 
 an alliance with such a noble house, I could 
 not do it.' 
 
 ' You are a disagreeable, haughty girl,' said 
 Madame Pencoose, ' and you have not a penny 
 to bless yourself with.' 
 
 ' I warned you I was not good-natur'd, and 
 whether the penny you speak of belongs to 
 me or not, it cannot be of the slightest import- 
 ance to you after my assurance.' 
 
 'You seem to be a girl not lacking that — 
 "assurance," Good-evening, Miss Uglow.' 
 
 ' Good-evening, Mrs Pencoose.'
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Now, as Maister Bullen had got his flock o' 
 sheep back in a manner marvel to all Vogue 
 parish, and many parishes round, Johnny 
 Hooper was counted more of a wise man than 
 ever, so he was 'suited more than ever. There 
 was some who made fun, and said they did not 
 belave in him a bit. For he was credit with 
 some cruel things ; some said 'twas spite. 
 Johnny Wiseman was well enough if you did 
 not spite him ; if you did, he would spite ye 
 worse back. There was Jan Reel, the son of 
 old Jan Reel, as see'd the old windlass well 
 and the ' Cat-o'-Bell ' filled in by Garge and 
 Meary Gait. Jan Reel, this one had a sick 
 cow, tu. They seemed to be onlucky, father 
 and son ; their cattle was always sick and 
 dying. Some said 'twas their own faults, 
 they was lazy to 'tend the cattle proper, as 
 
 123
 
 124 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 wants care ; with care, they reward a man as 
 childers ; they must be reared well to reward. 
 So Jan Reel's cows began to die, and, after a 
 bit, he began to say, ' I be bewitched ; some- 
 body have wished me ill. I'll find the witch. 
 I'll go to Johnny Hooper's, and hear what 
 he have to say.' So he walks over the 
 moors to Johnny Hooper's. Now, Jan Reel 
 was ever near, and miser-like, so he took 
 nothing in his hand but a crab that had been 
 give to he, and cost him nothing. Johnny 
 Hooper could not abide the mean and stingy, 
 so Jan Reel, if he had been wise, would have 
 taken a duck to make duckee stew, as there 
 was plenty running about in his farm yard. 
 Well, Mr Johnny Hooper was short with 
 the old skin-a-flint, so he say, — 
 
 ' Jan Reel, yer cattle be ill wishtd, and so 
 will ye, tu, if ye don't mind. I see what is a- 
 coming on ye. There will be ricks, bonfires 
 — ricks make good bonfires. Ah ! see how 
 they blaze in friend Jan Reel's yard ; that 
 is what I see a-coming on ye. Bonfires ! 
 They'll warm ye, though ye can't warm no 
 one else's hand.'
 
 
 Bkttn Neptune.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 127 
 
 Jan Reel said, — 
 
 ' Lors, that is worse and worse. I'm a poor 
 man, and then 'twill be ruin, Maister Hooper.' 
 
 Jan Reel were always a plaintive speaker, 
 now he fairly whin'd. 
 
 Then says Johnny Hooper, — 
 
 1 Go home over the moors, and the first 
 auld woman you sees alone, no body by 
 (mind ye, a-al alone, nobody nigh by), she'll 
 be the witch has have ill-wishted your cows. 
 You must scratch her with a bunch of brimble, 
 or what you can find. Now I don't tell ye 
 to hurt her, but, being an old witch, you must 
 draw her blood, and when ye have drawn 
 the witch's blood, you can sleep comfortable 
 in your bed, as snoog and waarm as bon- 
 fires can make ye.' 
 
 This rough, ignorant old chap goes home 
 over the moors to the top of Mariassic Town. 
 There was a poor old woman, call'd Betty 
 Neptune ; she carried on her shoulders a panier 
 of fish for sale, but now she had sold all her 
 fish, so stayed to pick a few sticks to boil 
 her crock o' taties and pilchards agen her 
 son Bonny, or Bonnypeart Neptune come in
 
 128 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 with his boat. Bonnypeart was a strange, 
 wildish chap ; he was not cliver, but he was 
 strong, and a good son to his mother. 
 
 Jan Reel walks up step-ee-toe behind Betty 
 Neptune, and rubs a bit of prickly fuzz in 
 her face ; she screech, and banged him with 
 the fish panier. 
 
 So Jan Reel got two blackee eyes, and the 
 worst of the encounter with Betty Neptune, 
 and she went away home to tell her big son 
 Bonnypeart. He said, — 
 
 ' This very night I'll be off to Vogue parish, 
 and I'll wake up that Jan Reel.' And he did, 
 and he set all the ricks ablaze, and then, 
 when Jan Reel came out, he drubbed him 
 fine, as he said, — 
 
 ' Take that for my mither. Ah, ye shall 
 not treat her rough agen, not if Bonnypeart 
 Neptune know it.' 
 
 The people round about took agen Johnny 
 Hooper, and said he was ' citing people to 
 do mischief to one another, and they said 
 Johnny Hooper must mind his self what he 
 was about ; or they would see to it.' 
 
 And some gentlemen farmers say they would
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 129 
 
 ' stop Mr John Hooper's pranks ! ' they would 
 have ' no more of his pranks ; ' so the crafty- 
 ones, these gentlemen farmers, said they would 
 unmask Johnny Hooper, and show the foolish 
 people he was no wise man at all, but 
 only a very or-din-nary auld mortal of an im- 
 poster, they would test he before the public, 
 and — and they digged a pit-fall for Johnny 
 Wiseman. They was fine and cunning, as you 
 shall presently see. Some farmer had been 
 and trapp'd an auld fox ; so the crafty ones, as 
 was a-plotting Mr Johnny Hooper's downfall, 
 gets hold of the fox — in secret, as 'tis not 
 many as would like to own as how they had 
 trapp'd a fox in the country as is hunted by 
 the best hunt in all England, ' The Barrow 
 to the Fore Hunt.' 
 
 The two crafty ones, by name, was Mr 
 Tregeagle, the steward to Sir Kit-Kattle, and 
 the other was Mr Trounce, the publican or 
 landlord of Barley Sheaf Inn, to Stickzer 
 Church Town. Mr Tregeagle rode over with 
 the old dead fox under his coat. 'Twas a 
 mercy for un he did not meet long with the 
 hounds that afternoon, for sure they would
 
 i 3 o IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 have torn he to pieces on the scent of the 
 old fox. When he come in to the inn yard 
 he shout for Mr Trounce, and he do tell the 
 landlord the secret behind the pump, and he 
 showed the old fox, and he said, — 
 
 ' Do ye think, Mr Trounce, unbeknownest to 
 yer missus and darters, ye could make a pie 
 crustee, and put this here old fox into a pie ? ' 
 
 Says Mr Trounce, — 
 
 ' He have an air with him, that old fox ! 
 He wont be the sweetest cooking ; but I'll 
 do it. I'll do it, if I gets up in the middle 
 of the night to 'eat the oven ! I'll cook un in 
 a pie. Yes, tho' it be a nose-teazing thing to 
 do — and no nose-gay — but I'll do it.' 
 
 The next day but one was the court rent 
 day of Sir Kit-Kattle's, and it was held in 
 the Barley Sheaf Inn. So the company 
 'sembled down steers in the sanded parlour 
 of the Barley Sheaf. After a bit the room was 
 choke full, and much buzz over cattle and 
 crops. 
 
 Mr Trounce opened the door and hollered, — 
 
 ' Gentlemun ! Dinner is prounced ! Foller 
 I up steers to the dine parlour ! '
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 131 
 
 Mr Tregeagle, as the steward of Sir Kit- 
 Kattle, sits to the bottom of the table, and 
 the pie was brought in all of a smoke ! Now, 
 Mr Trounce had baked that pie so un- 
 common well, there was only an air of innions 
 about it, so nobody 'spected what was in that 
 pie ! 
 
 ''Twas a brave pie ! ' as Mr Trounce whisper 
 to Mr Tregeagle. ' It might have been a lambees 
 tail pie ! It looked innocent enough ! ' 
 
 Mr Tregeagle stands up, and he taps the 
 crust with the carvers, and he cleared his 
 pipes to make a speeeh, as some parsons do 
 afore they gives out their textes. Some 
 thing is coming ! as with his eye he sweeps 
 the 'sembled company, so all eyes are fixed 
 on he with stark stare ; for they all see 'tis 
 'portant what is welling up on Mr Tregeagle's 
 tongue for speech ; for why should he go for 
 to look so solemn, and balance the carving- 
 knife as if he was a-judging weight, if not so ? 
 Then, having gathered all eyes on himself, he 
 do turn quick sharp on Mr John Hooper, 
 and they follows the lead, and all eyes stare 
 at Mr John Hooper, who have his elbows well 
 
 G
 
 132 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 plant on the table, with knife and fork in 
 hand, ready to fall tu. 
 
 Mr Tregeagle says, — 
 
 ' Gentlemun, and Mr John Hooper in 
 'tickler we do all know, up and down thro' 
 Cornwall, the proper powerful wise man. 
 Now, there's two meanings to that word, one 
 the common witchcraft meaning, the t'other 
 a son of Solomon. I won't go so far as to 
 say Mr John Hooper ain't a son of Solo- 
 mon ; but I do say the folks as consult 
 he in the witch line ain't, to my mind, sons 
 of Solomon ; but there is some here as do 
 give credit to Mr John Hooper, and that 
 he can see thro' a deal board, two inch 
 thick, the lanscrape beyond, as if that board 
 were only a milky strainer. (Laughter.) 
 
 'It is pleasant, gentlemun, all round. So 
 now, Mr Hooper, in a pleasant way, if you 
 would be pleased to obligee I and company 
 by a-telling me what is in this here pie ? As 
 you are counted a wise man, ye can for 
 sure know what this here pie is made of? 
 What is in this here pie ? ' 
 
 Mr Johnny Hooper was dumber- founder'd
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 135 
 
 to be asked before the company and gentry, 
 'What was in that pie?' He were, as you 
 may say, wil-der-red, and took all of a heap 
 to be asked, ' What was in that pie ? ' 
 
 There had been a passel o' ton-gue-ing 
 away. Now all was silent, solemn, awaiting, 
 awaiting for the wizard's answer. 
 
 Then says Johnny Hooper, says he, — 
 
 ' The old, old fox caught at last.' 
 
 The company did burst their side with 
 laughter when Mr Tregeagle said, — 
 
 ' Yes, sure, the old fox trapp'd and put 
 in a pie.' 
 
 There was roars of laughter till something 
 less savour come in, and they fell tu like 
 good Cornish trenchermen, as they were. 
 
 After harvest was well in, and no moon 
 about, 'twas suspicious time to rin a cargo or 
 two, and the fishermen to Polvogue was 
 good hands at smuggling, every man, woman 
 and child had a hand in it ; and how to 
 dodge the preventive officer and his men 
 was all their bringing up, and the revenue 
 cutter, and as us lan'smen, high up in 
 the parish, we all had a venture, and some
 
 136 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 was part owners (or honours as we call 
 them). 
 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose his self was pretty 
 daring, he had a boat, a cutter rigg'd, called 
 the 'Sea Pink.' She was painted 'pink,' 
 light, for reasons best known to Mr Johnnie. 
 There was not one born in Vogue that did 
 not know all about the voyages of the ' Sea 
 Pink.' She was like a good story - book, 
 for the ventures she went through, and how 
 she rinned, and how she 'scaped. ' The " Sea 
 Pink" is lying off/ or 'the "Sea Pink" is in 
 bay, ' or ' she have shown a clear pair of 
 heels to the revenue cutter's men.' This was 
 all the talks during the season she was afloat. 
 
 When Madame Pencoose returned to 
 Trenisky, after her call on Miss Fanny, 
 she could not leave well alone, as Miss 
 Fanny had declared nothing would make 
 her wed so low, but Madame Pencoose 
 must up, and tell her son she had interfered. 
 
 Mr Johnnie was like a mad man, mad 
 with his mother, mad with all, and he says, — 
 
 1 You have ruined me. I don't care what 
 becomes of me. I'll go to the bad ; I'll go
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 137 
 
 off in the " Sea Pink"— no I won't, I'll do 
 something they shall transport me for, or I'll 
 get hanged. I'll be the death of that French- 
 man,' so he raved out. 'Twas a time they 
 had. 
 
 The old Squire said, — 
 
 ' Let the boy bide, and if he have a mind 
 to marry Miss Uglow, let un.' 
 
 1 Oh, Squire,' says Madame, ' she's only 
 the daughter of a mine captain, and her 
 uncle is Mr Bullen of Tredinnick ; it can't 
 be.' 
 
 1 Why not ? ' and for the first time he threw 
 the trade Madame was reared on in her face. 
 ' A mine captain's daughter is as good as a 
 shoemaker's.' 
 
 'Or the son of a bal-girl,' said Madame 
 Pencoose leaving the room. 
 
 The ' Sea Pink ' was being fitted out for a 
 long voyage, and they said Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose is off to South America, as Miss 
 Fanny Uglow will not have him. 
 
 But he called at Tredinnick one afternoon. 
 As luck would have it Mons Marc Juste 
 call'd at the same time, and Miss Sally
 
 138 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Pencoose had come before, and had been 
 a-nutting with Miss Fanny. She had told 
 Miss Sally she had better not come to 
 Tredinnick as Miss Fanny said she did not 
 think her parents liked her coming. But 
 Miss Sally had actual shed tears, and said 
 ' she would cling to her friend thro' thick and 
 thin.' If the men who saw Miss Fanny 
 were in love with her the women were more 
 so ; and it takes a fine disposition to rule 
 the hearts of women, and Miss Fanny was 
 of noble heart. 
 
 The two pretty young ladies are resting 
 on the garden seat, with their long crook 
 sticks by their side, laughing and counting 
 their nuts, Mons Marc on one knee picking 
 up nuts that had fallen. He had been most 
 entertaining, and Miss Fanny was beginning 
 again to think she liked him. Certainly he 
 was a clever man, and the best of company ; 
 and he talked of things that seemed like 
 fairy land, of gay soldiers and beautiful 
 women. 'Twas spi-cey talk ; even Missus 
 Bullen allow, 'twas in-ter-es-ting, mighty so. 
 
 When Mr Johnnie Pencoose ran up the
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 139 
 
 stone steps and opened the small garden 
 door with the deep arch and creepers hang- 
 ing overhead, the pretty picture inside on the 
 lawn made him glower and curse and swear 
 in his heart, fine ; he was that savage, 
 he would have kill'd Mons Marc on the 
 spot. 
 
 And he said, ' I would like to kill him, though 
 I know she won't have me either way.' His 
 heart was sore, full of passion ; but Miss 
 Fanny thought ' how tiresome of that ill- 
 tempered Johnnie Pencoose to come just 
 now, when it was so pleasant, and we were 
 having an agreeable time — really — I wish he 
 would keep away; go off in his "Sea Pink," 
 and never see him again.' 
 
 1 How con-trai-er-ry the world of men and 
 women is,' and yet if ever she breaks down 
 and fall in love with him she will have no 
 better time of it than most wives, she had 
 better keep clear and keep her light heart ; 
 sweet dear, with her laughing ways. 
 
 So Mr Johnnie begun rough to his sister, 
 as if it was her fault all the con-trai-er-ri-ness 
 of life.
 
 i4o IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 ' Sally ! Madame and the old gentleman are 
 in a rage at home ; when you drove the pony 
 out you left the gate open, and all the bullocks 
 and pigs are on the front lawn, and one 
 bullock canter'd thro' the new garden frames, 
 and is now kicking about in the forcing pit. 
 You will get it when you get home ; they both 
 say you shan't go to uncle's in London for the 
 Christmas, you will have to stay at home.' 
 
 ' I don't believe you, Johnnie. I never 
 left the gate open, and how spiteful of them 
 if I did, to say I should not go to London ; ' and 
 Miss Sally, who was rather a cry baby, begun 
 to sob. 
 
 It always cut Miss Fanny to the heart to see 
 anybody cry, and she never seem'd to get 
 used to it, though her friend must have done 
 it often. 
 
 Miss Fanny started up, and said, — 
 
 ' How dare you, Johnnie, make her cry, it 
 is most likely stories, those are the sort of 
 tricks you like to play your mother and sisters, 
 but it is no fun, the roughest horse play. Come, 
 Sally, don't cry, I don't believe him, they 
 wouldn't stop your going to London. They
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 141 
 
 never said it. I don't believe him,' and her 
 dark blue eyes looked angrily at Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose. 
 
 ' I daresay you don't believe me, you 
 never do ; but I'm not the li — ' 
 
 Mons Marc finished the word with the 
 French and a shrug. 
 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose could not contain 
 himself, and grasped his riding whip again 
 as if he would thrash him, and there was 
 a fine bit of playing — acting, only they 
 were not acting, it was all real, at least with 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose whu was too passion- 
 ate to see the consequences. 
 
 Miss Fanny tried her best, but what she 
 said only made it worse, so she took Miss 
 Sally by the arm and said, — 
 
 1 Dear, we must leave these angery 
 Gentlemen.' 
 
 ' Oh, how rude Johnnie is, he will never 
 learn manners ; and we were all so happy. 
 Did you ever hear any one talk like Mons 
 Marc, and what a gay and beautiful world 
 he has lived in. Oh, what heavenly place 
 Paris must be. Fancy, if one could get
 
 142 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 the chance of getting out of this horrid 
 old Vogue Parish ; if one could only live 
 in Paris ! ' 
 
 1 I don't know, dear,' said Miss Fanny ; 'you 
 were happy enough nutting just now ; you 
 said it was fun.' 
 
 ' Oh, I am so sick of Trenisky and all. 
 I hate this dull place,' cried Miss Sally. 
 
 Meantime, the two men became more 
 sensible as they became more furious, the 
 sense of cool determined vengeance. They 
 walked down the lane, and no doubt they 
 made some arrangement then to meet 
 elsewhere, and for deadly purpose. 
 
 A few days after the 'Sea Pink ' was 
 ready. No one knew whether she was after 
 smuggling or not ; they said she was going 
 to Spain first. 
 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose took leave of 
 Maister Bullen, as if he was never coming 
 back again, and the two had a long dis- 
 course in the middle of a harrish (stubble) 
 field, it is wise to talk secrets in the 
 middle of a ten-acre field, you can see all 
 round you that no eavesdroppers are nigh by.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 143 
 
 Poor Mr Johnnie Pencoose did not seem his 
 rollicking self at all when he said good-bye 
 to Missus, and Miss Fanny was call'd down 
 by Maister ; but she set her face as a flint 
 and as cool and handsome as you could 
 see. 
 
 1 How she hates me,' he said, with as 
 deep a groan as any man gave to him- 
 self.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Now comes a strange tale, and I must give 
 it, as far as I are able, in the word of 
 Lord Respry, as he told the Maister long 
 after, when things got cleared up a bit : — 
 
 ' I was in my library when my man 
 came to ask for an interview for " M ons 
 Marc," or, as he was known to me, as 
 young Baron Laraile. I rose to meet him, 
 as he was my equal in birth, though he 
 had been in disguise as the cook in my 
 establishment. I had given him the refuge 
 of my house at the request of a beautiful 
 French lady (round her exquisite grace 
 gathers the romance of my life), so I could 
 but grant her request to give a home to 
 her friend. 
 
 ' It was disagreeable enough to have a 
 
 144
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 145 
 
 hot - tempered young Frenchman in a very 
 anomalous position in my house ; but it 
 could not be helped, and I had to make 
 the best of it. He began by quarrelling 
 with the son of an old squireen, one of 
 my neighbours, and that was very unpleasant. 
 I cautioned him well over this. 
 
 ' This morning he came into the library 
 with his brows knit, and a handful of letters 
 in his hand. 
 
 ' I was told Baron Laraile was poor ; but 
 he seemed to get money sent him. He 
 bought himself a fine hack, and he was 
 always in the tip-toe of fashion. I warned 
 him the people would talk, it did not suit 
 his cook's character at all ; but he only 
 laughed. He was a very pleasant fellow, 
 though I often wished him well out of the 
 house. All my English servants hated him. 
 My French valet more than all despised 
 him ; but of course I always cut him short 
 if he began to talk of Baron Laraile. He 
 seemed to delight in calling him " Mons 
 Cook." The only person in the house who 
 seemed on friendly terms with him was
 
 146 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Sweeny, the real cook ; but I always thought 
 Sweeny a first-rate cook, but a consummate 
 rascal. 
 
 'The Baron began in French, — 
 
 ' " I wish, my lord, to go to London, if 
 convenient to you ; but I cannot go with- 
 out disguise. I hear, my lord, you are 
 leaving. If you would confer one more 
 favour on me, and allow me to travel as 
 your valet, I should be intensely obliged, and 
 will give you a thousand thanks. From 
 London I hope to go to Germany, where 
 I may settle something, and be able to re- 
 turn to my home in the Pyrenees." 
 
 ' " I am glad to hear it, Baron," I said, 
 greatly relieved at the speedy prospect of 
 getting rid of him, " and I have no objec- 
 tion to your travelling as my second valet. 
 Of course I must take Antoine." 
 
 ' He frowned at this I thought afterwards. 
 
 ' " I am only going as far as Exeter, and 
 then I have to meet an agent between Wey- 
 mouth and Exeter." 
 
 ' Baron Laraile's face brightened as he 
 said, —
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 147 
 
 ' " My Lord, the very thing ; I can cross 
 from Weymouth, most likely ? " 
 
 « « Very well ; what is it to-day — Tuesday ? 
 We will leave on Thursday." 
 
 ' We bowed and parted. 
 
 ' As we got out of Cornwall we had to 
 face a tremendous snowstorm. I never re- 
 member such a storm so early in Novem- 
 ber. When we got to Plymouth they said 
 it was impossible for my carriage to get on 
 to Exeter ; it was doubtful if the coach 
 would run. However, I laughed ; with four 
 horses and my post-boys, why should we 
 not do it ? At last we reached Exeter and 
 the very comfortable hotel. I said I would 
 wait a day ; and if my agent did not come 
 on to Exeter, I would not take the carriage. 
 The snow had drifted, so that I thought it 
 was doubtful if we could drive. The Baron 
 proposed our riding to a certain little inn 
 I had spoken of; and the agent would not 
 be far off, and could well ride there ; and he, 
 Baron Laraile, would push on to Weymouth. 
 
 ' So we three were to ride the next day.
 
 148 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 The next morning- the boots came to in- 
 form me my valet Antoine was very ill. 
 Of course I sent for a doctor ; the doctor 
 shook his head, and talked of a "severe 
 chill." "Very severe," I answered, "seeing he 
 seems quite insensible. I cannot think what 
 can be the matter with him ; he is hardy 
 little French fellow as ever was." The 
 doctor smiled at my being puzzled, and 
 repeated, " a severe chill." Then I con- 
 sulted the Baron, who seemed full of con- 
 cern that poor Antoine was so ill. He 
 thought it would be better for me to remain 
 till Antoine got better and recovered. I 
 never liked to be baulked in anything I 
 have undertaken, and I had promised Lady 
 Respry to meet her at my daughter's in 
 Wales, so I said, — 
 
 ' " Well, Baron, do as you like ; I shall ride, 
 as I said, to meet my agent." 
 
 ' He said, — 
 
 ' " Then, my Lord, allow me to go with 
 you ; and when you return to Exeter, I will 
 wish adieu, and go on to Weymouth." 
 
 ' And so we started. It was a beautiful
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 149 
 
 morning as we trotted out of Exeter and 
 left the old walled city and its cathedral 
 behind us. At first it was well enough 
 riding ; it was not freezing, and we were on 
 the old coach road that had been cleared of 
 snow ; however, as the day went on, it became 
 overcast and bitterly cold, and we became 
 very silent as riding became more difficult. 
 At last I said, — 
 
 ' " Baron, if we could only read that sign- 
 post on the hedge, we should know where 
 we were." 
 
 ' He answered, — 
 
 ' " I will do it, my lord ; and I'll climb up 
 the hedge, clear it, and strike a light. I 
 have a Spanish alhimette." 
 
 ' We spoke in French, as the Baron's 
 English was not good. 
 
 ' I held his horse. He climbed the high 
 hedge with some difficulty ; as the snow had 
 drifted on to it he could get no footing ; 
 but, having reached the top, he climbed up 
 the sign-post, knocked off the snow with his 
 sleeve, and lit the coil or tinder. It struck 
 me, as his dark face was illuminated over 
 
 H
 
 ISO IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 his many brown cloth riding-capes, that the 
 Baron's was a very evil face, and he looked 
 like a murderous brigand ; and my misgivings 
 about him seemed to take form and shape 
 then and there. 
 
 ' I felt for my saddle or horse pistols, 
 they were not in their leather case. I had 
 always kept them in their cases going 
 any journey, as my father and grandfather 
 had done before, although, of course, it was 
 far safer travelling, in fact one hardly heard 
 of such a thing as highway robbery. I 
 put my hand on the Baron's saddle. Under 
 a thick greatcoat hung the leather cases, 
 my pistols inside. I quickly transferred them 
 to their own cases. They were loaded 
 I knew, and I had a tin box of caps in 
 my pocket. I had just time to buckle it 
 down as I lent over the horse so as 
 to look undisturbed, when the Baron 
 spelt out, for my translation, the sign-post — 
 
 '"S-O-R-R-L-E-Y G-R-E-E N." 
 
 '"Ah," I said with a start, "we are only
 
 He looked like a murderous brigand."
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 153 
 
 two hundred yards from the inn," and to 
 myself, " God be thanked, and I am armed 
 young man, whether you are or not." 
 
 ' As he got into the saddle I said, — 
 
 ' " Now trot on, Baron, round that corner 
 you will see the light of the inn." 
 
 ' It was light enough for me to see he 
 put his hand under the coat and searched 
 for the pistols. Ah, my friend is getting 
 dangerous. A sharp whistle. 
 
 ' " What is that for ? " he said. 
 
 ' " Only to wake up the ostler," I replied. 
 
 'In a few minutes we were in the inn 
 porch, and with the landlord bustled out 
 my old, white-haired agent. I took out 
 my pistols and put them in the deep 
 pockets of my riding coat, and yet it 
 seemed foolish in a little Devonshire inn to 
 be so cautious. We dined together in the 
 little inn parlour, and never seemed a 
 more harmless trio, and, perhaps, I had 
 been rather foolish to suspect him, and, 
 perhaps, it was nothing but the old caution 
 coming up, as with the English army in 
 Spain I had learnt to be somewhat on
 
 154 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 the alert. I never knew the Baron could 
 be so pleasant, and he talked his broken 
 English well to please my agent, Mr Sam- 
 bells. At last the Baron rose, wishing us 
 farewell, as, before we were at breakfast, 
 he said he should be on his road to 
 Weymouth. He thanked me profusely for 
 my kindest hospitality and protection. I 
 felt certain now I had wronged him, so 
 I held out my hand, but which he did 
 not seem to see, as he turned to bow to 
 Mr Sambells. 
 
 1 Sambells and myself remained talking 
 some time on business. He had sold a small 
 property for me in the neighbourhood. As 
 we finished Sambells said, — 
 
 ' " I have, my Lord, the money in gold and 
 notes, as you wished, two thousand three 
 hundred pounds. It is a large sum in cash ; 
 but as you wrote wishing me to meet you 
 here I have done so." 
 
 <<( Quite right," I answered, it was as I 
 desired. I had certain reasons for requiring 
 a sum of money in Wales, where I was 
 going after Exeter. Mr Sambells then asked
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 155 
 
 me if I would keep the money, or if he 
 should, till the morning, "as" he said, "it is safe 
 enough in this little quiet inn, well known 
 to me." 
 
 1 1 remembered my pistols in my coat pockets, 
 and how I had locked the door, and had the 
 key in my pocket — so my pistols were safe 
 enough, and I told Sambells I would " take 
 the money." When Sambells handed it over 
 and went off, I remained, as I thought, a half 
 hour ; it was past twelve o'clock, the lights, 
 such as they were, were left burning, and I 
 thought some one must be about when I got 
 to my room door, and put the key in it, it 
 would not turn. " Here is a go ! Surely 
 some one has been tampering with the lock." 
 I turned the handle, the door was unlocked. 
 Of course I looked sharply round the room ; 
 it was all right. My pistols were safe in my 
 coat pockets, and I examined them well all 
 right ! I drew the charge, and reloaded ; 
 the room was undisturbed, except some 
 blundering chamber maid had brought in a 
 huge wooden tub half-filled with cold water. 
 
 ' I always had a cold bath summer and
 
 156 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 winter, so I suppose Sambells had kindly 
 seen to this ; he knew my habit. I can't 
 lock the door, but I'll put the tub against it ; 
 it will be something to do to move that, and 
 my pistols at hand. I'll give any thief a 
 warm reception. I placed the money and 
 my watch under the pillow, and put the loaded 
 pistols on a chair close to the bed. Pulling 
 up the blind there would be a glimmer of 
 light in the little room. I fell asleep — at 
 first so tired that I felt indifferent to money 
 or anything else, not so young as I was, 
 worn out with my long ride — a dreamless 
 sleep. Wish! Wash!! what was that? In 
 another minute, before I was awake enough 
 to think, a cold muzzle just on my temple, 
 and a hand under my pillow slowly grasping 
 the watch and money. I lay quite quiet ; it 
 would be death if I moved. My life was 
 of more value than the two thousand or so, 
 and my watch ; I did not move, I felt both 
 my pistols were removed. Lying quiet, as he 
 left the room, I could swear to his height 
 and the collars of his riding-cloak ; it was 
 Baron Laraile. In one instant the scoundrel
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 157 
 
 had managed to lock the door. A bell ! No ; 
 the rope had been cut. I kicked and shouted, 
 no answer. I opened the window and shouted 
 "Murder" as loud as I could. After a time 
 a window was let down across the snowy- 
 green, and a shout, — 
 
 1 " Be ye drunk there or ye sober-wise ? " 
 
 1 " Certainly not drunk. I will give you a 
 sovereign if you get up and call up the people 
 here ? " 
 
 1 " You are a gentleman, I s'pose, and as 
 good as your word ? " 
 
 ' " Yes, come along, you know Mr Sambells, 
 he is my agent." 
 
 1 " Then you must be Mr Respry, commonly 
 called Lord ; but I call no man Lord," shouted 
 back the stout Devonian Puritan. 
 
 ' Of course the Baron was missing, and the 
 stables were empty. My horse and the two 
 or three wretched nags that belonged to the 
 place gone. They strayed home in the day- 
 light. Twenty miles out my horse was found 
 shot dead. He must have then got off with 
 the other horse. 
 
 ' A horse may be a vain thing to save a
 
 153 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP. 
 
 man, but two can do it. When I got back 
 to Exeter it was too late. The curious thing 
 was, he was afterwards traced to Weymouth, 
 but, more remarkable still, he got off in Mr 
 Johnnie Pencoose's yacht, the " Sea Pink." '
 
 The Sea Pink.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 All the people round about Polvogue won- 
 dered that the ' Sea Pink' and her ' Honour,' 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose, was never heard tell of. 
 The beautiful ' Sea Pink ' seemed to have flown 
 right away out of our oceans altogether ; and 
 she was not a-rinning a cargo either. And 
 Squire Pencoose never heard tell of his son. 
 The poor old Squire got very wisht in 
 temper at the loss of his plauge-ee young 
 son, as he said " 'twas too quiet by half." 
 And the Squire fell foul of Madame, and 
 said, — 
 
 ' If you had not 'posed the match he would 
 have been with us to this day.' 
 
 Madame said, — 
 
 1 Squire, you don't know anything about it. 
 That proud young chit would not have 
 him.' 
 
 161
 
 1 62 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 'I don't believe ye! And he wrapped up 
 in she, worshipping the very ground she 
 trod on ! True love must tell. My poor 
 boy ! ' 
 
 He was getting quite totelish with the loss 
 of his son. 
 
 And the old gentleman would ride over 
 and talk a good deal with Miss Fanny, 
 bringing her flowers, etc. And Miss Fanny 
 felt for him, and she allowed him to go on 
 talking about his son. He was a proper hero 
 in his father's eyes. No one could shoot, 
 hunt or fish like ' our young fellow Johnnie.' 
 
 Madame Pencoose took it to heart quite 
 as much Mr Johnnie's never writing a line 
 to say where he was ; and unknown to his 
 father she advertised a lot : — 
 
 'Would "Sea Pink" return to the house of 
 his family.' 
 
 Miss Fanny herself began to get rather 
 moody - hearted. She had a great shock 
 when her uncle told her Lord Respry's 
 tale. And Lord Respry had set to work to
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 163 
 
 make inquiries about him, and to try and 
 trace him out, Mons Marc. 
 
 1 Fancy,' she said to Miss Jinny, for Miss 
 Sally was wintering to London Town, — 
 ' Fancy his being a common thief ! To 
 rob and nearly murder Lord Respry, who 
 had shown him so much kindness and hos- 
 pitality. And Lord Respry says he must 
 have tampered with his letters to have 
 known he was going to fetch a large sum 
 of money. At all events, he nearly murdered 
 poor Antoine, as he drugged his coffee, no 
 doubt. What a villain and a scoundrel ! ' 
 
 1 Well, Missus/ says Maister one day, ' I 
 have news for ye ! Your cousin, Captain 
 Walter Wonce, is to be High Sheriff next 
 year. He's one of the richest men in all 
 Cornwall. Here's a letter to invite we to 
 Wheal Fortune Castle ; down near Hayle, 
 ain't it?' 
 
 1 I believe 'tis a fine place ; but he did 
 and do call it his little breakfast cruets, 
 his pepper castors ; and a salt-cellar in the 
 middle is his style of ar-ti-teck-shore. What 
 do you say, Fannee, my child, for a change,
 
 1 64 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 to get the wild roses back into your cheeks, 
 child ? ' said Missus, with anxious look at Miss 
 Fanny. 
 
 ' I am not invited,' said Miss Fanny. ' I'll 
 take care of the house. Do go, Aunt Jin- 
 nifer.' 
 
 'No, Fanny; you are asked particularly.' 
 Now, I should like to tell ye about Captain 
 Walter Wonce. How did he make his 
 money ? First they did say he come into 
 notice as a lad of fourteen by the wonderful 
 power he had with the divining-rod. Now, 
 I have never seen a divining-rod, but I 
 have heard 'tis a hazel-nut in bud, a forkee 
 hazel-nut, and anyone who has the power 
 can hold it in the hollow of his hand 
 without touching it with his fingers. He 
 holds it downwards, and races along ; a 
 pretty race it takes you ! Run you must, 
 and can't stay yerself. An open shaft and 
 ye will be in it afore you could say ' Cam 
 Brea.' Then they tell, before the power 
 comes, you have to shut yourself up in the 
 dark, and take no food ; and after a bit 
 starving and in the dark you can't sleep, you
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 165 
 
 become fully charged. Then you are let out. 
 You have cut the hazel rod first ; all these 
 days it has been with you. Then this part 
 I have seen — a youth tearing along like a 
 mad boy, all the mine captains a-rushing after 
 him, the boy, with the rod in his hand. Then 
 it begin to shake and jump, and you stand 
 still, and with the rod in your hand, and 
 you are fully charged with whatever it may 
 be. You can't nowise pass that spot. 
 Lower away ! cut a shaft ; there is mineral 
 there. 
 
 Now, some do say 'tis such a mystery 
 they don't like a-talking of it. Others do 
 say 'tis nothing but natural, and .'tis ' a power 
 in its infancy.' However, they say it was a 
 sight to see 'em start. Little Watty Wonce, 
 as he was a-call'd then, let out of the dark 
 cell with no victuals, and some say I tell 
 ye wrong. He first raced to cut his stick, 
 a good forkee hazel-nut, the forks cut off 
 into a wand. Then he would place it in the 
 palm of his hand, and off he would tear, the 
 mine gentry after un, all in black broad-cloth, 
 respectable coats to do business in, but not
 
 1 66 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 to tear across the moors on a hot summer 
 day. 'Twas a sight to see 'em start ! — Watty 
 Wonce's long hair a-flowing. Perhaps he got 
 the current charge in his hair — it used to 
 stand a'most on end — and that, maybe, when 
 he dropp'd the power, he shaved off, and wore 
 a wig. Then, I say, Watty Wonce would 
 come to a dead lock, and the hazel-nut wand 
 or rod would jump and shake in his hand. 
 There was mineral there. 
 
 I have heard tell little Watty Wonce was 
 dead beat after that, and had proper head- 
 aches. Well, that was the beginning of his 
 fortune. After that he was a skemey one, 
 he was, and he used his brains to some 
 purpose. He was, as you may say, ' a proper 
 Carnish car-rack-tur,' and no mistake. He used 
 to tell a pretty sight of jokes against himself. 
 
 'Twas all in a dazzling inn to London 
 town — 'twas not call'd ' Royal,' ' Red Lion,' 
 or ' Saladin Head,' but only after the street 
 nigh by was it a-named. 'Twas bright with 
 glass and glitter, fit for the Lord Mayor to 
 dine to table every day. In come Captain 
 Wonce, our High Sheriff, and sat he down
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 167 
 
 to table. They had just gone and put the 
 brath into big silver urn-like thing. Says 
 Captain Wonce to the waiter, — 
 
 ' Waiter, I have got a passel o' silver in 
 my house down by Camborne they do call 
 ' Wheal Fortune Cassel ' — a pretty breakfast 
 cruet's of a cassel it be too — but that ain't 
 here or there. But what I say is, I have 
 never see'd an urn to hold bra-aths in like 
 this here.' 
 
 ' Yessir — no, sir — indeed, sir ! ' 
 
 1 Now, what do ye, go for to ca-al this 
 here urn to hold bra-aths in ? ' 
 
 * Yessir — please, sir — to hold bra-aths, sir ! 
 
 With the ladle in his hand a-stirring 
 round about, Captain Wonce says, 
 
 ' Why, man, ye know bra-ath's this here 
 trade ! ' 
 
 ' Yessir — soup, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, cockney fin-ni-ker, so-op, brath, 
 what do ye call, man, this here silver urn ? ' 
 
 ' A silver turin, sir.' 
 
 ' Ah, now, there 'tis ! Now I know what 
 to ca-al for tu shop. A centurin ! — that '11 
 do, waiter ! '
 
 1 68 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ' Yessir ! ' 
 
 The next day Captain Wonce goes to 
 the smartest shop 'long Regent Street, and 
 he says to the jeweller, — 
 
 ' I want a centurin ! ' 
 
 1 We have not got one, sir.' 
 
 ' What ? not got a centurion, for table, 
 to put bra-aths in ! ' 
 
 ' No, sir ; I am afraid we can't oblige you, sir. 
 We never had a centre piece as a centurion ! ' 
 
 ''Tisn't a sintre piece, man! 'Tis a urn 
 they put bra-aths in, but I expects a London 
 man would ca-al it so-o-p ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, sir ! for soup ! — a silver turin ! 
 
 1 That's the article. And mind me it be 
 zolid silver, good. None of yer gim-cracks 
 for me ! ' said Captain Wonce. 
 
 Then, coming back to the inn, he says 
 to his self, ' I wonder what cousin Jinnifer 
 Bullen would think of sich a fine urn to 
 hold bra-aths in ! I have not see'd she or 
 Anthony for many a day past. I'll write 
 to 'em, and invite 'em to Wheal Fortun 
 Cassel. And their niece, tu, as I hears, is 
 growed a fine gal.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 169 
 
 So it come to pass some time after 
 Maister and Missus and Miss Fanny start 
 away in the Coburg to Wheal Fortun Cassel. 
 
 The High Sheriff did it in proper style. 
 He was standing with his four serving men 
 in red plush on the steps, and he on the 
 topmost step, as seemed to me suitable he 
 had climbed the ladder to fortune. He say, — 
 
 'Wilcome! wilcome, cousin Jinnifer, yer 
 goodman and niece, Miss Fanny. I am 
 proud to see ye ! ' 
 
 Shrew man as he was, a fine brave girl 
 as Miss Fanny delight he, and he weren't 
 above showing proud of sich a beauty. 
 
 And he showed up all, and hand 'em all 
 about. Maister says, — 
 
 ' Tis a rare sight ; but they boiling steam 
 houses for plants is t' much for me. I'll 
 walk 'ee around by yer ricks and meadows to 
 the back, and see yer Jarsey heifers, if I 
 may.' 
 
 But Missus, she say, ' my,' and ' My life, 
 Fannee, look here ! ' hundreds and hundreds 
 of times. 
 
 And he, Captain Wonce, prettily delight 
 1
 
 170 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 in Miss Fanny, and cracked away his jokes 
 fine, and she laughed right gay as she had 
 not done for a long-full time. He cut her 
 flowers, and he said, — 
 
 ' I'll keep the rest; for to-morrow night I'm 
 going to give a ba-al.' 
 
 Now, even to Vogue Parish, where we 
 lived long and hearty, 'tis gloom time some- 
 times, and some are called away ; and about 
 this time we lost our old Rector, Dr Tregon- 
 pol, and I may say the parish was widowed 
 with the loss of he. And the boys and 
 maids fatherless. Fifty and two year he 
 had been Rector ; and he was a past master 
 in learning before he come, for Vogue was 
 a College living, and learned and steady men 
 always filled it. 
 
 Then come Dr Gwinear to the parish, and 
 his sister, Miss Kattern - Ann Gwinear, both 
 proper Cornish gentry, though they had lived 
 to Oxford a longish bit. Miss Kattern-Ann 
 was as learned every bit as her brother, Dr 
 Peter Luke Gwinear, D. D. The Vosrue 
 people soon highly respected Miss Kattern-
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 171 
 
 Ann; but she was certainly ''centrix,' as 
 they say. She took things up with a 
 flourish. All the parish must gan her gait 
 then. Sometimes 'twas one thing, sometimes 
 'twas another — the sick and the old, the 
 cottage 'orspital — she set going ; then 'twas 
 the babies as she knew nothing about — ' a 
 creskl as she say. She was all for thrift, 
 and to be clean and tidy. Of course the 
 ontidy ones did not like it, and the tidy ones 
 could do without it. 
 
 ' So there 'twas.' She would come in and 
 sweep the cottages out herself, if a person 
 was sick cover 'em up with sheets ; and 
 the dust she kicked up ! and the pitchers 
 she broke ! and the children she frighten'd ! 
 They used to say, — 
 
 ' There is Miss Kattern-Ann, like a cat in 
 a garret ! ' 
 
 The parish was tidied up fine ! 
 
 Fancy a village wash-house over the stream, 
 and the 'pliances, hot and cold, mangling — 
 so the husbands should not have the washing 
 about ! 
 
 Miss Kattern-Ann say to her brother, —
 
 172 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 * Peter-Luke, I leave the godliness to you 
 in the parish ; I'll look after the cleanli- 
 ness.' 
 
 So they was called by those names in the 
 parish — Miss Cleanliness and Dr Godliness. 
 I don't hold by calling names, but it seemed 
 suitable to they two. In looks they was quite 
 a pair — thin and tall, and most clever look- 
 ing ; but Dr Gwinear was the mildest and 
 the humblest. He would say, — 
 
 1 My dear, dear Kattern - Ann, the people 
 will not be ruled in this way.' 
 
 But she never hearken'd. She say, — 
 
 1 Peter- Luke, they must ! it is high time 
 some one took them in hand ! ' 
 
 But Dr Gwinear was great for schools ; 
 he built the schools, and in his time the 
 church was restored. They are going on at 
 that. So little is left of the old Vogue church, 
 with what they call restoring. 
 
 Ye have heard me speak of Tom John's 
 Tom. He had left the navy and had gone 
 off in the ' Sea Pink' with Mr Johnnie Pen- 
 coose. It was nigh upon two years since
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 173 
 
 the "Sea Pink' had left. One day, the 
 carrier's cart, that goes to Mariassic stopp'd 
 and let he down, Tom John's Tom ; and 
 pretty astonished we were! He had lost the 
 use of one leg, and he was blind of one 
 eye. No more hornpipes for poor Tom 
 John's Tom. 
 
 ' We asked how he come to be such a 
 cripple.' 
 
 He say, Tom John's Tom, — 
 
 ' It is too long a tale to tell ye standin' 
 here, right to the middle of the road, and, 
 moreo'r, I shall not tell ye much till I have 
 spake my message to Squire Pencoose. 
 
 'Where is the "Sea Pink;" you'll tell us 
 that much ; and where is Mr Johnny Pen- 
 coose ? ' 
 
 'The "Sea Pink" I should ha' think is 
 in Greek waters by now. Mr Johnnie Pen- 
 coose, if he is alive, he is in a French prison.' 
 
 ' What for ? ' they all cried out ; ' What 
 for?' 
 
 ' For jist sticking to his own and behav- 
 ing as a true Briton and hero,' was all 
 Tom John's Tom could say, and that arter-
 
 174 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 noon the neighbours lent him a donkey and 
 cart, and he went off to tell his tale to 
 Trenisky. 
 
 It seems 'twas time when the ' Sea Pink ' 
 started. She ran up to Plymouth, and her 
 honour, Mr Johnnie Pencoose, joined her 
 there ; then they went up channel, after 
 bit they ran into Weymouth. Mr Johnnie 
 landed, and one evening he came off with 
 Mons Marc in the ' Dhingy,' and they sailed 
 away that evening, and they ran down to 
 Bordeaux. There we landed Mons Marc. 
 Mr Johnnie never spoke to him all the voy- 
 age. After Bordeaux we went on Bayonne ; 
 went up the river and lay alongside the 
 quay, but a good bit from the wharfs and the 
 rest of the shippen'. One morning he had up 
 the cap'er, Cap'en Jimmoo Pomeroy, and they 
 landed together. In the evening Cap'en 
 Jimmoo come back and told a wisht poor 
 tale that Mr Johnnie Pencoose had fought 
 a duel with Mons Marc ; had brought him 
 away from England on purpose to fight him, 
 and it had ended bad for Mr Johnnie. He 
 was run through the body, alive and no
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 175 
 
 more. Captain Jimmoo said he had got the 
 doctor for him, but he could not understand 
 the surgeon. However, he took the bullet 
 out of his side, but he would not allow him 
 to be moved, so Captain Jimmoo had only- 
 come to fetch brandy and things ; he would 
 return in a few evenings ; we never saw 
 Captain Jimmoo again. 
 
 Two days after, the mate got an English 
 letter. It told him to take the 'Sea Pink', 
 down the river and remain in the outer har-i^, 
 bour, and the letter was signed for J. Pencoose. 
 Down went the ' Sea Pink,' and in the 
 evening she lay off the light-house. A gig 
 came alongside with five or six men. 
 
 Tu few minutes they were on the deck, 
 the tallest, Tom John's Tom would swear 
 ''twas the rascal Marc?' He went up to 
 mate and shot him dead — the rest of the 
 crew he shot down ; but the cook or steward 
 and Tom John's Tom, they jumped overboard 
 and made for shore — they fired at them from 
 the yacht — he felt he was hit on the head. 
 The steward, Tim Timmings, was not hurt. 
 They crawled away and hid themselves, and
 
 176 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 they saw the ' Sea Pink ' sail away. The 
 next day they was took up and put in a 
 French barn they called a prison ; all about 
 there Wellington had been with the English 
 army not so many years ago, and so all 
 about they hated the English, and would clap 
 one into prison for nothing at all. 
 
 Tom John's Tom relate his escape. They 
 was put into a sort of barn prison till the 
 Mari (as they do call, he say, a Mayor to 
 France), till he was satisfied they were not 
 spies, come to plan another invasion of the 
 English, but 'twas all excuse ; only spite 
 against the English. The old barn building 
 that they locked them up in, with Timothy Tim- 
 ming's, who was a Mariassic man we all knew 
 about he, in Vogue Parish. They were put 
 into a big room, very high up, at the top of 
 the building. On one side there was a 
 door bolted strong, that led down a long 
 flight of stone steps into the street, or rather 
 open market-place. There was a very small 
 window, with iron bars. No man could get in 
 or out, but Tim, who had a very narrer 
 head, could push it through and hold con-
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 177 
 
 verse with the market women. Market days 
 'twas high entertainment, like fair stannings 
 about. Rumberellas and fruit women, fine 
 and gay stalls, with every colour hankerchees 
 and beads and images ; he say more gay 
 than any show down to Truro Whitsun- 
 tide. The French women do screech 
 when angry, like parrots ; when they laugh 
 tu, they are shrill ; they all twitters like 
 sparrows. 
 
 So Tim would shout down, with his head 
 through the bars, some one or two French 
 words. They would laugh back and call 
 ' Singe ' ' Singe ' ; but Tim never could make 
 out what that meant. But there was one dark 
 woman who Tim said must be part Spanish, 
 and as we had sent Wellington and our army to 
 Spain, they was friendly to us. She used to 
 shout up ' Bo-no ! John-neV Tim took a great 
 fancy to she, but 'twas funny love-making. 
 She did run up the steps once or twice, and 
 left us something on the ledge of the window, 
 which she could reach from the steps, but the 
 sentry would be round, so she had to be quick 
 about it.'
 
 178 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 We ask the jailer about her. Was she 
 single or married ? 
 
 With signs and a few words Tim knew 
 that she had three husbands. He held up 
 three fingers. 
 
 Tim paled away a bit at this, but he showed 
 coin. She was rich. Then he hobbled about 
 to show the husbands were rich, but could only 
 hobble. They called her Madame ' Epper- 
 see-nee.' Now, on the other side of the room 
 was a door that opened into a verandah, but 
 'twas a long way from the ground. There was 
 two sentries on. One walked under the 
 verandah, except at high water, when he was 
 off duty, and no occasion for him to be on, as it 
 would be more than difficult for any one to 
 escape at high water. He would have to run 
 the risk of passing the other sentry who did 
 patrol to the left, the harbour side ; but that 
 sentry used to go through a stone gateway 
 into the street. He was told off to the street 
 when 'twas low water and the other sentry on. 
 
 We used to call one sentry Mons { Char-lot/ 
 as he was fond of cats (and here Tom John's 
 Tom would inform we 'Char' was French for
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 179 
 
 cat), and all the chars would come round about 
 the sentry, rub up against him, and sit on the 
 wall and mew. The other we called Mons 
 Gingerbread, he looked a proper lolly-pop 
 gingerbread soldier. 
 
 Time went on. They say, when informa- 
 tion came about us, we should have our 
 liberty ; but nothing come. We used to talk 
 how to escape, but we could see nothing for 
 it if we attempted it but a bullet through our 
 head. 
 
 At last the jailor say a ransome would 
 do it, pay the Mari a sum of money. On 
 market days Tim's yellow curls were thrust 
 out through the bars, and he would laugh 
 and kiss his hand to Madame ' Epper-see- 
 nee,' who laughed back, ' Bo-no ' Johnnee. 
 They say love laughs at locksmith's, 'twas 
 true here ; perhaps 'twas stronger for the 
 bars. One day Tim says to me, — 
 
 'Tom John's Tom, what is stronger than 
 water ? ' 
 
 ' Brandy,' says I. 
 
 ' No 'tis not,' says Tim. 
 
 ' Yes 'tis,' says I.
 
 180 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ' Well 'tisn't what I mean. What's stronger 
 than fire or water?' 
 
 'Can't say,' says I, 'unless 'tis courage as 
 would brave all.' 
 
 ' No 'tisn't courage, 'tis love, true love.' 
 
 'That ain't my line,' says I. 
 
 ' Tis mine,' says Tim. ' I do watch my 
 true love flutter and twitter here and there 
 to every stall she buying and selling. I do 
 love her pretty ways, as a bird moth sucking 
 honey to summer flowers, so she do whizz 
 and buzz and flutter.' 
 
 'That is the power o' fancy,' says I. 'Now 
 to me she be nothing but a dark-skinned 
 fidget, and her voice is pitched high, like 
 a gale o' wind in the rigging ; 'twould always 
 make me think of boister weather, but then 
 she's kind tu. She have brought we that 
 eggy meat swimming in oil.' 
 
 'Tis proper French to call it a hom-low-let. 
 
 ' I be going to marry she, and she is going 
 to pay the ransome, and we are going before 
 the Mari to be married, and the priest will tie 
 it after double knot.' 
 
 'Timothy Timmings,' said I, 'you were
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 1S1 
 
 always a confiding cha-rack-ter. Somehow, if 
 you go trusting others you never know half 
 the time if you are wronged or not, but I 
 would rather be hanged, drawn and quartered 
 before I'd marry a French or Spanish woman.' 
 
 1 After to-morrow,' said Tim, with a light 
 heart, ' I shall renounce my religion and my 
 country and become a citizen of France. 
 Vive la France ! but I do not care to leave 
 you here, that's the worst thing about it.' 
 
 ' Never mind me, I will face it out some 
 how.' 
 
 So the next day a lot of cocked - hatted 
 gentry came and let Tim free to go to his 
 wedding, God bless him. Tim was gone, 
 yellow hair, blue eyes, a face that cheer'd 
 even a prison, hope he will be happy with 
 his Epper-see-nee in her little shop, her 
 soap and her candles, and her smart smelling 
 herrins, and all her twitterings ways, I sigh. 
 
 Then I turned tu — to think a bit. Hope 
 on, hope ever is a passport to freedom. 
 
 One day, looking over the harbour from 
 the verandah, I saw a sail come up the river 
 that made my heart beat high. I knew the
 
 1 82 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 cut of her jib. I had seen her lie along the 
 quay to Mariassic. I never forget a sail 
 more nor do I a face, 'twas a bit of home. 
 She came from the Port o' Fowey, say I. It 
 made my heart dance so with hope. I'll 
 be walking her deck to-morrow night, or I 
 shall be lying at the bottom of Bayonne 
 Harbour. The next day I saw she had 
 anchored in the middle of the harbour, and 
 she was loading with Spanish oranges, nuts, 
 and all the bottle sweets made at Buyone, 
 as the French call it. Towards evening 
 she had a scrap of Blue Peter ; that bit of 
 blue bunting gave me courage to be once 
 more under the rag, but how many hours 
 to dark and high water ? Dark, 'twill never 
 come. How light it is. The tide will never 
 turn. Sick at heart I went in and out on 
 the stone landing of the high verandah to 
 survey. The sentry, Mons Char-lot, would 
 be off duty, and Mons Gingerbread would 
 be the one I should have to deal with. 
 There were two yards to run down by the 
 side of the wall. I should not be seen, the 
 sentry walked the other side, I could easy
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 183 
 
 swing myself off the verandah on to the 
 steps. I should not be seen until I was 
 half-way down to the water, but there was 
 a low wall, about four feet, running across, 
 the darkest night I should be seen by the 
 sentry against the sky getting over the 
 wall, I should not have much chance with his 
 musket. Tramp, tramp, he goes, it seemed 
 like a-walking on one's heart with every tramp. 
 The sentry march between me and freedom, 
 with his musket clutched in his arms. A 
 rig-gu-lar cock sparrer of a Frenchman, was 
 Mons Gingerbread. I went inside and took 
 my jacket off to tie to the verandah rail to 
 let myself down by. In my thoughts I went 
 further afield. Who knows I may be helped. 
 Poor mortal as I was, just a-wishing for home 
 and freedom before my time come. It seemed 
 an answer, and yet I did not know it at 
 the time, as is often the case. The key 
 turned in the street door, and the jailor 
 looked in with my supper, and an old 
 priestee with him as had come before, to 
 convart one perhaps, but he didn't know 
 any English at all to speak of, and I didn't
 
 1 84 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 know any French, but he'd jabber in his 
 way. He used to stay about twenty minutes, 
 and then the jailor would come back. I 
 saw my way now. I was glad I had torn up 
 my jacket ready. 
 
 The old priestee took off his big hat, 
 like a rumberella, and put it on the bench ; 
 he undid his greatcoat and pulled out of 
 his breast pocket a big sarsage. 
 He hand it to me, and he say, — 
 ' Eat-ee well, good-ee night,' 
 I took it and buttoned it up in my waist- 
 coat. A sarsage might be something between 
 me and death-hunger. 
 
 In one minute I had whipped out my 
 jacket over his head, tied and gagged him, 
 in another second got his coat off, strapped 
 his ankles together and laid him gently in 
 the corner ; he never struggled a bit. Like 
 a child I said, 'Good-ee night, sleep-ee well,' 
 for he was a good old priestee. I caught 
 up his hat. I had his greatcoat over the 
 verandah. The drop was not so bad as 
 I thought. All right. I put on the great- 
 coat and the hat. Now take your time
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 185 
 
 Tom Johns Tom, I said. Time and courage 
 does it ; but don't hurry whats'ver. So 
 I stepped out into the middle of the yard, 
 got on to the wall, over it, half the battle 
 was won. But the sentry sees me. Whether 
 he did not like to see a priest climbing 
 over the wall or not, he challenge. It 
 would not do not to stop, he might fire. 
 I muttered like a priest I thought, and 
 pointed to a little boat as if I was going 
 out in it. I hoped he would think to visit 
 some sick person. I was being fetched ; 
 it was getting pretty dusky. Just then a 
 figure in my prison verandah waved his 
 hands, the priest had worked himself free. 
 The sentry looked up and laughed, thanks 
 to our often chaffing him, he only saw 
 the prisoner was safe in the verandah, and 
 he let me pass. I was down the next yard 
 in a trice, stuffed away the priestee's hat 
 and cloak under a boat, and plunged into the 
 river, swam off to the English schooner. As 
 I swam round her I could see on her stern, 
 in large white letters, the ' Pandora, Fowey.' 
 John Pomeroy, Captain Jimmoo's brother. 
 
 K
 
 1 86 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 I sang out ' Hoy, one of Fowey.' ' Aye, aye. 
 I was soon aboard. John had come more 
 than for anything else to trace his brother 
 Jimmoo more than for trade. It was over 
 two years since the ' Sea Pink ' had been 
 taken by that pirate Frenchman. John 
 Pomeroy had just found out his brother 
 was a prisoner at Toulon, and Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose with him. The way I limpy now 
 was that drop from the verandah injured 
 my leg, though I did not feel it at the 
 time, and I lost my eye when the ruffians 
 fired at us in the water when we escaped 
 from the ' Sea Pink.' Capen John Pom- 
 eroy thought he would get home, and 
 I should inform the Squire about his son 
 as money might be wanted. We were all 
 inter-es-ted in Tom John's Tom's adventure, 
 and we hoped Squire Pencoose would see 
 his son back, but we never thought to see 
 the ' Sea Pink ' again. 
 
 Next we heard Madame Pencoose and Miss 
 Jinny and Sally were going to France to 
 search for their brother. Miss Sally came to 
 say good-bye to Miss Fanny, they had long
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 187 
 
 talks, and I had been just call'd down by 
 Missus Bullen to shake a swam of bees, but 
 I over hear Miss Sally say, — 
 
 * Poor Johnnie, to think he has been a 
 prisoner two years and a quarter, and ill 
 from his wound great part of the time. I 
 can't make out why he did not write ? ' 
 
 ' Because he would never learn to write, and 
 Captain Jimmoo Pomeroy can't write either.' 
 
 ' But what did they put him in prison for ? ' 
 
 ' Because Johnnie is so well known as a great 
 smuggler ; he smuggled a lot of English laces 
 into France.' 
 
 ' Oh, Johnnie is well known as a smuggler as 
 would dare anything,' said Miss Sally Pencoose ! 
 
 ' Mr Johnnie Pencoose ought to be ashamed 
 of himself, I have no pity for him, he de- 
 serves a French prison for smuggling.' 
 
 1 Oh, Fanny, how hard hearted you are. I 
 shall take him your love. I know you have 
 been a little bit sorry for him, and have missed 
 him.' ■ 
 
 ' Nonsense, Sally. I have not been in the 
 least sorry for him, and I certainly have not 
 missed him.'
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Now, there was one more char-rack-ter very- 
 high 'steemed round about by us old Vogue 
 folk — he was the mad doctor — real as mad as 
 a score of March hares, and quite as timour- 
 some and gentle, and his wits was sich as a 
 startled hare, 'twas there, 'twas gone ! He 
 had a grand sounding name, 'twas ' Clarence 
 Buckingham Chesterfield Howard Warwick.' 
 Some 'quistive people said to him, ' If I may 
 make so bold, Dr Clarence Buckingham Ches- 
 terfield Howard Warwick, how did ye come 
 by they names ? ' 
 
 1 I am sole survivor of a long line of kings 
 and princes, and I'm heir of all.' Then he 
 would bow and wave his hand, and say, — 
 1 I have finished my au - di - ence. Good- 
 day.' 
 
 iSS
 
 v„ 
 
 p_ 
 
 m 
 
 Dr. Herby.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 191 
 
 The people call'd him Dr Herby, as he 
 knew all about herbs, as King Solomon. Dr 
 Herby, as we will call him short, though 'twas 
 not right, as Missus Bullen said, because he 
 was mad, he should be call'd out of his name. 
 Poor old gentleman, I said, — 
 
 ' Yes, sure, Missus, and any one can see he 
 have lived in higher movements.' 
 
 1 Yes,' said Mrs Bullen, ' I always take care 
 to call him by all his names, which pleases 
 him mighty, and 'tis something to give the 
 afflicted pleasure, and so cheap too ! ' 
 
 Dr Herby was an uncommon figure of a 
 man, six feet three, and as thin as a whip- 
 ping post ; he wore a faded claret-coloured 
 coat down to his ankles, in summer and 
 winter he was in that overcoat ; he had a very 
 stiff frill to his shirt, which was always as 
 white as a whiting-pollocker fin, a sugar- 
 loaf hat, with dents over it, but no prince 
 ever lifted his hat with a finer sweep 
 of his arm and a prettier bend of his 
 body. 'Twere very prettily done sure 
 enough. 
 
 The history how he come to Mariassic was
 
 192 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 odd. One summer's night a fine carriage — 
 a gentleman's travelling carriage — drove into 
 the town, and put down Dr Herby at the 
 Sloop Inn, and a box or trunk or two, that 
 looked as if he had been a travell'd gentle- 
 man. His coat was new, and his hat, and 
 he had a few pounds in his pocket, but he 
 did not seem to have the wit to go into the 
 Sloop, or knock they up, so all night he 
 roved about the quays and cliffs till some one 
 took him in. Some was very kind to him ; 
 but no one could find out where he came 
 from, or by what orders he was left that 
 night at Mariassic. Of course the boys 
 mocked and jeered, but Bonnypeart Neptune 
 befriend he, and beat the boys if he saw 
 he was being made a games ; he was too mild 
 a gentleman for Mariassic boys. He picked 
 up a few pence by his herb medicines, but he 
 never liked taking money, so they gave him 
 to eat and drink instead. Bill Pearce was took 
 ill ; he catched a chill, and it played upon his 
 pipe, which was bad for poor Bill, as he 
 loved to roar and shout in common talk 
 through his pipes.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 193 
 
 One day Mar Teezer said to Missus, — 
 
 ' Missus, I think as how we must call in 
 Dr Herby for Bill, to cure the craze on his 
 pipes.' 
 
 Says Missus, — 
 
 ' Dr Herby have done some cliver things, 
 but I should not like to trust he over 
 much in a bad illness. I don't think Bill 
 Pearce is in jeopardy, so you can con- 
 sult Dr Herby if you like ; his cough 
 might give to simples, such as mugwort 
 tea, peppermint, treacle posset, and the 
 like.' 
 
 ' Why, Missus, we have giv'd Bill nigh 
 upon a horse pail full of mugwort and berga- 
 mot tay, and the cough have not delayed 
 the leastist a bit,' so says Mar Teazer, 
 ' I'll waylaid Dr Herby, and he will give 
 I a remeddy as will work a cure, if it ain't 
 change of moon. He's to be trusted. 'Tis 
 always the growing of the moon he is wuss. 
 Woolly Woollatron du say 'tis well on the 
 wane jist now, so Dr Herby will subscribe 
 for Bill with all his wits ; no fear when I 
 do lay the case plain before un. So I'll way-
 
 194 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 laid Dr Herby before he go home to his tea 
 in Tres-es-pan Long Lane.' 
 
 The sun was getting low to the westward 
 as Maria Teazer rounded into Tres-es-pan 
 Long Lane. 'Twas a beautiful broad lane, 
 and a green ride on each side, a deep ditch, 
 and high hedges ; and that lane was the most 
 famous herbal lane all about, there was no 
 such another in Cornwall. Herbs congregate 
 there as would cure any disease, if you knew 
 how to use 'em a-right. From this broad 
 lane you had a wide view of the county up 
 to the Cheese Wring, and down to St. Ann's 
 Beacon, fifty miles more, and sideways from 
 the Lizard to the Start. 
 
 In the middle of this lane, with his stick 
 a-gru-ing about in the long ditch grass for 
 some herb as worked magic was Dr Herby. 
 
 As Mar Teazer come along the grassy side- 
 path, though she had her pattens on, she 
 could not be heard. 
 
 Dr Herby was talking to his self, as his 
 way was. 
 
 ' Ah, rare viper-growing plant, where art 
 thou ; the slug that loves thee heaves its
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 195 
 
 glossy sides. Thou must be near, oh, magic- 
 working weed.' Dr Herby talked as doth a 
 sermon in flower language. 
 Mar Teazer coughed. 
 
 ' Ah-hem ! Plaise, Doctor, our Bill to Tre- 
 dinnick has growed fine and bad, latter weeks 
 he is crazed on his pipes is Bill.' 
 
 'Bill! Bill! No, woman! A Bill— a dis- 
 grace to humanity in a thousand ways — thou 
 canst repay me, but never by base coin.' 
 
 1 Tis a live Bill I am talking of, not of 
 figgers upon papur, sir.' 
 
 ' A live Bill is he ; he will soon be a dead 
 one. Know, woman, I had a patient I knew 
 must be blooded to save his life. I — I 
 should have bled him in the arm. I — I made 
 a slight mistake between the arm, and — and 
 the throat,' said Dr Herby with a soft sigh. 
 
 ' You did not cut his throat, did you, 
 sir ? ' said Mar Teazer, all aghast. ' What- 
 evir,' she say to herself; ' whatevir Woolly 
 Woollaton do say. It must be — be the grow- 
 ing of the moon ! I shall tell Miss Fanny 
 they " All-man-ee-nacks must be all round 
 wrong." 'Tis the growing of the moon.'
 
 196 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 ' I do not quite recall, but — but I — I think 
 I did it. It took me sometime to sew it up 
 again. It was a delicate, difficult operation ; 
 he grew better, but he never required my 
 services again. I — I was not called in for 
 consultation.' 
 
 ' No, sir, but us would rather try simples 
 for Bil — Wil-ly-am Pearce, simples, sir, would 
 agree best along with he." 
 
 ' Simples ? in that lieth wisdom. What are 
 the symptoms of the simple ? ' 
 
 A gleam came into his eye, as a spark of 
 fun, but it became grey-ash in a minute, his 
 poor wandering mind. With his long white 
 fingers and restless hand, Dr Herby was 
 placing in his ritticule some power-giving 
 weeds. When he lifted up his voice with a 
 shout, ' Called in for consultation,' and leapt 
 into the ditch, and tugg'd and dragg'd at a 
 milky dice-sal. 
 
 ' Tis the growing of the moon,' moaned 
 Mar Teazer on the bank. ' Shall I catch 
 hold of his coat tails, or leave him bide. 
 P'raps a jerk suddint to his coat tails would 
 make his wits fly upwards. Nimble Dr
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 197 
 
 Herby was by this time through the ditch, 
 and half way up the hedge on t'other side of 
 the deep ditch, talking or tongue-ing away 
 to his self, and tugging at the herbs about. 
 
 Mar Teazer thought ' T'will be over my 
 pattens the swa-ampee ground. I shall be 
 proper stagg'd if I du slipper away in there. 
 There's nothing for it but to go in after he, if 
 he will only then give his mind to a remeddy.' 
 
 ' I wants, sir, a remeddy for Wil-ly-am 
 Pearce's cough.' 
 
 She reached up, and tugg'd at Dr Herby's 
 coat tails. Now Mar Teazer was strong of 
 arm, and Dr Herby was reedy -like and 
 shaky, and she overbalanced the poor old 
 gentleman, and he cap-a-size. He come fly- 
 ing back on her, right into the muddy ditch. 
 He come up with an outside coat of mud. 
 It shook he much, but he never thought 
 any one would harm him, and he never 
 blamed any one, but sat dripping on the 
 bank forlorn, and said, — 
 
 ' I — I am oblee-gi-ed to you, good woman. 
 I — I lost my balance ; I am light of head. 
 Unfortunately my head soon goes. I am
 
 198 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 obleegi-ed greatly oblie-gied,' as his teeth 
 began to chatter. 
 
 Mar Teazer sponged his hat and coat for 
 him, as he sat on the bank by the roadside in 
 Tres-es-pan Long Lane. 
 
 1 Oh, sir, don't mintion it — a remeddy for 
 the cough, sir ? ' 
 
 1 Take this,' holding out the milky dice-sal, 
 ' put it into a bag, wear it round your neck 
 for six months, the cough will leave you.' Then 
 he said, affecting solemn, ' Woman it is the 
 best known remedy,' said Dr Herby with a 
 grand air. 
 
 ' Round my neck, sir, or Bil — Wil-ly-ams ? ' 
 said Mar Teazer. 
 
 'It is of no consequence, none whatever. 
 It will work its cure either way.' 
 
 'Thank you, sir, and Missus — Missus Bullen 
 of Tredinnick would be glad if you call into 
 lunch when you was a-passing, sir.' 
 
 ' Ah, thanks, Madame Tredinnick, my good 
 friend. My respectful compliments. You 
 know my name. Dr Clarence Buckingham 
 Chesterfield Howard Warwick, his compli- 
 ments to Madame Tredinnick.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 199 
 
 He rose and bowed a ' Prince Regent's 
 bow,' as Miss Fanny said, a grand prescence, 
 though bespattered with mud, and, worse still, 
 with his poor wits fled. 
 
 'There's the moon, but whether 'tis the 
 growing or 'tis on the wane I can't say. He 
 seemed sensible when he got shook up a 
 bit. Poor Dr Herby! I did not mean to 
 topple he over, but he is a real gentleman, 
 no mistake. He had sense 'nuff to know 
 I did not mean it, and how sorry I were 
 he would not ac-cuse ! He was only very 
 much oblee-gi-ed to I ; that's being a proper 
 gentleman, that is ! 'Tis long past milking 
 hour. I always like to watch that Susannah ; 
 she don't know how tu ! one leastest bit ; 
 not she,' mutters Mar Teazer, the ways 
 homeward. 
 
 That evening Mar Teazar says to Bill 
 Pearce, — 
 
 ' Which ever shall it be, Bill; here is the 
 bag made, and I have put in the milky dice-sal, 
 sewed well up, and a bit of rib-bain. Shall 
 ye wear it or me ? '
 
 200 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 ' What call should I a-wear it ? If thee 
 has faith in the remeddy, thee can wear it,' 
 wheazed and groaned Bill in the warm chimbly 
 corner. 
 
 ' Oh, come ! What for to go and spake 
 like that? If no good rise it can't do harm, 
 and 'tis not all doctors' stuff as can be held 
 that blameless,' said Mar Teazer. 
 
 Bill, sitting on the kitchen settle close to 
 a roar fire, said, — 
 
 ' How old do you think I be, Mar ? ' 
 
 ' As old as yourn littler finger, and a littler 
 older than your teeth/ said sprightly Mar 
 Teazer. 
 
 1 I be one score and seven years old ; how 
 old be ye, Mar ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, my birth-a-day is gone past — there's 
 no count kept now-a-days, 'tis past, gone past 
 — was you thinking of a prisint, Bill ? ' 
 
 Bill says with a yawn, for he was sleepy 
 ways, — 
 
 ' The prisint I was a-think of was mee-self ? ' 
 
 ' Lor, I never, now ! ' was the coy answer. 
 
 1 What do ye make of it ? ' says Bill, with 
 a wonder stare to Mar.
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 201 
 
 ' Make of it ! Why, that you would be a 
 fine tidy maintenance ; you would be a score 
 year younger nor I. 'Tis 'vantage on the 
 right side. Ye'd be a hoeing turnips, and 
 me a leddy in the arm-chair with the sigh- 
 attic in two score more year.' 
 
 ' If 'tis fur-ordained ye can't be agen it, 
 Mar, can ye ? and that old wizard, Johnny 
 Hooper, he drawed yer picter to the life as 
 me future wife,' said Bill. 
 
 ' Yer wife ! Go along ! What be telling 
 of?' said Mar, in glee. 'He drawed my 
 picter as yer future wife, and fine and hand- 
 some he drewed it, I reckon,' said Mar, 
 poking back her gook, and looking into the 
 little bit of handy-glass. 
 
 ' Well, he did not drew it over and over 
 handsome,' said Billy, slow like. 
 
 1 Then he was a spiteful old toad ! I are 
 as handsome as needs be, in my prime, and 
 as plump as a partridge.' 
 
 'Well, we will do it quiet, Mar.' I'll 
 speak to Parson Dr Gwinear. We won't 
 publish, shall us?' very low-like speaks Bill 
 now.
 
 202 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 'In course we shall publish! I never 
 thought to sit out the calling of my own 
 banns ! Ye must go thro' long wid it like 
 others. Bill Pearce, not publish ! Why, a 
 li-shunce would give we a chinee tay 
 service ! ' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Bill, with a groan, ' our bells to 
 Vogue church will ring out another wedding 
 pail, to the old, old tune, — 
 
 " One poor man more undone." '
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Now, Miss Fanny had become a great 
 favourite with Captain Wonce, and she had a 
 gay time to Wheal Fortune Cassel. She was 
 often down there, she would come back that 
 gay and light-hearted, and tell her father and 
 we all what she had seen and done ; which, 
 to my mind, is half the battle ; young people 
 enter into the fray of pleasure, and then recite 
 it all to we old ones by the fireside or on 
 the bench on the grass plat. Captain Wonce 
 gave Miss Fanny a nice horse to ride, and 
 equipt it proper, so she was as well mount 
 as Miss Sally or Miss Jinny; and then Cap- 
 tain Wonce said to Mrs Bullen, — 
 
 ' Here now, cousin Jinnifer, I shall give 
 Fanny a free gift on her wedding-day of ten 
 
 thousand pounds ; and I let this be known. 
 
 2 °3 l
 
 204 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 I don't want to make her a catch for an 
 adventurer, but she will have her dower.' 
 
 ' Thank you, cousin Walter ; but I don't 
 think Fanny will marry. When a girl keeps 
 on saying, "No," it grows to a habit ! ' 
 
 'Well, it didn't with you, cousin Jinnifer.' 
 Missus colour up, but she laugh. 
 
 ' Do you take notice how gay Fanny is ? ' 
 said Captain Wonce. 
 
 ' Yes, she seems very happy,' said Missus ; 
 ' she has got over that fancy for that rascal 
 Baron Laraile. Fancy, Lord Respry was 
 telling Maister he have found it all out. This 
 Baron was the foster-brother of the real one 
 — of low birth, but brought up together in 
 Paris and everywhere, and he murdered his 
 brother, the real Lord, or Baron Laraile, and 
 that is the reason he bolted off to England ; 
 and then, after he fought the duel with Mr 
 Johnnie Pencoose, he found he could not live 
 in France ; and, when Mr Johnnie was so badly 
 wounded, he, with other lawless fellows, made 
 a raid on the " Sea Pink," murdered nearly all 
 the crew, and went off somewhere, they think, 
 to Mexico.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 205 
 
 ' The moral to all this is — ah ! ' said Captain 
 Wonce, ' don't take up quick with furriners ! 
 I is somewhat slow to give myself away to 
 an Englishman ; but I do take time — snail- 
 pace time with a furriner.' 
 
 The lady who wrote to Lord Respry be- 
 lieved he was her nephew, the real Baron 
 Laraile. 
 
 'Well, his Lordship had a near squeak 
 with the cold muzzle of the pistol on his 
 temple. Such luck as the rascal got, to get 
 clear off twice ! ' said Captain Wonce. 
 
 ' But, cousin Jinnifer, you have not 
 seemed to understand why Fanny is so 
 happy. I see it ; don't you ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Missus. ' Perhaps 'tis change, 
 her new life, and the pleasure she gets out 
 of Wheal Fortune Cassel.' 
 
 ' 'Tis because of Miss Sally Pencoose's 
 letter that Mr Johnnie is found, and all 
 right, and coming back.' 
 
 ' I don't think so,' said Missus. ' Fannee 
 always said she hated him.' 
 
 ' Now, that is hopeful,' said Captain 
 Wonce, ' if she had said she liked him,
 
 206 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 'twould have been the moon indeed for 
 Mr Johnnie to cry for.' 
 
 ' Miss Fanny Uglow, dear Miss Fanny, 
 my boy is home again, he is. My boy, 
 such bursting joy,' shout Squire Pencoose, 
 on horseback, looking in through the big 
 gates of the garden. 
 
 Miss Fanny got up, she had been kneel- 
 ing down planting seedlings after a June 
 shower. She came towards the Squire 
 with her white drawn hat, her fresh peach 
 colour and her sweet eyes. Her heart went 
 out to the old father for his love for his 
 boy, though the boy was real such a 
 tiresome, rough young man. 
 
 After that Miss Fanny saw all the 
 Pencoose family one by one, but not Mr 
 Johnnie. Madame come in French silk, 
 not smuggled this time. 
 
 ' He have to send many ambasseedo-ers,' 
 said Mar Teazer. ' Tis said Miss Fanny 
 will punish 'em all for their high mighty- 
 ness. They has to make a pilgrimage on 
 their knees from Trenisky to Tredinnick.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 207 
 
 At last Miss Fanny met him at the 
 hunt. The meet was at Trevogue. She 
 bowed stiff to begin with, but he got off 
 his horse and shook hands. She said very- 
 little, and was very grave. He looked very 
 pale. Some said not his old self. 
 
 ' I says improvement.' 
 
 'Well,' they says, 'hardly for a rollicking 
 chap as Mr Johnnie Pencoose.' 
 
 ' But why shouldn't he leave that behind 
 and become more mannerly,' says I. . 
 
 Now, coming home that day Miss Fanny's 
 horse lamed himself as the bank slipped 
 with her, and they rolled back together. 
 She was glad of Mr Johnnie's help. 
 
 'Hullo! who is gone into the ditch? Is 
 it you, Sally ? ' 
 
 Coming through the wood he had not 
 seen who it was. 
 
 ' No — it — is — Fanny. Crusader has stuck 
 fast, poor fellow, and I can't get off.' 
 
 ' Well, wait a bit, Fanny.' He nearly 
 choked with the utter of his old playmate's 
 name. Now, if you don't leave it to me, 
 you will come to grief; he will roll over on
 
 2 o8 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 you,' — with a good deal of temper as he 
 was getting anxious how to get her off. 
 * Con — if you touch him Fanny, you will 
 be crushed. Now, give me your hand. He 
 pulled her off the saddle on to the thorn 
 hedge and that was the way he won her, 
 masterful. ' Give me your hand,' and she 
 gave it tu. His cap was off, and in his 
 black hair threads of silver she noticed, 
 not there before he left. He pulled her up 
 among the thorns and brambles. ' Now, 
 are you safe ? ' Their eyes met, she laughed 
 and coloured. 
 
 ' Johnnie, you are as rough as ever.' 
 He gave one glance round the thicket; 
 no one there. He put his arm round her 
 waist and kissed her. 
 
 Only an old fox saw it, 
 A fellow creature. 
 
 We had two weddings that year of 
 import. Gentle and simple. 
 
 Mar Teazer and Bill Pearce were married 
 first, between the cattle harvest — as we do call
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 209 
 
 hay harvest — and the harvest of corn as is 
 sent for man. 
 
 After the wedding, before dinner (as Missus 
 was going to give at Tredinnick), we walked 
 the whole parish, a goodly pair (party), to 
 show ourselves proper to the whole Vogue 
 Parish. Mar Teazer was off with her 
 pattens, so she had not such a spring-heel 
 tread. 
 
 Susannah was bridesmaid, with her beau, 
 Tom John's Tom. His cripple -ship was 
 growing over ; but he, of course, was still 
 blind of one eye, and that, he say, ' was no 
 green light in the starboard bow.' He liked 
 ' a roll in land once upon a time.' But 
 after we had nigh compassed the parish, he 
 say, Tom John's Tom, — 
 
 1 The shelves be certain high out here — 
 too high for me to reach the victuals ! Let 
 us rin into port, where the contents of 
 the shelves be on Missus Bullen's kitchen 
 table.' 
 
 So we face about right face, and turned 
 into Tres-es-pan Long Lane ; and, as luck 
 would have it, we, walking in two's and
 
 210 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 two's, Mar Teazer and Bill Pearce giving 
 the lead, with white gloves and favours as 
 big as a cheese-plate, we met Dr Herby. 
 
 ' Now, Bill, return thanks for that milky 
 dice-sal remeddy. You have wored it six 
 months, and your cough have aised off.' 
 
 Bill say, — 
 
 ' You spake, Mar. For one day I said 
 'nuff to parson, — " For richer, for poorer — I, 
 thee and thou ! " You spake up, Mar.' 
 
 ' Dr Herby stood wildered-like in the middle 
 of Tres-es-pan Long Lane as the wedding party 
 came up to him. 
 
 Mar say, — 
 
 ' We are on our weddin'-jaunt, sir ; but 
 Bil — Wil-ly-am Pearce return thanks for the 
 cough remeddy, sir.' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Dr Herby ' there never was 
 any — any custom by the wit of man so 
 well devised as — as early marriage.' He 
 looked at Mar, thoughtful, and a gleam came 
 into his eye as he said, — ' Its — its antiquity 
 is great ! ' 
 
 'Bootiful!' said Mar. 'It can't be the 
 the growing of the moon ? '
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 211 
 
 1 No,' said Tom John's Tom ; ' for 'tis the 
 honey-moon ! ' 
 
 Then Dr Clarence Buckingham Chesterfield 
 Howard Warwick bowed in his Court fashion, 
 and said, — 
 
 1 Man must bow to his fate.' 
 
 A crowd of people as we were seemed to 
 steady his wits a bit. He did not look 
 timoursome, tho' he was sure as mad as a 
 March hare, leave alone the hatter. Poor 
 Dr Herby!
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 One day, before Miss Fanny were married, 
 Maister Bullen came home from the hay- 
 making, and Missus say, — 
 
 ' Why, Anthony, you have lost your watch 
 and seals ! ' 
 
 ' Why, so I have ! Now, 'tis misfortune, 
 Jinnifer ! ' 
 
 Maister's watch was a mighty fine ticker, 
 and as big as a goodish size per-ta-tur, and 
 his chain was a noble one; it had come 
 down through the family many scores of years. 
 And the seals was many and most ainshunt 
 — as Maister say, — ' Big enough and old 
 enough to have sealed the Magna Charter ! ' 
 
 ' Where have ye a-been tu, Maister, to lose 
 yer watch and chain ? '
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 213 
 
 1 Well, I had the gig, and I drove to 
 Mariassic ; then I come back to see how 
 the pair (party) was a-working in the Barn 
 Meadow ; and then I went from one field to 
 another.' 
 
 Well, everybody hunt for Maister watch, 
 chain and seals, but we could not find it. 
 
 'Then,' Missus says, 'you must have lost 
 it to Mariassic, and you must have the hue 
 and cry, and cry it to Mariassic. Who is 
 the crier there now ? I must send Bill to 
 tell him to cry it to once.' 
 
 'A. Dabchick, I reckon. Father and son 
 have been town criers for generation upon 
 generation. Now/ said Maister, ' I will tell ye 
 how I come to know Dabchick is the name of 
 Mariassic town criers, because of the miracle 
 f>lays, as was performed to Mariassic, that 
 is what the name of the town is taken from, 
 Mariassic or miracle. When I was a little 
 one, they had the miracle plays, and a Joshua 
 Dabchick was always King Pharoah. There 
 was gipsy blood in 'em, and they wore black 
 ringlets, which they kept very long for the 
 plays, so as to look like a king of Egypt,
 
 214 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 and sharp, long noses. Then there was 
 every generation a Warwatha, with yellow 
 hair like a cloak, for King Pharoah's daughter. 
 They kept characters to families. I can see 
 'em now, Pharoah's daughter walking first 
 with a little Moses in a rush basket, and 
 her maids carry over her head a mighty 
 ainshunt oiled-cloth rumberella. After they 
 had marched the streets on to the quay it 
 used to get a bit mixed, and she, Pharoah's 
 daughter, walked hitch-arm with St George ; 
 and they had a little bull calf for the dragon, 
 with tin scales over him, but the dragon 
 was always upsetting the play, and dragging 
 'em where they did not want to go. I know 
 when they begun to spake they always in- 
 troduced themselves with, — 
 
 ' " Here comes I, St George the Bold." 
 
 ' Then some one would roar close to the 
 bull calf, — 
 
 ' " Here comes I, the Dragon bold, with my 
 long teeth and scurvey jaw. I'll crunch un 
 in my maw." 
 
 ' " Here comes I, Miss Pharoah, his darter, 
 that took a Hebrew babe from the wa-ater."
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 215 
 
 1 1 used to like that play, 'twas daylight, 
 and gay was the dressing up of boats and 
 men to Mariassic quay. Every " Peter-tide " 
 was the time. But I remember one play 
 I dreamed of for years and years after, 'twas 
 the awfullest play, 'twas the Day of Judg- 
 ment. I know my great aunt, Miss Nanny 
 Nanscarron, she said, — 
 
 ' '"Twas well to take Anthony, chield, as 
 'twould have an effect on he. P'r'aps stop his 
 growing to be a liar and a thief." 
 
 ' I know my mother said, — 
 
 ' " He shan't go, Aunt Nanny. He will 
 never be a liar or a thief. My pretty Anthony, 
 boy. I won't, Aunt Nanny, have him scared, 
 you shan't ; there now." 
 
 ' However, in the middle of the night, as 
 it seemed to I, Aunt Nanny woke I up, I 
 remember her sudden waking and the cold 
 fear. The room was a big one, there was 
 only the light of farden rush-light, you know, 
 Missus, as they put into a big cullender thing, 
 so the rush-light made awful O's of light on 
 wall and ceiling ; and Aunt Nanny dragged 
 my things any ways over my head. I never
 
 216 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 was more uncomfortabler dress'd, and she 
 whisper in my ear, — 
 
 ' " Quick, come out to see the Day of 
 Judgment, a lesson you won't forget in a 
 hurry." 
 
 '"I'maf-feered," I sob. '"Where's mam-ma?" 
 
 ' " Good boys need not fear, 'tis only bad 
 boys as tell lies need fear the Day of Judg- 
 ment." 
 
 1 " I don't tell lies," I sob, as I went along 
 the cold streets, and she drag me down 
 forty steps to the quay. And the sight was 
 awful. Pitch-dark night, except where blaz- 
 ing (tar barrels, I suppose). Along the low 
 rocks they had blazing holes of fires, and 
 figures running, with long hair and dreadful 
 yellow and black and red devils after 'em, 
 with pitchee forks in their hands, a-racing, 
 shouting, tearing, and blowing horns, and 
 horns on their heads, and tails like pump- 
 handles — truly awful-like — seeming to catch 
 the white figures, and throw them into the 
 holes all blazing. Then the still night, black 
 rocks, and dull sea beyond, all lend to the 
 ghastly and awful, and nobody can tell the
 
 "Truly awful-like."
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 219 
 
 effect on I ; for years I thought it was all 
 real' 
 
 ' I have often heard of the Mariassic plays,' 
 said Miss Fanny, ' but I never thought, father, 
 they had such wickedly gruesome plays.' 
 
 ' But,' said Missus, ' was not there another 
 side of picter, Maister — the blessed going to 
 heaven ? ' 
 
 ' If there was, Jinnifer, I never see'd that 
 other side, and I should not have so much 
 feeling for they as the poor wicked ones.' 
 
 And Maister lit his pipe on the lawn. 
 
 ' Moreover,' Missus said, ' 'twas a sinful 
 shame of that old Aunt Nanny to take an 
 innercent child to see such tragedies.' 
 
 'It did one good, too,' said Maister; 'use- 
 ful. If ever I feel inclined to laugh out of 
 place at a solemn time, I had only to think 
 of the Day of Judgment rendered to Mari- 
 assic town.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Missus, getting up and walking 
 across the lawn, ' I must send Bill to Mari- 
 assic, and have yer watch seals and chain 
 cried.' 
 
 So Miss Fanny and Mr Johnnie Pen-
 
 220 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 coose was left to their courting the summer 
 day. 
 
 Mr Dabchick ring his bell, so Bill say, on 
 the quay to Mariassic town, and he shout, — 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! oh, yes ! — Lost, stolen, or stray- 
 ayed a gold watch and chain, with a fine race 
 of seals appendaged there on ! 
 
 'The property of Mr Anthony Bullen of 
 Tredinnick Farm, in the parish of Vogue, in 
 the county of Cornwall ! 
 
 ' Whoever shall return the same afore-said 
 watch and chain, and seals appendaged there 
 on to the rightful honour shall be rewarded 
 in a becoming manner ! Oh, yes ! oh, 
 yes !' 
 
 But never was any watch and seals heard of. 
 
 After some time, Missus says to Mr Johnnie 
 Pencoose, — 
 
 ' I wish you would do me a favour ; if you 
 see Mr John Hooper out with the harriers, 
 or anywhere, when you are up near Ladock, 
 you would ask him "where Maister watch 
 and seals be tu ? " and, please, don't tell 
 Fannee or the Maister till you have enquired 
 of Mr John Hooper.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 221 
 
 Mr Johnnie Pencoose promised, but of 
 course, promises, like pie-crustes, are made 
 to be broken, particularly in the case of 
 lovers. 
 
 So Miss Fanny laughed much, and she 
 said, — 
 
 ' I wish Aunt Jinnifer would not think 
 so much of that dreadful old man. I must 
 get Miss Kattern-Ann Gwinear to talk to 
 her a little. She is a wise woman, if you 
 like.' 
 
 However, Mr Johnnie Pencoose saw Mr 
 Johnny Hooper close to Ladock wood, when 
 he was out with the harriers. 
 
 And you must know a few weeks before 
 Missus Bullen had sent Mr Johnny Hooper 
 a fillet of veal and a leg of pork to go 
 with it. 
 
 So when Mr Johnnie Pencoose say he had 
 been asked by Mrs Bullen of Tredinnick if 
 Mr Hooper could say where the watch and 
 seals were, he had his answer quick, with, — 
 
 ' Mrs Bullen is wilcome to know all I 
 know. 'Tis this, — " The watch hangs 'twixt 
 earth and sky, and some day will be found ; 
 
 M
 
 222 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 the chain and seals never will be found — so 
 fate has sealed." ' 
 
 ' Dear, dear ! ' said Missus, ' 'tain't much 
 of an answer, and 'twas a bravish fillet of 
 veal too, and a tidy leg o' pork ! ' 
 
 Years and years after Maister find the 
 watch his-self, going thro' an old gap in 
 the hedge. 'Twas hanging on a forky stick, 
 just as it hitched out of Maister's fob ; 
 hanging 'twixt earth and sky. They search, 
 and search, and to this day they have never 
 found the chain and seals — and never 
 will. 
 
 Not long after Miss Fanny became Mrs 
 Johnnie Pencoose, Captain Wonce died, and 
 left Wheal Fortune Castle to Miss Fanny, 
 with a good bit of money — all his money, 
 may say, but the present to Missus and 
 Maister, and to the Miners' Hospital and 
 Orphans' and Widows' Home. 
 
 So a year or two after, I must tell ye, 
 there was a proper torment born in the 
 parish. He have stoned my ducks, and he 
 steal my apples, and I have to steal the
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 223 
 
 stick across his shoulders ! I often think 
 it may be as how my fault he is such a 
 torment to the parish, as I never left the 
 north door open'd when he was christen'd. 
 I mean 'Wil-ly-am Teazer Pearce.' I say he 
 is a regular ' spriggin's cheild.' {Fairy-sprite s 
 child.") ' I'll never believe he is all human.' 
 
 But Mar Teazer (by her husband Pearce) 
 do say, — 
 
 ' Ye sha'n't call him a spriggin's cheild ! 
 He ain't more that than you be ; an old 
 spriggins yourself!' 
 
 She get in a tan-trum over this torment 
 if you call him names, Mar do. 
 
 Miss Kattern-Ann even don't know what 
 to do by un. She have shut up the Sunday 
 school over and over again, but 'tis no good. 
 All Vogue say he ought to be sent to say. 
 A proper rogue of Vogue ! 
 
 A long time after that Dr Gwinear was 
 call'd up to Oxford. They said he was to 
 have for his learning a place of honour ; and 
 Miss Kattern-Ann goes with him ' after re- 
 forming the parish a bit,' she say ! They 
 wash and bake theirselves better !
 
 224 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 Now I'm brushing up to a hunderd, I 
 can't see to finish this history of Vogue 
 Parish, so I tell it to my grit-gran'son, and 
 he do put it down. So where 'tis not quite 
 country tongue, you know he have put 
 in his own grammer! He is in my place 
 in the parish, call'd by another name ; no 
 longer parish clerk, but sacristan ! — a sur- 
 plus choir! He do carry a big cross, where 
 I did carry a stick to knack the boys 
 heads. In some things we have gained, 
 others we have lost. We have no learned 
 fellows of Oxford now, but they talk a good 
 bit, and the fashion is to despise those who 
 went before. 
 
 But I do say, where do all these young 
 proud bigots come from ? 
 
 ' P'r'aps they was born in Puffin Island!' — 
 ' Seeming so ! ' they say. Still, we may be 
 deceived in 'em. And if anything will keep 
 the strangers humble, 'tis a Cornish parish 
 now-a-days ; 'tis down with everything ! Grit- 
 gran'son he do say, — 
 
 ' Glorious times a-head, gran'father ! I, 
 Robert Rowe. the eighth know that I only
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 225 
 
 have been born five hundred years too 
 soon, for the spirit in me says I was born 
 to grace the perfect age of science and 
 life ! ' 
 
 ' What be ye a-telling of, young Bob Rowe ? 
 Be content ; yer haveage is good as I show. 
 Look back to your grit-grit-gran'father ! '
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Now 'tis right, as Mr Johnny Hooper come 
 on the boards of this here parish tale, that 
 he should make his exit becoming to his 
 wisht old character. But seeming to I, like 
 all great men, he had a double character, 
 there was two Johnny Hoopers ! One, as 
 I have heard tell of, and one as looks like 
 he ; but it tain't he at all, and what relayshuns 
 they be to one another passes the wit of 
 a full-brained man to tell ye. 
 
 One picter is a plain, quiet, civil-tongued 
 man, working with his hands that which 
 is good, a blacksmith by trade, and ' no 
 trader on other's silly supersti-tious ignorance,' 
 remarks Miss Kattern-Ann. 
 
 The other picter is a true crafty one, as 
 
 played upon the pipes a super-natural gam- 
 
 226
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 227 
 
 mut ; and the old Vogue folk danced to his 
 piping, half in fear and half in fun. They 
 who made the most fun of the old mortal, 
 ended by being most timersome of being 
 ill-wished by he. 
 
 Miss Kattern-Ann do say to me. 
 
 ' I s'pose, Robert Rowe, you mean Mr 
 Johnny Hooper had a dual existence?' 
 
 I say I s'pose, Miss, it were a duel, 
 which Johnny Hooper should get the upper 
 hand of which, 'tis Christian to hope, it were 
 ' the best side up with care,' when he leave 
 this world. I only jist mention this double 
 woof in Johnny Hooper's character, as ain't 
 the same person at all. I have known a 
 parcel of Johnny Hoopers, first and last, 
 and they was no relayshuns to anybody 
 else. So jist leave all the other Johnny 
 Hoopers as ever is bide, and harken to 
 this here old character, the last proper 
 Cornish wizard, when he was took mortal 
 bad he did warn all round him that the 
 day of his funeral ' a timpest would come, 
 as no man, woman, let alone chield, would 
 stand against ; no, not even a parson could
 
 228 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 withstand that hurricane — not ' Heaven sent ' 
 make sure ! 
 
 'Of course,' says Miss Kattern-Ann 'Mr 
 Johnny Hooper said, after me the Deluge?' 
 
 ' No, Miss, I never heard he went so 
 far as to prophesy a Noah's Deluge ; he 
 only say a howling, bluster wind, blowing 
 all points of the compass to once. So 
 no parson clerk or people could stand 
 against it.' 
 
 So this here wisht and doleful tale was 
 told me by Barnabas Bright Buncombe. 
 How he come by that name was so, he was 
 born upon Saint Barnaby Bright's day. 
 
 Saint Barnaby Bright, 
 
 The longest day, and the shortest night. 
 
 He had been to Amerikey and back. So 
 when he come home he follow the fashion 
 out there, and he drop the Bright entire, 
 and called hisself ' Barnabas B. Buncombe.' 
 He was a tall talker before he went to 
 Amerikey, and I may say he returned quite 
 a perpendicular talker, and he was spar 
 and rakish Yankee rigg'd, with his hat one
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 229 
 
 side, and a nibbler of a grass week-a-days, and 
 a flower Sundays of the season ; to my mind 
 it did not become a clerk to bring a flower 
 in his mouth out o' the vestry door, behind 
 the parson, and as you may say only drop 
 it with his Amens — but that was the fashion 
 of he! 
 
 Barnabas B. Buncombe, when he come 
 from Amerikey, he put his-self up, and in, 
 as parish clerk, as he said 'twas hereditary 
 clerk's reading desk with the Buncombes 
 of Ladock, so he had been stalled near 
 thirty year as clerk when Johnny Wiseman 
 died ; and this tale he did tell as true. 
 
 He was in the church with only the sexton, 
 John Chappell, the young cu-rate come up the 
 hill blowing as a porpoise on a summer day, 
 and he say, — mincing, — 
 
 ' Oh ! Mr Barnabas Buncombe, is it true 
 that Mr Hooper foretold a storm at his 
 funeral ? It is blowing hard now. I could 
 hardly stand against it.' 
 
 ' Tis a bit of a timpest, no mistake ; but 
 not much for sich as have weathered a tor- 
 nado in the Black Sea.'
 
 230 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 1 Have you beefr in a gale in the Black 
 Sea, Mr Buncombe ? ' says he. 
 
 ' Can you, sir, point out on the globe, how 
 to get to Amerikey and back without cir- 
 cumnavigating the Black Sea ? ' 
 
 But I had hardly done speaking when a wind 
 came as if it would burst in all the church 
 windows, and sich a howl and moan long 
 with it, only we three in the church, and 
 then a flash of dry lightning — the worst that 
 is — without rain. It played blue and white 
 flame over the young cu-rate's face, and 
 turned John Chappell's ruddy countenance 
 gashly blue. Outside the church the 
 elements at war, groaning, creaking, panting ; 
 the ivy, drashing and beating, torn off 
 against the great church windows like the 
 wings of a lost spirit. Never did I view 
 a storm from so melancholy a place, the 
 great double row of pillars, the black, big, 
 oak roof, the shrieking, sighing, blowing all 
 about the tower and the belfry, and we 
 three awaiting, waiting for the funeral. 
 
 ' They will never come ! ' says we. ' A good 
 hour behind time.'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 231 
 
 At last they are coming down the opposite 
 hill. I got into my desk, and the cu-rate 
 was peeping out o' the vestry door, and John 
 Chappell begun to toll the bell. We see'd 
 them coming down the hill, step by step ; at 
 last they come to a hedge, and there they 
 stay ever so long in the loo. John Chappell 
 he begun to weary of dowling the bell. As 
 he was an old man I had to encourage 'un 
 to do his duty ; so from the desk I made 
 a speaking-trumpet of my two hands, and 
 I shouts above the awful roaring bluster, — 
 
 ' Toll a bit longer, Jan ! ' He could only 
 just a-hear with my natural speaking-trumpet ; 
 so up in the belfry old Jan nod his head. 
 So, more to encourage 'un agen, I shout, 
 ' Toll a bit longer, Jan ! ' 
 
 The curate he looked faint-ways. 
 
 ' The tower will be crashing down ! ' says 
 he, 'and we shall be a-buried in the ruins 
 of this here church.' 
 
 Says I, — 
 
 1 Nobody can't say then the bell was not 
 a-dowled for us ! ' 
 
 Well, this went on for ever so long !
 
 232 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 At last they come to the gate. 
 
 When they opened the great doors of the 
 church, in rushed the whirlwind. 'Twas getting 
 dusk, but I could see and feel the spirits, a 
 great army, all wild and tearing thro' the 
 church, they shriek and cry and moan, they 
 rush up the tower, a pretty black lot, with 
 black bats' wings, and horns ; but they kept 
 to the north and west end, they knew their 
 place even in church, and when we come 
 to shut and open the door, it took a half-a- 
 dozen strong men to do it, and 'twas dark. 
 By lantern light we buried him, before the 
 storm lull off, so we could leave the church. 
 
 Now, I, John Rowe, tell ye this tale as 
 told to I by Barnabas B. Buncombe. It may 
 be solemn romancing for a moral, for those 
 who go meddling with the powers of dark- 
 ness, that mortals do best to let bide. 
 
 I should not have told ye such a wisht, 
 melancholy bit ; but 'tis grave and gay, 
 black and white, the history of old Vogue 
 folk — sich is life ! But even ten year do 
 make a difference, and witchcraft do only 
 take hold of the very old or the very
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 233 
 
 young now - a - days. Now, our o'r learned 
 school-maister, as come from Devonshire, 
 he never seemed 'xactly vitty to the Vogue 
 folk ; first he was a school-maister, thinking 
 mighty of his-self, and next he were a 
 Devonshire man, for every born Cornish- 
 man do know what we think of all who 
 live the other side of the Tamar. As the 
 saying go, — 'Cornwall would be in England 
 but for Devonshire.' 
 
 Still, there is another saying, — ' Go to 
 Devon for a wife, but stay in Cornwall for a 
 husband ! ' 
 
 The school - maister's name was called 
 Bubble-bois. 'Twas a name as suited him 
 well ; for he was always a-boiling over as a 
 tin saucepan on the hob. There was my 
 grandchild, Rositta, as went to school. 
 
 So says Mr Bubble-bois. 
 
 ' Rositta, what's hail ? ' 
 
 Says she, sharp, — 
 
 ' Fruzed rain.' 
 
 The cane came down on her shoulders ; so, 
 we Rowes all had a gridge against Mr Bubble- 
 bois for that treatment after a correct answer.
 
 234 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 So Rositta, though she were young, she 
 were a proper grow'd woman for spite. So 
 she get up early and she walk miles to consult 
 a witch, Old Anice Dawe, as lived nigh upon 
 Padstowe. She tell me she were not at all 
 frightened walking all alone (for 'tis no good 
 for ye to go and see a witch with company). 
 She were not frightened till a hare pops out — 
 an uncommon legged hare trot down the 
 lane in front of she. No wonder she turned 
 cold as a stone ; for if anyone travel on the 
 road close to a hare you don't forget it quick, 
 such a forerunner. It ran round to the back of 
 a cot, and she knew she had come to the place. 
 When she knock, her gets a panting answer. 
 
 ' If a frind, Anice Dawe do say welcome.' 
 
 Well, she give Rositta an old ham bone, 
 and every night she was to say the Creed 
 backwards, and hammer in a pin. When the 
 ham bone was full of pins, so you could not 
 put another, her enemy would drop off. 
 
 Now this was un-be-known to I ; as Parish 
 Clerk I would not have allowed no such 
 thing. 
 
 Mr Bubble-bois, however, he used to whack
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 235 
 
 the boys well — so out o' school some boys 
 jeered at un, the other side of a hedge, and 
 calls out, — 
 
 ' 'Twill soon be a-al over wid ye Maister 
 Bubble-bois ! Rositta Rowe have got a ham 
 bone up the chimbly, and when that's full of 
 pins ye will drop off!' 
 
 So Mr Bubble-bois chase that boy, caught 
 un, and made him explain. 
 
 So he comes off to I, in a tower passion, 
 to see Rositta and to punish her for the 
 ham bone. 
 
 I says, — 
 
 ' No you wont, I'll tutor her myself, 'tis a 
 girl's prank ; more foolish spite than wicked.' 
 
 Says he, — 
 
 ' When she do come to school I'll punish 
 her.' 
 
 Says I, — 
 
 'No you won't, she is learnt out — she'll 
 have no more schooling, shall Rositta ! ' 
 
 Then he raved. After that he could not 
 say too bad of we old Vogue folk. 
 
 ' Ignorant, sooper-tish-us, foolish, and wicked 
 we was,'
 
 236 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 He went to the top of Trelucky Hill and 
 roared at we down in the church housen 
 {village) for half the evening. 
 
 And we tan-ti-lized back 'for him to hold 
 peace, for a Devonshire dumpplen he was 
 sure.' That was the beginning of riggs in our 
 otherwise quiet parish — a timpest in a taypot 
 — but it don't much matter how small the 
 fight is to begin. Emperors do fight over 
 as little. So we now become two parties in 
 the parish, the Bubble - boisyers and the 
 Clerkites. 
 
 Madame Pencoose was that proud of the 
 match Mr Johnnie Pencoose had made to marry 
 Miss Fanny Uglow, the heiress of Captain 
 Wonce, that she must always be talking of 
 that 'Sweet crea-char, my daughter-law,' and 
 that she had always set ' my heart on the match 
 ever since she were tucked — to the same time 
 as my Sally, who, with her looks and ways, you 
 would have thought would have married an 
 army officer, instead, 'tis only a pholospher, 
 Dr Cargreen — double my sweet Sally's age. 
 We should have wished a more sparkling 
 future for my sweet, sensitive Sally. My eldest
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 237 
 
 daughter Jinny, she has a presance, the 
 Squire do admire her he doth say, ' Tis her 
 Ma in her prime,' but still Sally, sweet, timid 
 Sally, is a great comfort to me, and my 
 prayer answered. I always prayed one of 
 my daughters might be endued with sensi- 
 bility, and in Sally my prayer was granted. 
 As for my son Johnnie he early left my tender 
 care. 
 
 ' My dear lady,' said the Squire, ' you 
 could not manage him a bit, and he is already 
 doing Fanny credit — and yet, bless the dear 
 boy, he was as full of mischief as an egg is 
 full of meat. Dear, what a plague he was 
 before, and after, he went to school ; but 
 he never learned any book knowledge. The 
 tales his cousins used to tell of him at school. 
 He w r as always fighting boys years older 
 than himself. He had not been six months 
 to Barnstaple school when the biggest bully 
 there knocked him down. They said, " Stand 
 up to him little Johnnie Pencoose." Says 
 little Johnnie, with a black eye, "Give me 
 a stool to stand on and I'll stand up. But 
 see fair play to put him between I and the 
 
 N
 
 238 IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 wall, and he is not to knock my stool 
 over. 
 
 The Squire used to laugh over his boy's 
 pluck and his mischief. 
 
 Doctor Jones, the headmaster to Barn- 
 staple school become a lunatic whenever a 
 blue-bottle fly buzz'd near him. He had long 
 hair down on his shoulders — for all the world 
 like a big bunch of farthing-dips — and when 
 there was a blue-bottler buzzing the boys 
 used to have to hunt and jump the forms 
 and desks to flop at them. 
 
 1 A buzz, sir. There he is, sir. I hear him, 
 sir ! ' forty boys would shout at once. 
 
 Doctor Jones was a savage for flogging ; 
 but at the buzz of a blue bottle he was un 
 nerved, and dash about the school-room, and 
 his long hair was as the quills of a Red 
 Indian, he would put his head into his 
 desk and almost shut the cover on himself. 
 The boys would like to have guillotined him 
 with his own sharp desk cover. Johnnie 
 said 'twas a morning chase when the first 
 buzz was heard. 'Twas a bad time they 
 had when no blue-bottles was about ; but
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 239 
 
 Johnnie one day, after a martin's nest up 
 on the roof of the school-house, finds in 
 the cupola, where the bell was, a sight of 
 blue-bottles. So he had a fine store by 
 him, and he used to feed them to keep them 
 lively in the winter with boiled treacle and 
 beer on a laurel leaf; and from his store 
 he would fill a pill box, take it in his pocket 
 to school and let em out one by one — ' Flying 
 sport,' as he said. When he left Barnstaple 
 school he got his Ma to send him a fine 
 saffron curranty cake — and he said, ' Mind 
 plenty of currants.' And he sent it to the 
 school-maister with these lines writ by a school- 
 fellow who could write, 
 
 ' With Mr Johnnie Pencoose's compliments. 
 A cake for Doctor Jones of all the blue- 
 bottlers he could find. 
 
 Johnnie could sign his name in letters, so 
 he signed, — 
 
 J. V.—O.Q.B.S. 
 
 Which letters stood, as Johnnie says, for — 
 
 'On Quitting Barnstaple School.' — O.Q.B.S. 
 
 Now, when the Squire told this here story 
 of Mr Johnnie I was a-looking over the garden
 
 2 4 o IN A CORNISH TOWNSHIP 
 
 hedge, and he and Madame Pencoose had 
 affably come to pass the compliment to me 
 and family, to invite we to a dinner on the 
 lawn, as a trait he was minded to give in 
 honour of his son's son - and - heir young 
 Maister John coming into the parish of 
 Vogue — as he was three year old. And 
 they was all coming up from Wheal Fortune 
 Castle to Trenisky. 
 
 So the whole parish had a trait ! Flags 
 flying ! Bands playing ! Barons of beef and 
 pies of all sorts ! That was the most to be 
 lauded trait we ever had in the parish of 
 Vogue ; all the parish was there — old people 
 who had been bed-ridden for years as lively as 
 crickets ! I, that are passed eighty, was a boy 
 compared to them ! 
 
 Long narrow tables with forms on each side 
 to sit. Tom John's Tom was a standing up to 
 the table with one hand in his waistcoat pocket 
 and the other holding a fork above his head — 
 tongue-ing away with his eye shut ! The only 
 eye that had weathered escapes. Susannah, 
 Mrs John's Tom, she sat by his side, and kept 
 a-pulling his coat tails to be seated as she said, —
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 241 
 
 1 You'll get no vittles, if ye spend yerself in 
 too much mouth speech — even mountains of 
 beef will melt away before the multitude as is 
 hearty ! ' So she say, ' Co ! co ! Tom John's 
 Tom, ease ye off a bit, and mind yer vittles. 
 But talk-ee he must, he would, he, no let 
 about it.' 
 
 I was too much discoursing my own plate of 
 vittles to mind much what he was talking 
 about, but I heerd it was ' on the elder sons of 
 history, from Cain downwards,' well, even to 
 Maister John Pencoose, aged three. 
 
 Mar Teazer Pearce said, — 
 
 ' I never knew they was sich a parcel of 
 wicked ones the elder sons.' 
 
 But before that day drew to an end Mar 
 Teazer Pearce and I had a fine come out — and 
 of course 'twas over her Spriggin's chield 
 Wil-ly-am Teazer Pearce. 
 
 However, I'll first talk about the gentry. 
 First, there was Miss Fanny, begging her 
 pardon, Mrs Johnnie Pencoose, looking hand- 
 somer than ever, and as happy as ever she 
 was as chield and romping girl, school miss 
 and fine young lady ! She laugh and talk with
 
 242 IN A CORNISH TO WNSHIP 
 
 all, and her voice was like a carol full of life — 
 and how proud she was of her boy heaved up 
 before the Maister on the saddle, on the good 
 strawberry mare, Vi'let — and Missus, in a twitter, 
 with her best bunnet strings tied above her 
 head, out of the way, in serving the old people. 
 Here I must tell ye the misadventure, all 
 brought about by that Spriggin's chield ! No, 
 you would not believe it, and he only turned 
 five and a half — as Betsy Reel say, ' 'Twas 
 more than wicked, 'twere ridic-cu-lous sich an 
 uncoo deed ' — as show'd plain he weren't all 
 mortal this Spriggin's chield. 
 
 He had gone and cobbler-waxed the form ; 
 so there we was, when we come to have 
 a regard to move, seated — our best Sunday 
 garments — the men groan, and the women 
 squeal. We says one to another, — 
 
 1 What ever shall us do, as we wants to leave 
 the table and look at the country dance to 
 the top of the lawn — what ever shall us do 
 by it?' 
 
 Says Woolly Woollaton, — 
 
 1 How many be us, be in this here quan- 
 dary?'
 
 WITH OLD VOGUE FOLK. 243 
 
 'Nigh upon a score,' says I, 'counting men 
 and women.' 
 
 Says Woolly, — 
 
 ' We must all march to once, and carry the 
 form 'long with us ; ' and so we did, and finely 
 divarted the rest of the company. 'Twas best 
 to take it as a joke, but I do believe it would 
 have been murder if I had see'd that Spriggin's 
 chield Wil-ly-am Teazer Pearce. 
 
 After it come out that the bass viol of the 
 church quire, Mick Fuggler had come provided 
 with a big bit of cobbler's wax to wax his 
 viol strings, or big fiddle, as you like, and 'twas 
 a big bit of cobbler's wax, as, being a shoe- 
 maker, he had no need to spare. And Woolly 
 Woollaton says he see'd that Spriggin's chield a- 
 busy — whish — washing, as ye do groom a horse, 
 if he weren't a-waxing that form from end to 
 end — but more's the pity he took no heed to 
 him what he was a-doing. So if the auld 
 wizards and witches are dying out of the land 
 there is still greater torment a-springing up in 
 the world — a generation of Spriggin's chields. 
 
 THE END.
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY 
 
 PRINTERS 
 
 EDINBURGH
 
 3*