and the usual topers among clerical guests, that our friend Humphrey’s
remembrances became of chief interest and value. “Oh, the changes
that I have lived to see!” was his favourite phrase. “I remember
so well when I was ordained deacon, and came down in my brand-new
bombasine bachelor’s gown, and a hood that made me look behind like
a two-year-old goat, and bands half a yard long, what a swell I used
to think myself to be! Talk of your one good curacy! why, when I
began to work I served four. Ay, and I had £10 apiece for them, and
thought myself in paradise. I remember there were three of us. John
Braddon--he had two curacies and the evening lecture; and Millerford we
thought very low down--he had two and no more. We all lived, sir, in
the town, and boarded and lodged together. £20 a year each we paid the
unfortunate fellow that took us in. Our first landlord was old Geake,
the grocer. He stood it twelve months, and then broke all to pieces,
and was made bankrupt by his creditors. He actually said in court that
we had eaten and drunk all his substance. Well, then, a man called Stag
undertook us. He was a market-gardener; and, do you know, after a time
he went too! He said it was not so much the meat we consumed, but he
had no more vegetables to sell. So we cut him. At last an old fellow
named Brewer came forward, and said he would try his luck with us. He
stood it pretty well, but then his wife had private property of her
own; but she used to say it all went under the waistcoats of the young
clergy. She had no family; but she said she would rather have had six
children of her own than keep us three. But, no doubt, she exaggerated.
Women will do so sometimes.”
“Did you live well, Mr. Vivian?” we interposed.
“Like fighting-cocks, sir. We insisted on good breakfasts, plain joints
and plenty for dinner, and nice hot suppers. We didn’t care much about
tea--nobody did in those days. But then, behind the parlour door there
was always a keg of brandy on tap, and we had a right to go with our
little tin cups and draw the spigot twice a day.”
“No doubt, Mr. Vivian, you worked hard in those days?”
“Didn’t we? To be sure it was only on Sundays, but it was enough for
all the week. We used to start in the morning and travel on foot to
all the points of the compass, every man of us with his umbrella. My
first service was at nine o’clock in the morning, prayers and sermon.
Then on to Tregare at half-past eleven, West Lariston at two o’clock,
and Kimovick at four, and home in the evening, pretty well done up.
Braddon and Millerford just the same tramp. But then, how we did enjoy
our roast goose, sirloin, or leg of mutton afterwards! We bargained
expressly for a hot dinner on Sundays, and we had it too. Then what
fun afterwards! Every man had something to tell about his parish. I
remember Millerford had to call and see an old woman, a reputed witch.
He was to examine her mouth, and see if the roof had the five black
marks[153] that stamped an old woman as a witch. He wished to save her,
and he declared that she had but four, and one of them doubtful. One
day Braddon had christened a man-child, as he thought, Thomas; but the
next week the father came in great perplexity. ‘’Twas the mistake of
the nurse. ’Tis a girl. How shall us do? Us can never call a maid Tom.
You must christen her over again, sir.’ As this could not be, we had
to put our heads together, and at last we advised Braddon to alter the
name to Thomasine (pronounced Tamzine), and so he just saved her sex.
“One day I had a good story of my own to relate about a pinch of snuff.
It was always the custom in those days for the clergyman after the
marriage to salute the bride first, before any other person. Well,
it was so that I had just married a very buxom, rosy young lady, and
when it was over I proceeded to observe the usual ceremony. But I had
just before taken an enormous finger-and-thumb-ful of snuff; so no
sooner had the bride received my kiss--and I gave her a smart kiss
for her good looks--than she began to sneeze. The bridegroom kissed
her, of course, and he began also. Then the best man advanced to
the privilege. Better he hadn’t, for he began to sneeze awfully; and
by-and-by the bridesmaids also, for they were all kissed in turn, till
the whole party went sneezing down the aisle, and the last thing I
heard outside the church door was _’tchu, ’tchu, ’tchu_, till the noise
was drowned by the bells from the tower.”
“But I suppose, Mr. Vivian, you did not remain long a curate; you must
have received some of your several livings at an early period of life?”
“So I did, sir, sure enough. My text on such subjects was, ‘_Ask not,
and you shall never receive_.’ First of all, I had the vicarage of
Percombe, up towards the moors. This came from a private friend. Next,
the Duchy gave me the rectory of South Wingley. I had trouble enough
to get it. I went up to London, and besieged the Council two or three
times a day. People said they gave me the living to get rid of me
from town. But it wasn’t so. Next I had Trelegh from the second Mrs.
Vivian’s uncle. Yes, yes, preferment enough for one man. By-the-by, did
you ever hear how near I was once to the lawn-sleeves and the bench?
That was a close shave! I was staying in Bath, at the York House, and
there I always dined in the coffee-room. Well, one day a gentleman came
in and ordered dinner in the next box to mine--a sole and a chop. I
observed a bottle of Madeira wine; and from his nicety and parlour
ways, I judged him to be some big-wig, and very rich. I saw he looked
about for a news _Gazette_, so I offered him mine, and exchanged a
few words by way of getting known to him. He offered me a glass of
wine, and of course I took it, and sat down to converse. We grew very
friendly, and by-and-by it turned out that his name was Vivian, and
spelt exactly like mine. It was growing late, and he took leave, but,
to my surprise, invited me to dine with him the next day at Lansdowne
Crescent. I was only too glad to go. It was a noble house, with a troop
of servants and superb furniture, and, what was most to the purpose,
a glorious feed. After dinner, at dessert-time, while we were talking
over our wine, I saw, over the mantelpiece, a fine picture of Perceval,
the Prime Minister at that time.[154] So I ventured to ask, ‘Is Mr.
Perceval, sir, a relative of your family?’ ‘No, sir, no,’ he said. ‘I
have his picture because I like his politics, and respect him as a
Minister and as a man. I have been introduced to him, however, and I
can claim some personal acquaintance with him. ‘Have you, my friend?’
thought I. ‘Then, take my word for it, I will make use of you as a
stepping-stone in life.’ So, when it was nearly time to wish him good
night, I said, ‘I have a favour to ask you, sir. I am going to town in
a day or two, and I shall be deeply obliged if you will write a letter
to Mr. Perceval, merely telling him that the bearer is a friend of
yours, a clergyman in quest of some preferment, and that as he is the
patron of so many good things in the Church, you will be much obliged
to him if he will bestow something valuable on your friend.’ He looked
rather glum at this, and twirled his fingers a bit, and at length said,
‘Why, no, Mr. Vivian, I can’t go so far as that. Consider, I have known
you only a few hours, and have never heard you officiate--although, no
doubt, you are well qualified to hold preferment in the Church. But
I’ll tell you what I will do. I have a friend, the rector of the parish
where Mr. Perceval lives, and I know he always attends his church. I
will give you a letter to him, and he may suggest some opportunity
of promoting your plan.’ Of course I jumped at this, took my letter,
and was off by the mail the very next day. The first man I called on
was, of course, the clergyman. It was on a Saturday, and by good luck
he had been taken ill. I was shown in where he lay on a sofa, looking
quite ghastly. ‘Have you got a sermon with you, Mr. Vivian?’ said
he; ‘anything will do.’ I always took with me, wherever I went, some
half-dozen, and I said so. ‘Because, as you see, I cannot go to church
to-morrow, and a friend who was to have taken my duty has disappointed
me. I shall be indeed thankful if you will undertake the work.’ This
was the very thing; and accordingly I was in the vestry-hall the next
morning, an hour before time, rigged out in full canonicals, hired
for the day--silk and sarcenet--and my hair well frizzed, as you may
suppose. Just before service I said to the clerk, ‘I am told that
Mr. Perceval attends your church; can you point out to me his pew?’
‘That I can, sir,’ said he, ‘in a moment. There it is in full front
of the desk and pulpit, the third pew down, with the brass rods and
silk curtains.’ Well, the service began; but the said pew was empty
till the end of the Belief, when, lo and behold! in came the beadle,
marching with great pomp, and after him Mr. Perceval and some friends.
You may guess after that what eyes and ears I had for the rest of the
congregation. There was the Prime Minister; I see him now, in his
purple coat and cuffs, silk waistcoat--fine as Sisera’s--and with a
wig that looked like wisdom itself. He was very attentive. I watched
him, and saw how careful he was to keep time with all the service. At
length came the last psalm, and up I went. The pulpit fitted me as if
it had been made for me; and the cushion, I remember, was all velvet
and gold. My text was, ‘Where is the wise man? where is the scribe?
where is the disputer?’ etc. I saw that Mr. Perceval never took his
eyes off my face all through the discourse. It was one of my very best
sermons. I saw that he was delighted with it; and when I came to the
end, I observed that he turned round and looked up at me, and whispered
something to a gentleman who was with him, and then they both looked
up at me and smiled. Said I to myself, ‘Humphrey, the golden ball is
cast; thy fortune is made, as sure as rates and taxes. Look out for
a bishopric, and that soon!’ I never was so happy in all my life. I
dined that night at the Mitre in Fleet Street, on a rump-steak; and
I often caught myself smiling and slapping my thigh and muttering. I
saw the waiter stare when I said to myself, but in an audible voice,
‘Done for a guinea! Make way for my lord!’ Next day I went into the
City to meet ----, who was in town on business. After he had settled
what he came to do, he walked some way home with me. Well, sir, when
we came to the Strand there was a dreadful uproar, people talking very
low and seriously. At length a gentleman said to my companion, ‘Have
you heard the dreadful news? A rascal called Bellingham[155] has shot
Mr. Perceval dead in the lobby of the House of Commons!’ It was like
a deathblow to me. Poor fellow! It cut me through like a knife. I was
indeed a crushed man, clean dissolved, as the psalm says. And from
that very hour I have been convinced and persuaded--ay, I do believe
it like the Creed--that the very same ball that shot poor Perceval cut
away a mitre from my head as clean as a whistle. Yes, I have never
swerved from that belief all these years; and up to this day, when I
say my prayers, as I do after I am in bed, I always begin with the
Confirmation from ‘Defend, etc., this Thy servant.’”
FOOTNOTES:
[151] Compare Browning’s lines--
“Italy, my Italy!
Queen Mary’s saying serves for me--
(When fortune’s malice
Lost her--Calais)--
Open my heart and you will see
Graved inside of it, ‘Italy.’”
[152] The same conceit, humorously applied, occurs in Calverley--
“And the lean and hungry raven,
As he picks my bones, will start
To observe ‘M.N.’ engraven
Neatly on my blighted heart.”
[153] See pp. 196, 202.
[154] Perceval was Prime Minister from 1809 to 1812, in the time of the
Regency and the Peninsular War.
[155] The “Dictionary of National Biography” gives the following
account of this event: “There was a certain bankrupt named John
Bellingham, a man of disordered brain, who had a grievance against the
Government originating in the refusal of the English Ambassador at St.
Petersburg to interfere with the regular process of Russian law under
which he had been arrested. He had applied to Perceval for redress,
and the inevitable refusal inflamed his crazy resentment. On Monday,
May 11 (1812), the House of Commons went into Committee on the orders
in Council, and began to examine witnesses. Brougham complained of
Perceval’s absence, and he was sent for. As he passed through the lobby
to reach the house, Bellingham placed a pistol to his breast and fired.
Perceval was dead before a doctor could be found.... Bellingham was
tried at the Old Bailey on May 15, and the plea of insanity being set
aside by the court, he was hanged on May 18.”
OLD TREVARTEN:
A TALE OF THE PIXIES[156]
“Mount and follow! stout and cripple!
Horse and hattock, ‘but and ben;’[157]
Horses for the Pixie people,
Hattock for the Brownie men.”
R. S. HAWKER.
People may talk if they please about the march of agriculture, and they
may boast that by the discoveries of science a man will soon be able to
carry into a large field enough manure for its soil in his coat-pocket,
but there has been the ready answer, “Yes, and bring away the produce
in his fob.” I am half inclined to agree with an old parishioner of
mine, who used often to say, “It was an unlucky time for England when
the phrase ‘gentleman farmer’ came up, and folks began to try their
new-fangled plans--such as clover for horses and turnips for sheep.”
“Rents,” he declared, “were never lower than when a tenant would pare
and burn,[158] and take their crops out of every field, so as to carry
off the land as much as he brought on it”--a theory on which, being
a renter himself, he had thriven, and put by money for full fifty
years. Equally original, by the way, were the devices cherished by
my aged friend for the repair of roads. When Macadam had driven his
first turnpike through the West, a public dinner was given in honour
of the event; and being presented with a free ticket, and well coaxed
into the bargain, Old Trevarten made his appearance as a guest. But it
was observed that, amid all the jingling of glasses and cheering of
toasts, he sat motionless and mute, if not actually sulky. At length
the engineer, somewhat piqued at his silence, said, during a pause,
“Why, sir, I am afraid that I have not had the honour of gaining your
approval in this undertaking of mine.”
“To tell you the truth, sir,” was the slow and sturdy answer, “I don’t
like your road at all, by no means.”
“Well, but what are your reasons, sir, for disliking what most people
are pleased with?”
“Why, sir, you have had a brave lot of money out of the country, and
there’s nothing as I see to show for it--’tis all gone!”
“Gone, sir, gone! Why, bless me, isn’t there the road--the fine, wide,
level road?”
“Well, yes, sartainly; but where’s they matereyals that cost such a
sight of taxes? You’ve smashed mun to nort: there’s pilm [dust] in the
drought, and there’s mucks [mud] in the rain, but nowt else that I
see. Now, when I wor way-warden of Wide Widger, I let the farmers have
something to show for their money. Why, sir, ’tis ten year agone come
Candlemas that I wor in office for the ways, and I put down stones as
big as beehives, and there they be now!”
Access to such a living volume of bygone usages and notions was an
advantage not to be despised, and it was long my custom to resort to
“mine ancient” for information difficult to be obtained elsewhere. Once
“I do remember me” that I encountered him in the middle of a reedy
marsh on his farm. He paused, and awaited my approach, leaning on his
staff just where the path crossed a bed of the cotton-rush, then in
full bloom. I had gathered a handful of the stalks, each with its pod
of fine white gossamer threads, like a bunch of snowy silk.
“Ha!” said he, with a kind of half alarm, “you bean’t afeared to pick
that there?”
“Afraid? No; why should I be?”
“Why, some people think it’s unlucky to carry off the pisky wool; but
perhaps you know from the Scriptures how to keep off any harm.”
I did know better than to reason against such fancies with a Cornish
yeoman of threescore and fifteen, and I thought it a good opening for a
saw or ancient instance.[159] “Pixies!” was my leading answer; “and who
are they?”
“Ancient inhabitants,” was the grave reply--“folks that used to live in
the land before us Christians comed here. So, at least, I’ve heerd my
mother say. They are a small people.”
“And what about this wool? What use do they make of it.”
“Why, they spin it for clothing, and to keep ’em warm by night. They’d
do a power of work for the farmers, and for a very small matter to eat
and drink, too; and they would sing, evenings--sing and crowdie like a
Christmas choir.”
The solemn tones of his voice, and the grim gravity of visage with
which old Trevarten made known these mysteries, attested his own deep
belief in their reality and truth. “Had I never seen those rings on the
grass upon Hennacleave Hill--circles about a foot wide, of a darker
colour than the rest of the turf?” he inquired, well knowing that I
had, but rather rejoicing in an opportunity of enlightening me with
scientific revelations of his own. “Did I know how they came there, and
who made them?”
“No.”
“Well, that was surprising: he thought that the college teached
such things, or why did it cost so much money to go there to learn?
Howsomever, _he_ would let me know about they rings. The piskies made
mun, dancing hand-in-hand by night. They rise about midnight, and they
put on their Sunday clothes, and they agree to meet in such or such a
spot, and there one will crowdie and the others daunce, and beat out
the time with their feet, till they’ve worn the shape of a round-about
in the grass, and nort will wear out that ring for evermore!”
Deeply grateful for this information, I ventured to inquire, “And did
you ever see any of these pixy people yourself?”
“Why, I can’t say for sartain that I didno seed mun; my mother hath--so
I’ve yeerd her tell divers times. No; but I’ve seed their works, such
as tying up the manes of the colts in stirrups for riding by night, and
terrifying the cows into the clover till they wor jist a bosted with
the wet grass. And I’ve been pisky-eyed more than once coming home from
the market or fair; and I’ve yeerd mun at their rollicking night-times
frayquently, but I can’t say that I ever seed their faytures, so as to
know ’em again another time.”
“Well,” said I, as a sort of closing and clenching remark, “all I can
say is that I wish I could lay hold of one of these pixies, just to
look at--that’s all.”
“Do you?” was his quick rejoinder; “do you really desire it? I daresay
I can oblige you one day. It is not a month agone that I’d all but
catched one.”
“Indeed!” said I, half bewildered. “How? Where was it?”
“Why, sir, you see the case was this. I’d a bin to Simon Jude fair,
and I stayed rather latish settling with the jobber Brown for some
sheep, and so it wor past twelve o’clock at night before I come through
Stowe wood; and just as I crossed Combe Water, sure enough I yeerd the
piskies. I know’d very well where their ring was close by the gate,
and so I stopped my horse and got off. Well, on I croped afoot till
there was nothing but a gap between me and the pisky ring, and I could
hear every word they said. One had got the crowder, and he was working
away his elbow to the tune of ‘Green Slieves’ bravely, and the rest
wor dauncing and singing and merrymaking like a stage-play. It made
me just ’mazed in my head to look at ’em. Well, I thort to myself, if
I could but catch one of these chaps to carry home! I’ve yeerd that
there’s nothing so lucky in a house as a tame pisky. So I stooped down
and I picked up a stone, oh, as big as my two fistes, and I swinged my
arm and I scrashed the stone right into the ring. What a screech there
was! Such a yell! and one in pertickler I yeerd screaming and hopping
with a leg a-brok like a drashel. That one I was pretty sure of. But
still, as it was very late, and my wife would be looking for me home,
and it was dark also, so I thout I might as well come down and fetch my
pisky in the morning by daylight. Well, sure enough, soon as I rose, I
took one of these baskets with a cover that the women have invented--a
ridicule, they call it--and down I goes to the ring. And do you know,
sir, they’d a be so cunning--they’d a had the art for to carry their
comrade clear off, and there wasn’t so much as a screed of one left!
But, however,” said my venerable friend, seeing that I did not look
quite satisfied with the evidence, “however, there the stone was that I
drashed in amongst mun!”
Alas! alas! how often in after-days, when I have encountered the
theories of men learned in the ’ologies, and pondered the prodigious
inferences which they had deduced from a stratum here and a deposit
there,--how irresistibly have my thoughts recurred to old Trevarten and
his amount of proof, “There the stone was that I drashed in amongst
mun”!
FOOTNOTES:
[156] Robert Hunt has a delightful chapter on “The Elfin Creed of
Cornwall,” in his “Popular Romances of the West of England.”
[157] Compare “The Doom-Well of St. Madron”--
“‘Now horse and hattock, both but and ben,’
Was the cry at Lauds, with Dundagel men,
And forth they pricked upon Routorr side,
As goodly a raid as a king could ride.”
[158] A reference to a custom, still followed to some extent in Devon
and Cornwall, of paring the turf of grass-fields and burning the sods.
It is called “bait-burning,” or “burning bait.”
[159] “Full of wise saws and modern instances.”--_As You Like It._
APPENDICES
BY
THE REV. PREBENDARY ROGER GRANVILLE,
THE LATE REV. W. WADDON MARTYN
AND
R. PEARSE CHOPE
APPENDIX A (p. 8)
MORWENSTOW
BY R. PEARSE CHOPE
The “endowment” referred to by Mr. Hawker is a copy of the original
document, which was executed on May 20th, 1296, by Bishop Thomas de
Bytton. The church was appropriated by his predecessor, Bishop Peter
Quivil, to the Hospital of St. John the Baptist at Bridgwater, on
November 16th, 1290. Bishop Bytton’s Register having been lost, the
“endowment” was copied by William Germyne, Registrar to John Woolton,
Bishop from 1579 to 1593-94, on a blank page of the Register of
Thomas de Brantyngham, Bishop from 1370 to 1394. The name “Walter
Brentingham” is probably due to some confusion between this Thomas
de Brantyngham and Bishop Walter de Stapeldon, for there was no
Bishop of Exeter having the first name. Germyne’s copy is printed in
full in the Register of Bishop Brantyngham, edited by the Rev. F. C.
Hingeston-Randolph (Part I. p. 106), and is here reproduced.
“Universis presentes Literas inspecturis Thomas, permissione
Divina Exoniensis Episcopus, salutem et pacem in Domino
sempiternam.--Noverit Universitas vestra quod, cum olim bone
memorie Petrus, tunc Exoniensis Episcopus, Ecclesiam de
Morewinstowe, cum juribus suis et pertinenciis, Religiosis viris,
Magistro et Fratribus Hospitalis Sancti Johannis de Bridgwater,
Bathoniensis Diocesis, de consensu Capituli sui appropriasset,
et concessisset eisdem in usus proprios imperpetuum possidendam,
salva competenti Vicaria, per ipsum et Successores suos taxanda
et ordinanda juxta juris exigenciam in eadem; nos, eidem
postmodum succedentes in onere et honore, cum res integra adhuc
existeret, pensatis ejusdem Ecclesie facultatibus, habita super
hoc cognicione debita que requiritur in hac parte, de expresso
consensu dictorum Magistri et Fratrum, ipsam Vicariam, quod in
subscriptis porcionibus consistat imperpetuum, tenore Presentium
ordinamus; videlicet, quod Vicarius qui pro tempore in Ecclesia
supradicta fuerit habeat et percipiat, nomine Vicarie, omnes
fructus, proventus, et obvenciones totius alterlagii Ecclesie
supradicte; sub quo, preter ceteros proventus, decimam feni totius
Parochie, simul cum tota decima molendinorum ejusdem Parochie,
volumus comprehendi; cum Sanctuario jacente a parte Occidentali
curie et croftarum Parsonatus Ecclesie supradicte, sursum a veteri
via que ducit usque ad mare et usque ad deorsum ad rivulum in
valle, cum duabus croftis subter Ecclesiam a parte Boreali, et
cetera terra ibidem usque ad quendam fontem Johannis, quatuor
acras terre continente et ultra; cum tota decima garbarum ville de
Stanburie et trium villarum de Tunnacombis; volentes et ordinantes
quod dicta Religiosi omnes Libros et Ornamenta dicte Ecclesie,
si que deficiunt, vel usu seu vetustate consumpta fuerint, que,
tamen, ad ipsos parochianos non pertinent, suis sumptibus de novo
invenient; alia, vero, si per reparacionem fuerint per tempus
non breve duratura, in statum congruum et sufficientem reparent
et reficiant hac vice prima; quodque extunc custodia eorundem
et reparacio pro tempore successuro, una cum omnibus oneribus
ordinariis integraliter, et extraordinariis pro quarta parte
dumtaxat, ad Vicarium qui pro tempore fuerit pertineant; residua
parte dictorum onerum extraordinariorum, una cum sustentatione,
reparatione, et reedificatione Cancelli ipsius Ecclesie dictis
Religiosis totaliter incumbente.--In cujus rei testimonium nos,
Thomas, Exoniensis Episcopus supradictus, sigillum nostrum, et nos,
prefati Magister et Fratres sigillum nostrum commune Presentibus
duximus apponendum.--Data apud Chidleghe, xiij^o Calendas Junii
[May 20th], Anno Domini Millesimo ducentesimo nonagesimo sexto.
“Hec Taxatio vere est Registrata,
“WILLELMUS GERMYNE.”