Jan Pook, a Moretonhampstead Folksong (part two)

 

Leat on the road between Two Bridges and Princetown - by Tom Jolliffe [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

 

[cont...] "...Es likker 'ad warmed en to that there degree,
That he vailed vast asleep, and his osses you zee,
Forgetting the whip, stapped and grazed 'pon the road,
But how long they bided there nobody knowed.
Jan dreamed 'bout some pixies
And other strange folk,
When the miners corned up,
All alive for a joke.
They unharnessed his osses,
And drove mun away,
Leaving Jan vast asleep
On the porch of the shay.
When the zun in the East wuz beginning to rise,
Jan Pook, half awake,
Vailed to rubbing his eyes.
" Who be I ? Where be I ?"
Zed Jan in a maze :
" Here's a drunken old zun-
Of-a-gun on a shays.
If I be Jan Pook,
I may zay to my cost
A pair of post osses
I've sartinly lost.
If I baint Jan Pook
'Tez a fortinite day,
For I'm burned if I aint
Been and found a post shay."

MORAL.
 

Don't drink wey no miners,
Now mind what I zay,
Don't nivver pull up
To no Saracen's Head,
Spurn alcoholic drinks
Vur the rest of your days,
And you'll not lost no osses,
Nor vind a post shays."

Hewett 1900

Map - Moretonhampstead

Map - Princetown

Map - Saracens Head at Two Bridges

[Pook puts me in mind of Shakespearean Puck, and also of the Puggie stone in Chagford, said to be etymologically mid way between Puck and Pixie - Devonian speakers have a habit of retaining the Olde English ee sound in words -  "Dart-ee-moor" "Chag-ee-Vord", hence the thought that Pixie might be Puck-ee...]

Some Devon May Day customs

May Blossom - Hawthorn - If you wish to use my photos please attribute this blog.

[I hope these are about Devon, anyway - with Hewett she is infuriatingly spartan with place references, and occasionally includes stuff from other counties - so treat with care...]

"There were, and still are, numerous superstitions attached to the merry month of May. Marriages taking place in May are supposed to bring ill-luck to the contracting parties. Cats born in this month are regarded as unpleasant creatures to have about one, as the practice of bringing into the house snakes, toads, and other objectionable vermin is ascribed to them.
 

May-dew, collected before or close upon sun-rise, is looked upon as an infallible beautifier of the complexion. Young girls arose early to wash their faces in it with the hope that their charms would be increased. On returning from the fields they would gather branches of hawthorn bloom, and suspend it over the entrance to the house, to protect it and themselves from the spells of witches and the evil eye.

On the first of May, persons were sent on ridiculous errands, and on their return, empty handed, were derisively addressed as May giize-chicks, or May goslings."

Hewett 1900

Devon charm to cure dropsy / swelling of soft tissues from water retention

Toad - Bufo bufo - By Korall (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

"Take several large fully-grown toads, place them in a vessel in which they can be burned without their ashes becoming mixed with any foreign matter. When reduced to ashes, pound them in a stone mortar. Place the ashes in a wide-mouthed jar, cork closely and keep in a dry place.

Dose. One teaspoonful of ashes in milk to be taken at the growing of the moon for nine mornings."

Hewett 1900

[I love toads - do not replicate this 'cure'.]

Devon tree charm to cure toothache

Hand on Ash Bark - by Photograph and upload by John Delano of Hammond, Indiana. Wikipedia.

"Cut your toe and finger nails, take these parings, wrap in tissue paper, and insert the packet into a slit made in the bark of an ash tree before sunrise. You will never have toothache again as long as you live."

Hewett 1900

Unlucky in Devon - 50 & 51 (mirrors)

By Car_mirror_at_night.jpg: Mark Sebastian from San Jose (Car_mirror_at_night.jpg) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

It is unlucky - 

"For a bride to take a last peep at the mirror before starting for church.

To look into a mirror at dusk, or night-time, unless the room is well lighted, is not pleasant : for there is a dread of something uncanny peeping over the shoulder ; such an apparition would portend death."

Hewett 1900

Unlucky in Devon - 41

Cock Crowing - By Steev Selby from Wollongong, Australia  [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

It is unlucky -

"For a cock to crow at midnight, or a dog to howl between sun-set and sun-rise."

Hewett 1900

The Ghostly boat of the Bottoms - Part 2

Ghost Ship - By George Grie (self-made, http://www.neosurrealismart.com) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], via Wikimedia Commons

"...[cont.] They, kept a boat in the cove, and would start in it at daybreak, disappear out at sea, and never return till it was night; nay, sometimes they remained out all night if the weather were stormy. At times they remained on shore arid hunted, generally, however, at night, and in storms, when the cry of the hounds, ringing out at midnight, would startle the sleeping country.

The stranger died, and his coffin was carried by the peasants to the churchyard, the servant and the dogs following it. But when the earth was thrown into the grave, servant and dogs all disappeared, and were never seen again. At the same moment their boat disappeared from the cove. Ever since that time the ghostly vessel sails at certain periods in awful silence and mystery to the pirate's grave."

Valentine (undated)

Map -The Bottoms

Map - Croft Pasco Pool

Map - Chygwiden area

The Death of King Rufus - part 2

"..The morning of that second of August dawned in unusual splendour. The previous night had been disturbed by Rufus, who had had an awful dream, and v-hose shouts had called his followers to his bedside, where, at his request, they had retained till dawn. Put at breakfast the king was in great spirits the day was come that he had fixed on for the chase, and he had forgotten his dream.

While he was preparing for the hunt, an artizan brought him six new arrows. He praised the workmanship, and, keeping four for himself, he gave the two others to his favourite, Sir Walter Tyrrel, or de Poix, saying, "Good weapons are due to him who knows how to make a good use of them."

And now the horses were at the door, and the huntsman's horn sounded, when a strange monk suddenly appeared and demanded an interview with the king, saying that he had matters of great moment to communicate to him. He was admitted and brought before the Red King. "What would you with me, Sir Priest?" asked William, frowning at the delay..." [cont..]

Valentine (undated)

Polperro: Saint's Well

"The reputed virtues of this well have survived the entire destruction of the edifice which enclosed the spring, for it is still resorted to by those afflicted with inflamed eyes and other ailments, and if "ceremonies due" are done aright, with great benefit. It must be visited on three mornings before sunrise, fasting, a  relic of a veritable ceremony, as witnesseth Chaucer's Pardoner's Tale, line 33. 

If the goode man that the beest oweth,
Wol every wike er that the cok him croweth,
Fastynge, drinke of this well a draugbt,
As thilke holy Jew oure eldres taught,
His beestes, and his stoor schal multiplier "

Hope 1893

Map - Polperro

Jolly Lane Cot, Hexworthy

  © Copyright Derek Harper and
licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.
I think this is an image of Jolly Lane Cot!

"Just above the bridge is Jolly Lane Cot, built in one day, and the last holding attempted to be taken from the Duchy, an old custom being that if a house could be built and inhabitted between sunrise and sunset the builder could claim it as his.  An account of this will be found in Dartmmor Idylls , and also in A Hundred Years on Dartmoor."

Cresswell 1921

Map - Jolly Lane Cot

[I have heard of a similler custom in Wales where they are called "Ty Un Nos", or overnight houses.  If you could build the chimney after sunset and get is smoking before sunrise, you could live in the house you built around it.  As far as you could throw an axe from the front door was the size of your garden...]

Zennor Coits

Zennor Quoit is at the bottom - From Archaeologia Cambrensis 1857, by R. T. Pentreath via Wikipedia

"TAYLOR STEPHENS, lately deceased, who was for some time the rural postman of Zennor, sought, in his poem, "The Chief of Barat-Anac," to embody in a story some descriptions of the Zennor coits and other rock curiosities.

I employed this man for some weeks to gather up for me all that remained of legendary lore in Zennor and Morva. He did his work well; and from his knowledge of the people, he learned more from them than any other man could have done. The results of his labours are scattered through these volumes.

C. Taylor Stephens wrote me on the subject of the cromlechs as follows:--

Superstitious Belief respecting the Quoits.

"I was in the neighbourhood of Zennor in 1859, and by accident came across the Zennor cromlech, and was struck with the mode of its construction (not having heard of its existence before), and thinking it bore some resemblance to the Druidical altars I had read of, I inquired of a group of persons who were gathered round the village smithery, whether any one could tell me anything respecting the heap of stones on the top of the hill. Several were in total ignorance of their existence. One said, 'Tes caal'd the gient's kite; thas all I knaw.' At last, one more thoughtful, and one who, I found out, was considered the wiseacre and oracle of the village, looked up and gave me this important piece of information,--'Them ere rocks were put there afore you nor me was boern or thoft ov; but who don it es a puzler to everybody in Sunnur (Zennor). I de bleve theze put up theer wen thes ere wurld was maade; but wether they was or no don't very much mattur by hal akounts. Thes I'd knaw, that nobody caant take car em awa; if anybody was too, they'd be brot there agin. Hees an ef they wus tuk'd awa wone nite, theys shur to be hal rite up top o' th hil fust thing in morenin. But I caant tel ee s' much as Passen can; ef you 'd zea he, he 'd tel he hal about et.'"

In one of the notes received from the poet and postman he gives a curious instance of the many parts a man played in those remote districts but a few years since:-- 

"My venerable grandpapa was well known by all the old people, for he was not only a local preacher, but a charmer, a botanist, a veterinary surgeon, a secretary to a burial and sick benefit society, and, moreover, the blacksmith of the neighbourhood.""

Hunt 1903

Map - Zennor Quoit 

The Mermaids Vengence - part 12

"...Walter was statue-like, and he awoke from this trance-like state only when the waves washed his feet, and he became aware that even now it was only by wading through the waters that he could return around the point of rocks. He was alone. He called; no one answered. He sought wildly, as far as he now dared, amidst the rocks, but the lovely woman was nowhere to be discovered.

There was no real danger on such a night as this; therefore Walter walked fearlessly through the gentle waves, and recovered the pathway up from the sands. More than once he thought he heard a rejoicing laugh, which was echoed in the rocks, but no one was to be seen. Walter reached his home and bed, but he found no sleep; and in the morning he arose with a sense of wretchedness which was entirely new to him. He feared to make any one of his rough companions a confidant, although he felt this would have relieved his heart. He therefore nursed the wound which he now felt, until a bitter remorse clouded his existence. After some days, he was impelled to visit the grave - of the lost one, and in the fullness of the most selfish sorrow, he sat on the sands and shed tears. The priest of the Oratory observed him, and knowing Walter Trewoofe, hesitated not to inquire into his cause of sorrow. His heart was opened to the holy man, and the strange tale was told--the only result being, that the priest felt satisfied it was but a vivid dream, which had resulted from a brain over-excited by drink. He, however, counselled the young man, giving him some religious instruction, and dismissed him with his blessing. There was relief in this. For some days Walter did not venture to visit his old haunt, the cottage of Chenalls. Since he could not be lost to his companions without greatly curtailing their vicious enjoyments, he was hunted up by Chenalls, and again enticed within the circle. His absence was explained on the plea of illness. Walter was, however, an altered man; there was not the same boisterous hilarity as formerly. He no longer abandoned himself without restraint to the enjoyments of the time. If he ever, led on by his thoughtless and rough-natured friends, assumed for a moment his usual mirth, it was checked by some invisible power. On such occasions he would turn deadly pale, look anxiously around, and fail back, as if ready to faint, on the nearest seat. Under these influences, he lost health. His uncle, who was really attached to his nephew, although he regretted his dissolute conduct, became now seriously alarmed. Physicians were consulted in vain; the young man pined, and the old gossips came to the conclusion that Walter Trewoofe was ill-wished, and there was a general feeling that Penna or his wife was at the bottom of it. Walter, living really on one idea, and that one the beautiful face which was, and yet was not, that of Selina, resolved again to explore the spot on which he had met this strange being, of whom nothing could be learned by any of the covert inquiries he made. He lingered long ere he could resolve on the task; but wearied, worn by the oppression of one undefined idea, in which an intensity of love was mixed with a shuddering fear, he at last gathered sufficient courage to seize an opportunity for again going to the cavern. On this occasion, there being no moon, the night was dark, but the stars shone brightly from a sky, cloudless, save a dark mist which hung heavily over the western horizon. Every spot of ground being familiar to him, who, boy and man, had traced it over many times, the partial darkness presented no difficulty. Walter had scarcely reached the level sands, which were left hard by the retiring tide, than he heard again the same magical voice as before. But now the song was a joyous one, the burthen of it being --

"Join all hands--
Might and main,
Weave the sands,
Form a chain,
He, my lover,
Comes again!"..."

Hunt 1903

Merrymaids and Merrymen - footnote

"...The following extract from a letter from an esteemed correspondent shows the existence of a belief in those fabled creations of the ocean amongst an extensive class of the labouring population of Cornwall. There is so much that is characteristic in my correspondent's letter that it is worth preserving as supporting the evidence of the existing belief:

"I had the chance of seeing what many of our natives firmly beleved to be that family. Some fourteen years ago I found myself, with about fifty emigrants in the Gulf of St Lawrence, on board the old tub Resolution, Captain Davies, commander. We were surounded in a fog so thick that you might cut it like a cheese, almost all the way from the Banks to Anticosti. One morning, soon after sunrise, when near that island, the fog as thick as night overhead, at times would rise and fall on the shore like the tantalising stage curtain. All at once there was a clear opening right through the dense clouds which rested on the water, that gave us a glimpse of the shore, with the rocks covered with what to us appeared very strange creatures. In a minute, the hue and cry from stem to stern, among all the cousin Johnnys, was 'What are they, you? What are they, you!' Somebody gave the word mermaids. Old men, women, and children, that hadn't been out of their bunks for weeks, tore on deck to see the mermaids, when, alas! the curtain dropped, or rather closed, and the fair were lost to sight, but to memory dear: for, all the way to Quebec, those not lucky enough to see the sight bothered the others out of their lives to know how they looked, and if we saw the comb and glass in their hands. The captain might as well save his breath as tell them that the creatures they saw on the rocks were seals, walruses, and sea-calves. 'Not yet, Captain dear, you won't come that over me at all; no, not by a long chalk! no, not at all, I can tell'e! I know there are mermaids in the sea; have heard many say so who have sees them too! but as for sea-calves, I ain't such a calf nor donkey neither as to believe ut. There may be a few of what we call soils (seals) for all I know; perhaps so, but the rest were flier-maidens.' No doubt, centuries hence, this story of the mermaidens will be handed down with many additions, in the log-huts of the Western States.""

Hunt 1903

Dosemary Pool - part 4

'...This is a delusion caused by enchantment; Goonhylda still lives. Tregeagle offers himself to Goonhylda, who rejects his suit with scorn, and desires to leave the castle. Tregeagle coolly informs her that she cannot quit the place; Goonhylda threatens him with her father's vengeance. She is a prisoner, but her page contrives to make his escape, and in the evening arrives at Launceston Castle gate. The Earl of Cornwall, hearing from the page that his daughter lives and is a prisoner, arms himself and all his retainers --

"And em the greye morne peep'd. the eastern hills o'er,
At Tregeagle's gate sounded hys home."

Tregeagle will not obey the summons, but suddenly "they hearde the Black Hunter's dread voyce in the wynde!"

"They heard hys curate hell-houndes runn,yelping behynde,
And his steede thundered loude on the eare!"

This gentleman in black shakes the castle with his cry, "Come forth, Sir Tregeagle! come forth and submit to thy fate!" Of course he comes forth, and "the rede bolte of vengeaunce shot forth wyth a glare, and strooke him a corpse to the grounde!"

"Then from the black corpse a pale spectre appear'd,
And hyed him away through the night."

Goonhylda is of course found uninjured, and taken home by the earl. The castle disappears and Dozmare Pool re-appears; but --

"Stylle as the traveller pursues hys lone waye,
In horroure at nyghte o'er the waste,
He hears Syr Tregeagle with shrieks rushe away
He hears the Black Hunter pursuing his preye,
And shrynkes at bys bugle's dread blaste."'

Hunt 1903

The Irishman's Wall

[There are two similar legends I know of this wall, differing only in one small detail. One I read of some time ago, and one I heard from a Dartmoor parks guide who grew up in Belston.

The Irishman's Wall, on Belstone parish dates back to the time of the enclosures. At this time a rich newcomer turned up - either that or he had been long away from the parish, perhaps in Ireland, amassing much wealth.  He decided to put his wealth to work, and at that age, as now, money meant a lot to the law of the land, if not its people. Employing incomers to work for him (the wall is not a typical Dartmoor construction) - again, possibly from Ireland - he set to work enclosing a large area of the common of Belstone for his private use. This was a barbaric time, and across the land the poor people suffered greatly, and the wedge of greed  was well and truly driven home between the peasant and the land.  If completed the wall would have deprived many of the villagers of the food in their belly, the peat in their hearths, and even the stone to repair their houses with.

Here the written and the told stories diverge a fraction.  The written version (I cannot recall the book) tells of how while the rich man's lackeys built the wall over the breast of the hill the locals followed just out of site over the brow knocking it down.

The guide told a slightly more cunning story - he said the locals waited till pretty much the day it was finished, when the rich man had sunk all his assets into it. That night they went out on mass and before dawn broke every foot of the wall was torn down and scattered - the common of Belstone could not be enclosed!  When sun rose not a villager was to be seen, but the rich man was ruined, and to this day the land of Belstone parish is unenclosed.]

The Demon Tregeagle - part 2

'..When midnight is on the moor or on the mountains, and the night winds whistle amidst the rugged cairns, the shrieks of Tregeagle are distinctly heard. We know, then, that he is pursued by the demon dogs, and that till daybreak he must fly with all speed before them. The voice of Tregeagle is everywhere, and yet he is unseen by human eye. Every reader will at once perceive that Tregeagle belongs to the mythologies of the oldest nations, and that the traditions of this wandering spirit in Cornwall, which centre upon one tyrannical magistrate, are but the appropriation of stories which belong to every age and country. Tradition thus tells Tregeagle's tale.


There are some men who appear to be from their births given over to the will of tormenting demons. Such a man was Tregeagle. He is as old as the hills, yet there are many circumstances in the story of his life which appear to remove him from this remote antiquity. Modern legends assert him to belong to comparatively modern times, and say that, without doubt, he was one of the Tregeagles who once owned Trevorder near Bodmin. We have not, however, much occasion to trouble ourselves with the man or his life; it is with the death and the subsequent existence of a myth that we are concerned.

Certain it is that the man Tregeagle was diabolically wicked. He seems to have been urged on from one crime to another until the cup of sin was overflowing.

Tregeagle was wealthy beyond most men of his time, and his wealth purchased for him that immunity, which the Church, in her degenerate days, too often accorded to those who could aid, with their gold or power, the sensual priesthood. As a magistrate, he was tyrannical and unjust, and many an innocent man was wantonly sacrificed by him for the purpose of hiding his own dark deeds. As a landlord, he was rapacious and unscrupulous, and frequently so involved his tenants in his toils, that they could not escape his grasp...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

The adventurs of Chery of Zennor - part 13

'...Oh, how madly jealous Cherry became when she saw her master kiss this lovely lady! However, the next day, the master remained at home to gather fruit. Cherry was to help him, and when, as usual, he looked to kiss her, she slapped his face, and told him to kiss the Small People, like himself, with whom he played under the water. So he found out that Cherry had used the ointment. With much sorrow he told her she must go home,--that he would have no spy on his actions, and that Aunt Prudence must come back. Long before day, Cherry was called by her master. He gave her lots of clothes and other things;--took her bundle in one hand, and a lantern in the other, and bade her follow him. They went on for miles on miles, all the time going up hill, through lanes, and narrow passages. When they came at last on level ground, it was near daybreak. He kissed Cherry, told her she was punished for her idle curiosity; but that he would, if she behaved well, come sometimes on the Lady Downs to see her. Saying this, he disappeared. The sun rose, and there was Cherry seated on a granite stone, without a soul within miles of her,--a desolate moor having taken the place of a smiling garden. Long, long did Cherry sit in sorrow, but at last she thought she would go home...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

Betty Stogs and Jan the Monster - part 6

'...While yet full of fear and trembling to meet her husband, Jan came home from Bal. He was, of course, told that his "croom of a chield was lost." He didn't believe a word of what Betty told him, but he went about and called up all the neighbours, who joined him in the search. They spent the night in examining every spot around the house and in the village--all in vain.

After daybreak they were all assembled in deep and earnest consultation, when the cat came running into the house, with her tail on end, and mewing anxiously. She ran forth and back round a brake of furze, constantly crying, as if she wished the people to follow her. After a long time some one thought of going after the cat, and in the middle of the furze-brake, on a beautiful green, soft spot of mossy grass, was the baby sleeping, "as sweet as a little nut," wrapped carefully up in some old dry gowns, and all its clothes clean and dry. When they unwrapped the child, they found he was covered over with bright flowers, as we place them round a babe in the coffin. He had a bunch of violets in his dear little hands, and there were wallflowers and primroses, and balm and mint spread over his body. The furze was high all around, so that no cold wind could reach the infant. Every one declared that the child never looked so handsome before. It was plain enough, said the old women, that the Small People had taken the child and washed it from top to toe; that their task of cleansing the babe was a long one, and that the sun arose before they could finish it; that they had placed the child where it was found, intending to take it away the next night.

They were never known to come for the babe, but every one said that this affair worked a great change in Betty Stogs and in Jan the Mounster. The cottage was kept tidy, the child clean; and its father and mother drank less, and lived happier, for ever afterwards.'

Hunt 1903

Fairy Revel at the Gump, St Just - Part 6

'...Whir! whir! whir! as if a flight of bees were passing him, buzzed in his ears. Every limb, from head to foot, was as if stuck full of pins and pinched with tweezers. He could not move, he was changed to the ground. By some means he had rolled down the mound, and lay on his back with his arms outstretched, arms and legs being secured by magic chains to the earth; therefore, although he suffered great agony, he could not stir, and, strange enough, his tongue appeared tied by cords, so that he could not call. He had lain, no one can tell how long, in this sad plight, when he felt as if a number of insects were running over him, and by the light of the moon he saw standing on his nose one of the spriggans, who looked exceedingly like a small dragon-fly. This little monster stamped and jumped with great delight; and having had his own fun upon the elevated piece of humanity, he laughed most outrageously, and shouted, "Away, away, I smell the day!" Upon this the army of small people, who had taken possession of the old man's body, moved quickly away, and left our discomfited hero alone on the Gump.

Bewildered, or, as he said, bedevilled, he lay still to gather up his thoughts. At length the sun arose, and then he found that he had been tied to the ground by myriads of gossamer webs, which were now covered with dew, and glistened like diamonds in the sunshine.  He shook himself, and was free. He rose wet, cold, and ashamed. Sulkily he made his way to his home. It was a long time before,his friends could learn from the old man where he had passed the night, but, by slow degrees, they gathered the story I have related to you.'

Hunt 1903

The Spriggan's Child - second lot of tags

I'LL tell you a tale, an you've patience to hear an,
'Bout the Spriggans, that swarm round Partinney still--
You knew Janey Tregeer, who lives in Brea Vean,

In the village just under the Chapel Hill.
One arternoon she went out for to reap,
And left the child in the cradle asleep:
Janey took good care to cover the fire;--
Turn'd down the brandis on the baking.ire (iron),
Swept up the ashes on the hearthstone,
And so left the child in the house all alone--
The boys had all on 'em gone away,
Some to work and some to play.
Janey work'd in the field as gay as a lark,
And when she came home it was nearly dark;
The furst thing she saw when she open'd the door
Was the cradle upset--all the straw on the floor.

But no child in sight--
She search'd all round --
Still no child was found:
And it got dark night.
So great was Jane's fright,
That for more than an hour
She hadn't the power
To strike a light.

However, she kindled the fire at last,
And threw in a faggot to make a blast.
As she stoop'd over the wood.corner stone,
She heard a sound 'tween a cry and a moan --
It clearly came from a bundle of ferns--
The two bigger boy's bed--
And there, sure enough, as frighten'd she turns,
Janey saw the child's head.

'Twas very queer. How the child got there,
Nobody could say;Yet ever since that day, the
And blinking and peeping, when it ought to be sleeping,
But seldom it closed its eyes.
Jane said for a child it look'd too wise --
That, she thought it a changeling
She didn't disguise--
And often and often the gave it a beating,
To stop--but she couldn't--its cussed bleating.

Janey resolved to work the spell,
And whene'er she could stay,
She bath'd the brat in the Chapel Well --
Which he thought rare play.

On the three first Wednesdays in flow'ry May
She plunged it deep at the dawn of day--
Pass'd it slowly three times against the sun,
Went three times round,--and when all was clone,
The imp of a child roar'd aloud for fun.
No tongue can tell
The trouble it gave her
To dip the shaver,
And work the spell.

From Brea to Chapel-Uny is a mile or more,
And surely it tried Janey's patience sore
To trudge forth and back from the Chapel Well,
With this brat on her back, to work the spell.

She wish'd it dead; but it wouldn't die:
It ate its bread, it would pine and cry;
And Janey was nearly beside herself
With this plague of her life--this wicked elf.

Well, one rainy day,--as it rains in May,--
Janey set out with the child in her arms
Once more to work the holy charms.
When very close to the top of the hill,
Where she was sure there was nobody near,
She heard the strangest voice in her ear,
Saying these words, quite clear and shrill --
"Tredrill Tredrill! thy wife and children greet thee well."

Oh, Janey's heart-strings were like to crack,
When up spake the thing in her arms, good lack!--
" For wife or child little care I,
They may laugh,
Or they may cry,--
While milk I quaff;
When I am dry--
Get of my pap my fill
Whenever I will,
On the dowdy's back ride,
With my legs astride,
When we work the spell
At the Chapel Well"

Janey dropp'd the cussed thing on the ground,
And turn'd round, and round, and round;
You may be sure she was in a fright
To hear the sound, and nobody in sight,
And to hear a child talkMonths before it could walk.
She has said o'er and -o'er,
And I am sure you can't wonder,
'Twouldn't frighten her more,
Had the rocks burst asunder,
And the earth belch'd forth thunder,

When Janey at length got over the fright
From hearing the sound and nobody in sight,
And the brat which lay crying, as if it was dying,
Talking out like a man of his wife and his child,
She felt all bedazzled as if she was wild--
Took the brat by the arm, flung it over her shoulder--
Wouldn't believe it her child if the parson had told her--
Thought the devil was in it,
As she ran the hill down,
Without -stopping a minute
Till she came to Brea -town.

The old women came out, and all on 'em agreed
'Twas the strangest thing that ever they seed;
They stood in a row, and each one had a word --
'Twas the wonderfull'st story that ever they heard;
'Twas a Spriggan's brat--they were all sure of that--
No more like Jane's child than an old ram-cat.
She must beat it black, she must beat it blue,
Bruise its body all o'er with the heel of her shoe--
Then lay it alone beneath the church stile,
And keep out of hearing and sight for a while--
When every one said, as every one thought,
That Janey's child would again be brought:
Some said 'twould be living--some said 'twould be dead -
But the Spriggan's base brat she no longer need dread.

Jane beat the babe black,
And she beat the babe blue,
On the ashes' pile before the door;
And she would have beaten it ten times more,
But out of her hand she lost her shoe,
Struck away all at once - by she couldn't tell who.

The brat bad roar'd--it could roar no more--
So they carried it off to the old church stile,
And laid it under the stones--some swore
That when placed on the earth it was seen to smile --
Then all turn'd back, and kept far out of sight
And Janey declared she was almost wild:
But they kept her back till the turn o' the night,
When she rush'd to the stile and found her own child

'Twas there, sure enough, her own dear child
But when first she saw it,
She did not know it-- It look'd so frighten'd--it seem'd so wild.

Then the old women said,
If it keeps its wits,
We're sadly afraid
The poor babe will have fits'

Hunt 1903