Lenson-Hill and Pillsen-Pin proverb (or Pilsdon Pen and Lewesdon Hill, Dorset)

Veiw from Coneys Castle toward Pilsdon Pen and Lewesdon Hill - by Derek Harper [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

 

"As much a kin as Lenson-hill to Pillsen-pin.

That is, no kin at all. It is spoken of such who have vacinity of habitation or neighboarbood, without the least degree of consanguinity, or affinity betwixt them For these are two high hills, the first wholly, the other partly in the parish of Broad Windsor. Yet the sea men make the nearest relation between them, calling the one the cow the other the calf; in which forms it seems they appear first to their fancies, being eminent sea marks."

Ray 1768

Map - Pilsdon Pen
Map - Lewesdon Hill

The Glastonbury Thorn

Glastonbury Thorn - By Tom Ordelman [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-SA-2.5-2.0-1.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)], from Wikimedia Commons

"But we are at the foot of an eminence called Weary-all-hill, and we pause, and in our mind's eye see the Eastern traveller, weary and worn, who slowly mounts it, followed by a few monks. It is Joseph of Arimathea, sent from Gaul by Philip to carry the tidings of salvation to Albion, and if possible to overthrow the horrid Druidical religion. 

We see him strike his staff into the ground and hear him say, "Here will I build a temple for the worship of Christ, my Lord." And the staff bursts into white blossoms, and behold the Thorn of Glastonbury. But the spot proved too small for the site of a church, and the missionaries moved forward and built their lowly temple, of wattles and wreathed twigs, in mystic Avalon.

There is still a Chapel of St. Joseph. Did the holy Jew really bring the Gospel to Britain? It does not seem impossible, when we remember how far the Apostles travelled and preached; and of one fact there is no doubt: it was at Glastonbury that the tidings of salvation first reached the ears of the British people. In the most ancient charters of the monastery are these significant words applied to the abbey, "the fountain and origin of all religion in the realm of Britain.""

Valentine (undated)

Map - Wearyall Hill

Mrs and Mr Bray, and Rev. Samuel Rowe - part two

"...Mr. Bray's father had a summer-house at Beardown, on the Cowsic.  Hither they frequently came to make further excursions on the moor, searching for antiquities, and for what they dearly loved; traces of the Druids. Everything, in their opinion and in Mr. Rowe's was druidical: the stones; the rock basins; the names of the hills. No place was too inaccessible, no rock too hard, for the handling of this marvelous priesthood. And, as the druidical bards had left no written traces, Mr. Bray determined to put inscriptions upon the rocks at Beardown, which he conjectured to signify The Hill Of The Bards, though a moor simple derivation might be suggested.

These inscriptions, some of which were written in bardic characters, were traced by him upon the granite, and picked out by a labourer. Time, weather, and mosses, soon effaced many of the letters and in a few years some of the lines were indecipherable by Mr. Bray himself. From some cause the granite on this side is far more friable than that in the eastern quarter, which partly accounts for the rock basins and other druidical relics discovered by Mr. and Mrs. Bray."

Cresswell 1921

Map - Beardown

Brent Tor and the Devil

"Another story relates how the Evil One removed the stones from the foot of the hill, where it was first intended to build a church, to the summit. Readers of Baring Gould's Margery of Quether will remember that that unpleasant relict lived in the tower and descended by the bell-rope on Christmas Eve."

Cresswell 1921

Map - Brent Tor

Widdecombe Fair

Display in the window of the Old Pottery in Widecombe in the Moor

"The Story of "Widecombe Fair" is one of the quaintest of the Songs of the West, collected by the Rev. S. Baring-Gould, and the best known of them all among the Devon folk; indeed, it has bee termed the Devonshire National Anthem. It tells the tale of how Jan Pearce's grey Mare was borrowed by a friend,

For I wants to go to Widecombe Fair,
With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,
Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all.

But as neither the mare nor the party returned, Jan went to look after them, and -

When'e got to the top o' the hill,
'E see'd his old mare a-making of her will.

For the poor old mare "her took sick, and her died," and when you get to the top of the hill you won't wonder!  For steep and bad and stony is the way to Widecombe, long down, and oh, so long up again! But you want to stand in Dartmoor, so we will descend the hill...

...Widecombe Fair still takes place, a sheep fair held on the second Tuesday in September, and then Widecombe is a very stiring place indeed; and "you may see some proper ship (sheep) there," as an old farmer once said to me. They are mostly ruddled, that is marked with a red colouring; and, in pens, they fill up the green all round the church, where they stand and bleat until they are sold and driven off over the moor.  In the inn there is a grand lunch of cold meats to be had, and you may hear the finest Devonshire imaginable talked all round you; and if you belong to the county your tounge slips into the dialect quite naturally. You will most certainly meet "Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all", ay, and recognize them too, with the grey mare herself."

Cresswell 1921

In the church at Widecombe in the Moor - a display about the song.

Map - Widecombe- in-the-Moor

Dosemary Pool - part 1

Reproduced courtesy of Francis Frith.


'MR BOND, in his "Topographical and Historical Sketches of the Boroughs of East and West Looe," writes -- "This pool is distant from Looe about twelve miles off. Mr Carew says:

'Dosmery Pool amid the moores,
On top stands of a hill;
More than a mile about, no streams
It empt, nor any fill'

It is a lake of fresh water about a mile in circumference, the only one in Cornwall (unless the Loe Pool near Helston may be deemed such), and probably takes its name from Dome-Mer, sweet or fresh-water sea. It is about eight or ten feet deep in many parts. The notion entertained by some, of there being a whirlpool in its middle, I can contradict, having, some years ago, passed all over in a boat then kept there."

Such is Mr Bond's evidence; but this is nothing compared with the popular belief, which declares the pool to be bottomless; and beyond this, is it not known to every man of faith, that a thorn-bush thrown into Dosmery Pool has sunk in the middle of it, and after some time has come up in Falmouth Harbour?

Notwithstanding that Carew says that "no streams it empt, nor any fill," James Michell, in his parochial history of St Neot's, says, -- "It is situate on a small stream called St Neot's River, a branch of the Fowey, which rises in Dosmare Pool"...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

The Demon Tregeagle - part 6

'...Nature was at war with herself, the elements had lost their balance, and there was a terrific struggle to recover it. Light-flings flashed and coiled like fiery snakes around the rocks of Roughtor. Fire-balls fell on the desert moors and hissed in the accursed lake. Thunders peeled through the heavens, and echoed from hill to hill; an earthquake shook the solid earth, and terror was on all living. The winds arose and raged with a fury which was irresistible, and hail beat so mercilessly on all things, that it spread death around. Long did Tregeagle stand the "pelting of the pitiless storm," but at length he yielded to its force and fled. The demons in crowds were at his heels. He doubled, however, on his pursuers, and returned to the lake; but so rapid were they, that he could not rest the required moment to dip his shell in the flow seething waters.

Three times he fled round the lake, and the evil ones pursued him. Then, feeling that there was no safety for him near Dosmery Pool, he sprang swifter than the wind across it, shrieking with agony, and thus, -- since the devils cannot cross water, and were obliged to go round the lake, -- he gained on them and fled over the moor.

Away, away went Tregeagle, faster and faster the dark spirits pursuing, and they had nearly overtaken him, when he saw Roach Rock and its chapel before him. He rushed up the rocks, with giant power clambered to the eastern window, and dashed his head through it, thus securing the shelter of its sanctity. The defeated demons retired, and long and loud were their wild wailings in the air. The inhabitants of the moors and of the neighbouring towns slept not a Wink that night...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

The Demon Tregeagle - part 1

'"In Cornwaile's fair land, bye the poole on the moore.
Tregeagle the wicked did dwell."

--Tregeagle; or Dozmare Pool.
by John Penwarne

"Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale,
And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice."

- Thomas Sackville

WHO has not heard of the wild spirit Tregeagle? He haunts equally the moor, the rocky coasts, and the blown sand-hills of Cornwall. From north to south, from east to west, this doomed spirit is heard of, and to the day of judgment he is doomed to wander, pursued by avenging fiends. For ever endeavouring to perform some task by which he hopes to secure repose, and being for ever defeated. Who has not heard the howling of Tregeagle? When the storms come with all their strength from the Atlantic, and urge themselves upon the rocks around the Land's End, the howls of the spirit are louder than the roaring of the winds. When calms rest upon the ocean, and the waves can scarcely form upon the resting waters, low wailings creep along the coast. These are the wailings of this wandering soul...' [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

The adventures of Cherry of Zennor - part 3

'...Cherry was sixteen. One of her playmates had a new dress smartly trimmed with ribbons, and she told Cherry how she had been to Nancledry to the preaching, and how she had ever so many sweethearts who brought her home. This put the volatile Cherry in a fever of desire. She declared to her mother she would go off to the "low countries" [The terms 'high" and "low countries," are applied respectively to the hills and the valleys of the country about Towednack and Zennor.] to seek for service, that she might get some clothes like other girls.

Her mother wished her to go to Towednack, that she might have the chance of seeing her now and then of a Sunday...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

The Fairy Widower - part 7

'...Jenny sat up in the bed and bent her arm, resting her hand on her hip.

"Now say, I hope my arm may never come uncrooked if I have told ye a word of a lie."

"I hope my arm may never come uncrooked if I have told ye a word of a lie," repeated Jenny.

"Uncrook your arm," said Mary.

Jenny stretched out her arm.

"It is truth the girl is telling," said Mary; "and she has been carried by the Small People to some of their countries under the hills."

"Will the girl ever come right in her mind?" asked her mother.

"All in good time," said Mary; "and if she will but be honest, I have no doubt but her master will take care that she never wants."

Howbeit, Jenny did not get on very well in the world. She married and was discontented and far from happy. Some said she always pined after the fairy widower. Others said they were sure she had misbehaved herself, or she would have brought back lots of gold. If Jenny had not dreamt all this, while she was sitting picking ferns on the granite boulder, she had certainly had a very strange adventure.'

Hunt 1903

The Fairy Widower - part 4

'The tears were gone. Her weariness had departed. She felt herself moving, yet she did not know that she had moved from the bank. The ground appeared to open, and they were passing very rapidly under the earth. At last there was a pause.

"Here we are, Jenny," said he, " there is yet a tear of sorrow on your eyelids, and no human tears can enter our homes, let me wipe them away." Again Jenny's eyes were brushed with the small leaves as before, and, lo! before her was such a country as she had never seen previously. Hill and valley were covered with flowers, strangely varied in colour, but combining into a most harmonious whole; so that the region appeared sown with gems which glittered in a light as brilliant as that of the summer sun, yet as mild as the moonlight. There were rivers clearer than any water she had ever seen on the granite hills, and waterfalls and fountains; while everywhere ladies and gentlemen dressed in green and gold were walking, or sporting, or reposing on banks of flowers, singing songs or telling stories. Oh! it was a beautiful world.

"Here we are at home," said Jenny's master; and strangely enough he too was changed; he was the most beautiful little man she had ever seen, and he wore a green silken coat covered with ornaments of gold....' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

The old woman who turned out her shift

'IN a lone house--situated not far from the hill on which now stands Knill's Steeple, as it is called--which was then known as Chyanwheal, or the House on the Mine, lived a lone woman, the widow of a miner, said to have been killed in one of the very ancient "coffens," as the open mine-workings existing in this hill are termed. A village now bears this name, but it has derived it from this lone house. Whether it was that they presumed upon her solitude, or whether the old lady had given them some inducement, is not now known, but the spriggans of Trencrom Hill were in the habit of meeting almost every night in her cottage to divide their plunder. The old woman usually slept, or at least she pretended to sleep, during the visit of the spriggans. When they left, they always placed a small coin on the table by her bedside, and with this indeed the old woman was enabled to provide herself with not merely the necessaries of life, but to add thereto a few of those things which were luxuries to one in her position. The old lady, however, was not satisfied with this. She resolved to bide her time, and when the spriggans had an unusually large amount of plunder, to make herself rich at once and for ever at their expense. Such a time at last arrived. The spriggans had gathered, we know not how much valuable gold and jewellery. It gleamed and glistened on the floor, and the old woman in bed looked on with a most covetous eye. After a while, it appears, the spriggans were not able to settle the question of division with their usual amicability. The little thieves began to quarrel amongst themselves.


Now, thought the old woman, is my time. Therefore huddling herself up under the bedclothes, she very adroitly contrived to turn her shift, and having completed the unfailing charm, she jumped from her bed, placed her hand on a gold cup, and exclaimed, "Thee shusn't hae one on 'em!"
 
In affright the spriggans all scampered away, leaving their stolen treasure behind them. The last and boldest of the spriggans, however, swept his hand over the old woman's only garment as he left the house. The old woman, now wealthy, removed in a little time from Chyanwheal to St Ives, and, to the surprise of every one, purchased property and lived like a gentlewoman. Whenever, however, she put on the shift which had secured her her wealth, she was tortured beyond endurance. The doctors and all the learned people used hard names to describe her pains, but the wise women knew all along that they came of the spriggans.'

Hunt 1903

How Joan lost the sight in her eye - part 4

'..."The work of the world" had Joan to find her way out of Penzance. She couldn't keep the road, she was always tumbling into the ditch on her blind side. When near the Fawgan, poor Joan, who was so weary that she could scarcely drag one leg after the other, prayed that she might find a quiet old horse on which she might ride home.

Her desire was instantly granted. There, by the roadside, stood an old, bony white horse, spanned with its halter.
Joan untied the halter from the legs and placed it on the head of the horse; she got on the hedge, and seated herself on the horse's back.

There she was mounted, "Gee wup, gee wisp; k'up, k'up, k'up." The horse would not budge. Busy were Joan's heels rattling against the ribs of the poor horse, and thwack, thwack went a thorn-stick over his tail, and by and by the old blind brute began to walk. Joan beat, and kicked, and k'uped, and coaxed, the horse went but little faster until it got to the top of the hill.

Then away, away, like the wind it went through Toldava Lanes, and it swelled out until the horse became as high as the tower. Over hedges and ditches, across all the corners that came into the road, on went the horse. Joan held on by the mane with both hands, and shouted, "Woa! woa! woey!" until she could shout no longer.
At length they came to Toldava Moor; the "ugly brute" took right away down towards the fowling-pool, when Joan, fearing he might plunge in and drown her, let go her hold...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

Cadbury, Dolbury and the dragon

'...Cadbury Castle, a British camp on a lonesome hill, such as could not fail to stimulate local superstion.

"If Cadbury and Dolbury dolven were,

All England might plough with a golden share."

Dolbury is another camp-crowned hill, 4 miles south-east, across the Exe.  It is said that in teh bosum of these hills a vast treasure is hidden, and gaurded by a fiery dragon who, at "the mid-hour of night", may be seen on his flight from one to the other, but no English Siegfried has yet acheived the adventure of this double Drachenfels.'

Hope Moncrieff 1895

Fairy Revels on the Gump, St. Just - part 1

'LONG has the Gump been the reputed playground of the Small People. Many of the good old people were permitted to witness their revels, and for years they have delighted their grandchildren with tales of the songs they have heard, and of the sights they have seen. To many of their friends those fairies have given small but valuable presents; but woe to the man or woman who would dare to intrude upon the ground occupied by them at the time of their high festivals. There was a covetous old hunks in St Just--never mind his name, he was severely punished, let that suffice--well, this old fellow had heard so much of the riches displayed by the little people, when holding holiday on the Gump, that he resolved to get some of the treasures. He learned all he could learn from his neighbours, but kept his intention to himself. It was during the harvest-moon--the night was a softened day--and everything abroad on such a night should have been in harmony with its quiet brilliancy. But here was a dark soul passing along, making a small eclipse with his black shadow. The old man stole towards the rendezvous of the "good people," as some were fond of calling them, anxiously looking out for the treasures which he coveted. At length, when he had not advanced far on the Gump, he heard music of the most ravishing kind. Its influence was of a singularly mysterious character. As the notes were solemn and slow, or quick and gay, the old man was moved from tears to laughter; and on more than- one occasion he was compelled to dance in obedience to the time. Notwithstanding that he was almost bewildered by the whirling motion to which he was compelled, the old man "kept his wits awake," and waited his opportunity to seize some fairy treasure; but as yet nothing remarkable had presented itself. The music appeared to surround him, and, as he thought, to come closer to him than it was at first; and although its sound led him to believe that the musicians were on the surface, he was impressed with an idea that they were realty beneath the earth Eventually there was a crash of sound, startling beyond description, and the hill before him opened. All was now ablaze with variously-coloured lights...' [cont.]

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

The Spriggans of Trencrom Hill

'IT is not many years since a man, who thought he was fully informed as to the spot in which a crock of the giant's gold was buried, proceeded on one fine moonlight night to this enchanted hill, and with spade and pick commenced his search. He proceeded for some time without interruption, and it became evident to him that the treasure was not far off. The sky was rapidly covered with the darkest clouds, shutting out the brilliant light o the moon--which had previously gemmed each cairn--and leaving the gold-seeker in total and unearthly darkness. The wind rose, and roared terrifically amidst the rocks; but this was soon drowned amidst the fearful crashes of thunder, which followed in quick succession the flashes of lightning. By its light the man perceived that the spriggans were coming out in swarms from all the rocks. They were in countless numbers; and although they were small at first, they rapidly increased in size, until eventually they assumed an almost giant form, looking all the while, as he afterwards said, "as ugly as if they would eat him." How this poor man escaped is unknown, but he is said to have been so frightened that he took to his bed, and was not able to work for a long time.'

Hunt 1903

Nursing a Fairie - part 1

'A THRIFTY housewife lived on one of the hills between Zennor Church-town and St Ives. One night a gentleman came to her cottage, and told her he had marked her cleanliness and her care that he had a child whom he desired to have brought up with much tenderness, and he had fixed on her. She should be very handsomely rewarded for her trouble, and he showed her a considerable quantity of golden coin. Well, she agreed, and away she went with the gentleman to fetch this child. When they came to the side of Zennor hill, the gentleman told the woman he must bindfold her, and she, good, easy soul, having heard of such things, fancied this was some rich man's child, and that the residence of its mother was not to be known, so she gave herself great credit for cunning in quietly submitting. They walked on some considerable distance. When they stopped the handkerchief was taken from her eyes, and she found herself in a magnificent room, with a table spread with the most expensive luxuries, in the way of game, fruits, and wines. She was told to eat, and she did so with some awkwardness, and not a little trembling. She was surprised that so large a feast should have been spread for so small a party,--only herself and the master. At last, having enjoyed luxuries such as she never tasted before or since, a silver bell was rung, and a troop of servants came in, bearing a cot covered with satin, in which was sleeping the most beautiful babe that human eyes ever gazed on. She was told this child was to be committed to her charge; she should not want for anything; but she was to obey certain laws. She was not to teach the child the Lord's Prayer; she was not to wash it after sundown she was to bathe it every morning in water, which she would find in a white ewer placed in the child's room this was not to be touched by any one but herself, and she was to be careful not to wash her own face in this water. - In all other respects she was to treat the child as one of her own children. The woman was blinded again, and the child having been placed in her arms, away she trudged, guided by the mysterious father...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

Fairies and Pixies in Cornwall and Devon

'They are truly the fairies of " Midsummer Night's Dream." They haunt the most rural and romantic' spots, and they gather

"On hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook,
Or on the beached margent of the sea,
To dance their ringlets to the whistling wind."

No such fairies are ever met with on Dartmoor. A few, judging from Mrs Bray's tales, [c]may have been tempted into the lovely valley of the Tavy, but certainly they never crossed the Tamar. The darker shades in the character of the Cornish fairy almost dispose me to conclude that they belong to an older family than those of Devonshire.'

Hunt 1903